Finestrat

The 8 a.m. bus from Benidorm drops you at a roundabout still in shadow. Look uphill and the old village of Finestrat appears almost suspended, white walls stacked one above another against a limestone backdrop. From here it’s a fifteen-minute haul on stone slabs that can be slippery after rain; flip-flops are a bad idea. By the time you reach the tiny plaza in front of the eighteenth-century church of Sant Bartomeu, the bay below has turned a sharp morning blue and the first paragliders are already circling Puig Campana, the 1,406-metre summit that acts as both windbreak and branding logo for the municipality.

Two Towns, One Council

Finestrat is really two settlements sharing a mayor. The original village sits 238 metres above sea level, cooled by mountain air and kept in check by surrounding pine and almond terraces. Three kilometres downhill, Cala de Finestrat is a modern appendage of apartment blocks, all-inclusive hotels and a 450-metre strip of sand that feels administratively Spanish but socially an extension of Benidorm. British families treat it as the quiet end of the resort—safe paddling, sunbeds €5 a day, an ice-cream kiosk that still sells tubs of Spanish-made Carte d’Or for €2.50. Taxis back up the hill cost €15 if you can persuade a driver to make the climb; the local bus is €1.50 and runs every forty minutes, though the last service back is frustratingly early in winter.

Most visitors pick one half or the other. Stay in the village and you’ll need a car; the lanes are barely two metres wide, Saturday market blocks the through-road, and parking spaces are hunted like trophies. Stay on the beach and you can walk to supermarkets, but you’ll hear poolside aqua-aerobics at nine and karaoke at ten. The compromise is to rent one of the small houses glued to the hillside—then the sea glints below you while swifts dart past the bedroom window and the evening temperature drops enough to justify a jumper.

Eating Between the Peaks and the Sea

Menus change with altitude. In the village, family bars still serve arròs amb conill i caragols—rabbit-and-snail paella cooked on a Wednesday because that’s when Valencian housewives traditionally didn’t go to Mass and had time to stand over the pan. Expect to pay €12–14 for a plate big enough to share, washed down with a half-litre of casera (rough house wine) at €3. English is patchy; pointing works. Down at the cala, restaurants know their market. Full English breakfasts appear from 8 a.m., but the better move is to ask for churros from the beach kiosk—€2 for six, dipped in thick chocolate that tastes more of cocoa than sugar.

If you self-cater, the Supermercado Mas y Mas on the coast stocks Yorkshire Tea and Marmite at import prices; the village Coviran does not, but its butcher will joint a chicken the Spanish way—knife, no saw—while you wait. Friday is fish day: look for gamba roja from Dénia, expensive but worth it, and tiny boquerones that only need a dusting of flour and thirty seconds in hot oil.

Walking Off the Calories

Puig Campana dominates the western skyline and delivers the area’s best hiking. The classic circuit from Font del Moli, signposted just outside the village, is 12 km with 650 m of ascent. Stone cairns mark the route through rosemary and thyme; the final scramble to the 1,406-metre summit is on shattered limestone that can be treacherous after rain, so pack proper boots and at least a litre of water per person. On clear days you can pick out the tramuntana coastline all the way to Cap de la Nau, and count the cranes building more Benidorm towers. If that sounds too hearty, a gentler 5 km loop leaves from the cemetery gate, contours through almond terraces and returns along the Barranc de l’Infern, fine for children provided trainers have grip.

Summer walkers should start early; by 11 a.m. the rock radiates heat and there is no shade. Winter can be surprisingly cold—night frosts are common in January—so check the forecast if you’ve booked a January break expecting balmy Mediterranean evenings.

Fiestas, Noise and Other People

The feast of Sant Bartomeu on 24 August turns the village into an open-air kitchen. Paella pans the width of satellite dishes appear in the street at 2 p.m.; by 3 p.m. they’re empty and the brass band strikes up. Visitors are welcome to buy a €5 ticket and queue for food, but you’ll need to understand that lunch happens when it’s ready, not when you’re hungry. Midnight brings a fireworks display that echoes off the mountain like artillery practice; earplugs are advised if your rental faces the church.

Down on the beach, the programme is more commercial: foam parties, tribute bands, cheap lager in plastic glasses. British teenagers love it; older residents occasionally grumble to the policía local about noise carrying past the 1 a.m. curfew. If you want silence, book inland and bring earplugs.

Practicalities Without the Brochure Speak

Getting here: Alicante airport to Finestrat village is 55 km—allow 45 minutes by pre-booked transfer (€45–55) or hire car. If you’re staying on the beach, the airport bus to Benidorm (€8.50) plus a taxi works out cheaper than a direct private car.

When to come: Late April–mid-June and mid-September–October give warm days and cool nights without the August scrum. Sea temperature stays above 20 °C well into October.

Where to stay: In the village, three-key guesthouses charge €65–85 for a double in shoulder season; parking may be 300 m away. Beachfront four-star all-inclusives hover around €150 per night for two adults and a child, but read recent reviews—some blocks suffer from evening disco thump.

Money: Cards are accepted almost everywhere, even in the village bars, but farmers at the Sunday morning market prefer cash. There is no ATM in the old town; the nearest is outside the Consum supermarket on the coastal strip.

An Honest Goodbye

Finestrat will not change your life. It offers no world-class galleries, no Michelin stars, no soul-stirring cathedral. What it does give is a workable split-shift holiday: mountain air for breakfast, sand between your toes by lunchtime, and at dusk a seat on the church steps where swifts replace seagulls and the lights of Benidorm shimmer like a distant circuit board. Come with modest expectations, sturdy shoes and an appetite for rice, and the place will function exactly as advertised—no more, no less.