April and I lean on the old stone wall. From here, 166 meters above the city, Alicante unfolds before us like a living tourist map. We trace our steps from yesterday through the city, from the train station down the wide, glittering Avenida de la Estación, past the dignified Mercado Central, right onto La Rambla, eventually worming our way into El Barrio, circling the Catedral de San Nicolas once before arriving at our hostel, our Les Monges Palace.

The port looks like a parking lot for boats, a square patch of water with each boat in its place. Palm trees stitch up the port on all sides. Bulky nightclubs nap close by. They need their rest for tonight, like last night, when we walked between the palm trees and the clubs, the port going off like fireworks, lights flickering in all directions, disco music echoing in our ears.

Now, in the early afternoon, Alicante is tame, like the golden retriever jogging next to its master along the beach. It’s December and 20 degrees. Three wet heads bob in and out of the cool water just beyond the white-laced shoreline.

This morning we walked Postiguet Beach till we found the “tunnel into the mountain” as the girl at the tourist office put it. We searched the beach like pirates, even though there was no “x” marking the spot on our map, until we found the tunnel. Only once we found it, was it obvious were it was. The entrance, framed by a red billboard, told us in capital letters that this black hole drilled into the side of the mountain was not the path to buried treasure, but to El Castillo Santa Bárbara, the proud castle that sits perched above the city, a reference point as trustworthy and faithful as the sea and the mountains.

At the heart of the mountain, we paid our 2,40€ a person, stepped into the elevator and were pumped to the surface in seconds by this mechanical artery. The steel doors opened, and our senses were jolted by everything Mediterranean. (more…)