Oropesa del Mar/Orpesa

The castle walls still carry Moorish mortar, but below them, British pensioners sip gin and tonics on a spotless promenade where the bins speak three languages. Oropesa del Mar—spelled Orpesa in Valencian—keeps one foot in the thirteenth century and the other in a midsize resort that Spanish families treat like their private Costa. There are no Full English banners, no foam-party reps, just 8 km of sand, a hilltop old town that smells of orange blossom, and a Sunday-evening hush that can feel either peaceful or post-apocalyptic, depending on how badly you wanted dessert.

Two Towns for the Price of One

Start at the top. The Castell d'Oropesa sits 33 m above sea level, close enough that the sea breeze lifts the heat but low enough that the climb takes six minutes, not sixty. Inside, the keep is more ruin than Disney; what survives are chunky stone staircases and a viewing platform that lets you trace the whole municipal balancing act. Inland, regimented rows of citrus march towards the limestone outcrops of the Serra d'Oropesa. Straight ahead, apartment blocks the colour of pale sangria step down to a marina that isn't a marina at all, but a gated holiday city called Marina d'Or.

Marina d'Or was built by a Valencian chemist with deep pockets and a fondness for fountains. The result is 54 hectares of apartment towers, swimming pools you can surf in, and a mock-Tudor spa that offers chocolate wraps and colonic irrigation within metres of a medieval pilgrimage route. British visitors expecting Benidorm 2.0 usually relax when they see the place is spotless, policed, and mercifully short on stag-party fancy dress. Still, the architecture shouts 1987, so photograph the gardens, not the façades.

Down on Playa de la Concha the sand is fine, the slope gentle, and the lifeguards bilingual. Sun-loungers rent for €5 a day in May, €9 in August; the price is printed on a board, so haggling marks you immediately as northern European. The sea warms earlier than Costa Brava waters—22 °C by mid-June—and the breakwater keeps most waves knee-high, ideal for paddle-board beginners who don't fancy being filmed flailing.

Flat Walks and Steep Bills

The old railway to Benicàssim has been asphalted into the Vía Verde del Mar, a 5 m-wide cycle path that coasts through vineyards and tunnels carved for steam trains. Hire bikes at the booth opposite the tourist office (€12 half-day, €18 full; helmets thrown in) and you can reach Benicàssim's art-nouveau villas in 40 minutes without breaking sweat. Turn inland instead and the gradient bites immediately; signed footpaths corkscrew up into the Serra d'Oropesa, exchanging sea views for rosemary-scented shade and the occasional Iberian ib footprint. Take water—there's no kiosk at 400 m.

Back in town, lunch arrives in metal pans wide enough to baptise toddlers. Paella oropesana swaps rabbit for local squid, giving the rice a smoky, briny edge that tastes of beach barbecues. A two-person portion costs €18 at Casa Jaime on Carrer Major, €24 if you sit on the front. House wine is a young white from neighbouring Villarreal; at €3.50 a glass it's cheaper than the bottled water in most UK airports.

When Spanish Schools Let Loose

Come mid-July the population trebles. Madrid number-plates snarl the single-lane ring-road, supermarket queues recall Heathrow security, and the nightly firework budget rivals a small war. The Festes de Sant Jaume run from 24-28 July: morning processions with brass bands that could wake the Moors, afternoon paella contests in the castle moat, and midnight castles of fireworks launched from a barge 200 m offshore. Earplugs recommended, parking impossible.

August is worse. Apartment owners who've left their terraces empty since September suddenly want £1,400 for a week. Playa Morro de Gos, the widest strand, becomes a carpet of umbrellas spaced towel-to-towel; arrive after 11 a.m. and you'll be anchoring your designer brolly between two extended families arguing over who forgot the suncream. If your holidays are tied to school breaks, aim for the last week of August—Spanish children return to class the first weekday of September, and prices collapse overnight.

Shoulder-Season Bargains

May and late-September give you 24-27 °C days, warm seas and hotel rates that undercut Cornwall half-term packages. British pensioners have worked this out: the same cafés that echo to Spanish chatter in August switch to Home-Counties vowels by October. Evenings can dip to 15 °C, so pack a fleece for the castle sunset. Flights into Valencia land at 09:30; by 11:00 you can be on the beach if you pick up a hire car. The AP-7 toll is €7.35 each way—keep coins, the card machines pretend not to recognise Monzo.

No wheels? Euromed trains barrel up the coast every hour; Oropesa's station is 2 km from the sand, a €8 taxi or a 20-minute shuffle if you've only got hand luggage. Local buses trundle to Peñíscola's Game-of-Thrones fortress on Tuesdays and Fridays, but they stop for siesta, because this is still Spain.

The Catch

There is one: if you want nightlife beyond hotel disco tribute acts, Oropesa nods off early. Bars shut by midnight in low season; even in July the front empties around 01:00. Benicàssim's festival scene is 15 minutes away, but you'll need a taxi back—night buses don't exist. And that Sunday-evening silence? Half the restaurants close completely; self-cater or reserve before you sit on the beach.

Still, for families who fancy a safe, clean base with history in walking distance and Valencia an hour away, Oropesa del Mar offers a gentler deal than its louder cousins. Bring decent shoes, a Spanish phrasebook app and realistic expectations of resort food. The castle won't rival the Alhambra, but the view from its walls is free, the oranges along the route are sweet, and the sea is warm enough for grandparents to parade in the shallows long after Devon has zipped up its windbreaks.