Alicante

 Entering Alicante, hugging the seashore, this morning was like walking through an impressionist painting. There was a fabulous stillness and quietness that even the car motors could not violate. The soft light of the sky blended imperceptibly with the sea and the beaches were peopled with a purpose. Countless games of volley ball were being played out with arbitrary team numbers, runners, cyclists, dog walkers, and waiters and waitresses preparing their premises for the inevitable wave of late morning cafe customers. It was very different to the atmosphere I had experienced in Benidorm.

The city itself was expansive with wide carriageways, less culturally conscious and possibly more commercial than Valencia. All the same I found this "Fuente de Levante" which enigmatically is also known as "El Fuente de Los Luceros ". Built in the 1930s it has nothing to do with the Moriscos, or Moors, but exactly what it does represent I have yet to discover. To me it looks very Hindu influenced.

It is ringed around by these unusual trees.

The Algerian consulate is in a back street of the town and I went to see if I could make any progress with my visa application. They were very welcoming and guided me through three different departments in order to be quite sure that every possible avenue was being explored. Basically it all hinges on the letter of introduction. It must come from someone who is a resident of Algeria or from the Algerian tourist board. Then I can apply for a visa for up to one month. This is pretty much what I already knew, what I didn't know was whether the consulate in Alicante would issue a visa to a British national, and the answer is only if I have a Spanish address. They said they might accept my sister's address in Granada. So some success, and actually the atmosphere in the consulate only increased my appetite for visiting this country. It was clean, business like and friendly. They are also celebrating 60 years of independence this year and I was a little worried that if I asked to speak in French they would consider this unpatriotic, but far from it. They seem to be on a different trajectory to the rest of their Mediterranean neighbours and this is really at the heart of why I want to go there.

Back on the road out of town I got a bit lost and accidentally found myself in the ferry terminal for the Algerian port of Oran. Must have been subconsciously wish fulfilling.

South of the city there's a big promontory called Santa Pola, with a charming "B" road that winds around the coast that's ideal for cycling. The promontory pretty much signals the end of the white sands of the Costa Blanca as the sand changes colour on the other side  to a dirty grey.  South of Santa Pola the inland flattens out completely too, and there's a huge salt panning area, which is also a wildlife reserve. I definitely saw flamingos and what I thought must have been pelicans, some kind of seabird bigger than a turkey anyway! There were also several spectacular murmurations maybe of starlings, or something else, I don't know. Are there other birds that murmurate?

Here's the salt, and here's where it comes from: 

I discovered that my destination for the evening, la Marina, was an expensive modern resort when I visited the local supermarket. Practically everything was marked up by about 50%. I could have deduced it from the map if I had thought about it, as the town is laid out in a perfectly square grid, well almost, which is not the traditional way in Spain. On the way in I passed the motor caravan parking area, not quite full but certainly not tent friendly, and at the far end of town was the campsite. I was relieved to discover they had no room for me as it seemed to be a boisterous and flamboyant place, more like a theme park than a campsite. Luckily I had devised a plan"B". Just beyond the campsite was a large area of sand dunes which lead down to the beach with a car park. I was stunned to discover that the beach was protected and a nesting area for turtles. I thought turtles belonged to the great oceans of the world, not the lowly Mediterranean. But here it was written bold on an unmissable sign: Call 112 immediately if you find a turtle on the beach. And for obvious reasons it also declared camping prohibited. But there didn't seem to be any restriction in the dunes, so I worked my way back towards the town until I found a cosy and secluded little gully between some pine trees. There were also palm trees growing in this area, it would have made a passable set for Robinson Crusoe.

 A few hundred metres further down the coast is the mouth of the Riu Segura which carves it's valley from the Sierra de Segura, one of Europe's largest national parks, about 320km away. Tomorrow morning I would strike west and inland along the banks of this river towards the Altiplano of Granada province where my sister Jenny had been living for around 19 years. I wouldn't be so close to my mother the sea again for a long while, so I was very happy to be sleeping within earshot of the restless surf.