With more than 3,000 miles of coastline, Spain boasts a costa for every taste.
For pounding surf and sailors’ graves, head to Rias Altas, in Galicia. If
you’re allergic to the sun, hit the soggy, cloudbound sands of Cantabria. Or
head south, for the empty and windswept beaches of the Costa de la Luz.
Head east from there, however, and you’ll see seaside horrors you’ll never
forget. The names – Puerto Banus, Fuengirola, Torremolinos, Nerja – read
like the index in a Dantean gazetteer, way stations on the road to hell.
It’s an unending urbanisation of holiday-home sink estates, golf courses and
charmless stretches of overdeveloped sand, reaching from the Rio Genal, in
Andalusia’s deep south, via Malaga, Alicante, Benidorm and Barcelona, to the
mouth of the Rio Ridaura.
Then Spain’s ravaged coastline changes. This is the Baix Emporda, the secret,
undeveloped part of the Costa Brava – the Wild Coast – where Spain lit the
first flames of package-holiday hell back in 1954. As the epicentre of the
explosion of mutually assured destruction that has since engulfed the
Spanish coast, this should be a neon-lit concrete wasteland populated by
giant rats and sovereign-ring-wearing men called Big Frank.
But it’s not. At the north end of Palamos bay, the Costa Brava begins to live
up to its name. The package-holiday airport at Girona is just 20 miles west
as the seagull flies, but the steep-sided little hills the Catalans call puigs
force the coast road inland. The hairpin lanes that lead to the beaches are
inhospitable to coach transfers and construction traffic, miraculously
sparing the tiny, pine-fringed coves from the horrors of mass tourism.
Indeed, between the stylish little resort of Llafranc – the sort of place
where you’d expect to see Dean Martin chatting up Bardot – and the fishing
port of L’Escala, to the north, you’ll find nothing but 25 miles of Spain’s
most beautiful, dramatic coastline.
High-rise hotels? None. Karaoke bars? Zero. Full English? Not a sausage.
Instead, think family-run pensiones, the casually elegant evening paseo
and fresh grilled fish from a chiringuito on the beach. But where to
enjoy it?
If your ideal is to rise late and take your breakfast alfresco before ambling
down to your favourite spot on a pristine crescent, topped and tailed with
pine-clad rocky headlands, Llafranc is for you. And there’s no need to rush:
if you’re on the sand before 11.30am, you could be seen as too keen. German,
even.
Because Llafranc dances to Catalan time, where dawn is seen not as the
beginning of another gorgeous day, but as the end of the night before, even
if the nearest nightclub is in Palamos, eight miles to the south. The idea
here is to spend a couple of hours lazing before having a long, late lunch
of fresh seafood – take the 20-minute walk around the headland to Calella
for the extraordinarily good sea-urchin roe at Tragamar (00 34-972 615189),
on the beach at Platja Canadell. Wash it down with a bottle of the local
rosé – try the Lledoner 2005 or the Roigenc 2004 – before drifting back to
the beach for a dreamy siesta. And, suddenly, it’s time for a cocktail,
taken, of course, on the terrace of the Hotel Llafranch (972 300208, www.hllafranch.com).
Once famed for wild parties (the likes of Dali, Sophia Loren, Kirk Douglas
and Rock Hudson kicked off their shoes here), this elegant watering hole
remains at the heart of Llafranc’s now rather genteel nightlife. How
genteel? Put it this way: there’s one full-time policeman in town, and he
only took the job because his last post – watching paint dry – was too
taxing.
Over a postprandial glass of ron cremat (the local spin on Irish
coffee), watching the stars reflected in the mirror of the bay, you’ll find
your fellow holidaymakers to be somewhat proprietorial about Llafranc.
Mainly Catalan or French, with a scattering of discerning Britons among
them, most have been coming here since they were children, and are now
bringing their own. They’ll beg you to keep Llafranc secret, and may the
good Lord forgive you if you spill the beans in a national newspaper.
So, forget everything I’ve told you and head 10 miles north to Aigua Blava,
another sandy sweep of pine-fringed, azure-lapped perfection. Or to Tamariu,
where the wild beauty of the beach is at pleasing odds with the sweep of
smart restaurants on the promenade. Or, for absolute exclusivity, pack a
picnic and follow the coast path for half a mile from any of the above. I
guarantee you’ll have the Costa Brava, the home of mass tourism, all to
yourself.
THE SMART GUIDE
What’s the strategy? Base yourself anywhere you like between
Llafranc, in the south, and Begur, in the north, but wherever you choose,
insist on a sea view. There’s no point coming otherwise. Unless you’re a
Sherpa, you’ll need a car. With the exception of Llafranc and Aigua Blava,
where the best hotels are on the beach, the accommodation mostly hugs the
high ground.
The best villas: try the Sant Miguel, a simple, two-bedroom place with
its own pool and crack-open-a-bottle views across the Badia de Tamariu. No
sunsets here, because it faces east, but the sunrises are worth staying up
for. A high-season week for four people costs £1,176 with Villa Centre
(01223 513593, www.villacentre.com).
Even better situated is the Illa Blanca, on the heavily wooded Puig la
Trona, in Tamariu. It sleeps up to 10, has a children’s play area and a
child-friendly pool, and is five minutes from Tamariu’s lovely beach. A week
in July costs £1,899 with Solmar Villas (0870 381 3000, www.solmarvillas.com).
Best of all, though, is Villa Llafranc, deep in the forest above Llafranc’s
Cap de Sant Sebastia. There are 66 steps from the garage to the house, but
it’s worth the effort for the shade, tranquillity and fleeting glimpses of
the shimmering sea through the pines. It sleeps eight, and a high-season
week costs £2,350 with Vintage Travel (0845 344 0460, www.vintagetravel.co.uk).
The best hotels: in Llafranc, the three-star Hotel Terramar (00 34-972
300200, www.hterramar.com) overlooks
the better end of the beach, and thus has better views – as well as cheaper
rates – than the famous Hotel Llafranch across the street. A double room
with a sea-view terrace costs £97 per night in high season. The alfresco
breakfast isn’t worth the £9.50pp charged on top of the room rate – head
instead to the bakery in the square for café amb llet and
croissants. In Aigua Blava, ignore the rather austere-looking parador
nacional and stay at the Hotel Aigua Blava (972 622058, www.aiguablava.com),
an enchanting, family-friendly sprawl that tumbles down to its own private
beach. Families who like its eccentric 1960s vibe come back year after year,
so the tip is to book early. A double room with a terrace costs £139 per
night in high season, B&B.
Getting there: fly to Girona with Ryanair (0871 246 0000, www.ryanair.com).
Car hire – which is essential – starts at £92 a week with Holiday Autos
(0870 400 4461, www.holidayautos.com).
The best beaches: Llafranc’s is wide and well groomed, but tends to get
crowded in high season, as does the perfect little beach at Tamariu. Three
miles to the north, the triple whammy of Aiguablava, Fornells and Platja
Fonda will spark a best-beach debate that will end only when you visit the
tiny, spring-fed, pine-cloaked beach of Aiguafreda, just north of Sa Tuna.
Speaking of fish, taste the best home-cured anchovies in the entire world at
Fonda Caner (00 34-972 622391, www.hotel-rosa.com),
up the hill in Begur. Ask for the seaside menu.
Smart thinking: buy the excellent Mapa Topografica Baix Emporda for £9
from the tourist office in Begur (Avenida Onze de Setembre 5; 972 624520, www.begur.org/
turisme) and use it to find tiny beaches you can have all to yourself,
even in high season. Remember to take a daypack and decent walking shoes for
the inevitable hike.
