Our ship docked at Muelle 14, the farthest berth from downtown Alicante. That pier sits far from town. Jay and I skipped the long walk across the port concrete. Instead, we paid €6, hopped aboard a little shuttle train, and rode straight to the city gate.
People have fought over Alicante for more than two thousand years because its sheltered bay and steep rocky hill make an ideal spot to control the coast. Ancient merchants traded here long before the Romans arrived and named their settlement Lucentum, which translates rather optimistically to City of Light. Five centuries of Moorish rule followed under the name Laqant, watched over by the hilltop fortress on Mount Benacantil until Spanish forces captured the town in the thirteenth century. Centuries later, profits from exporting local wine, almonds, and olive oil paid for the wide avenues we strolled today. Northern Europeans now lead a friendlier invasion. Mild winters, a nearby airport, and daily prices that do not punish the wallet bring steady waves of British, German, Dutch, and Scandinavian vacationers all year, along with thousands of European retirees who have traded grey skies for permanent sunshine.
From the port gate, Jay and I walked down the Passeig Esplanada d'Espanya beneath four rows of palm trees, pacing over wavy patterns of red, cream, and black marble tiles. Turning into the narrow lanes of the historic district, we stopped to admire the stone exteriors of the Gothic Basilica of Santa María and the seventeenth century Cathedral of San Nicolás. Simple stone beats gilded excess every time. Jay and I stayed outdoors in the sunlit squares, content to take in the architecture while café life hummed just steps away.
Our main plan involved riding the mountain lift straight up through the rock to Castillo de Santa Bárbara. Naturally, when Jay and I reached the tunnel entrance across from Postiguet Beach, the lift had already hit full capacity. Staff were directing everyone to the public bus stop across the street instead. The crowd had beaten us. Jay and I had zero interest in catching a public bus just to inspect a castle we could already admire from below, so we skipped the summit without a shred of regret. Instead, we lingered near the sand and watched beachgoers enjoy the afternoon sun and gentle surf.
Before heading back to the ship, Jay and I circled onto the waterfront promenade so I could tend to my final civic duty: sitting outside with a cold pint. Priorities matter on holiday. We returned aboard after 3.5 hours ashore and 8 km on foot under a pleasant 24°C sky.
