Costa Brava – Spain’s Wild Coast

On the back of a jaunt to Valencia with a group of friends, I found myself going solo in Spain for a few days on the Costa Brava – Spain’s Wild Coast.

The train from Valencia to Barcelona, though modern and comfortable, offers little in the way of scenery. The three-and-a-half-hour journey is efficient but uninspiring, with only occasional glimpses of the coastline. It’s a practical way to travel from A to B – or V to B as the case may be – but one of the great train journeys of the world, it is not.

Arriving at Barcelona Sants Station, I picked up a rental car. It wasn’t the Mini I’d hoped for, but the “or similar” Citroën was clean, automatic (one less thing to think about when driving on the wrong side of the road), and blessed with powerful air conditioning. However, the SatNav couldn’t locate my exact destination, and my phone had no signal. For the first 10–15 minutes, I drove blindly until I could pull over, reboot, and restart. Fortunately, I was heading in the right direction, soon leaving Barcelona behind and driving north toward the Costa Brava.

Until recently, my only reference to the Costa Brava was from Chas ‘n Dave… “You can keep your Costa Brava / I’m telling you mate I’d rather / Have a day down Margate with all my family / Down to Margate…” I imagined high-rise hotels, fish and chips, and British pubs. While that may be true in the larger southern resorts like Blanes, Tossa de Mar, and Lloret de Mar, a recent newspaper article drew my attention to the fact that Costa Brava means “wild coast” – and most of it is nothing like Benidorm or Torremolinos.

My destination was Llafranc, a small coastal resort some 125km from Barcelona. It’s a pleasant enough drive, with the mantra of drive on the right, drive on the right running through my head. 

As the SatNav had been unable to pinpoint the hotel, I’d entered ‘Llafranc’, and ended up at the main beach beside the Hotel Llafranc. And despite my hotel being only 160m away, there is no means of driving directly between the two. It’s a twenty minute drive back up to Palafrugell to then approach the town from a different direction. Bizarre, but no big deal – and it is of course possible that I am simply a complete ass and got it all wrong.

Hotel Terramar’s location is superb – right on the seafront, just a 20-second walk across the promenade to the beach. The hotel, run by the same family since 1933, exudes warmth; staff greet many guests like old friends. Either that or they’re just taking friendliness to new levels. The rooms are modern, bright, comfortable, and spotless. My only regret was not paying extra for a sea view. My balcony overlooked a side street rather than the gorgeous blue of the Med. Tight arse.

By the time I settled in, it was after 6 p.m. I strolled along the promenade, got my bearings, and enjoyed fresh sardines and a beer at Blau Llafranc on the Placa del Promontori.

To be honest there isn’t an awful lot to Llafranc. A beach, a promenade, a smattering of restaurants, and a few hotels. According to Wikipedia, the Hotel Llafranc was popular with artists such as Rock Hudson, Sophia Loren, Elizabeth Taylor, Salvador Dalí and Ernest Hemingway. So I’m in esteemed company – even if I didn’t actually stay at the same hotel.

And it is beautiful. Picture postcard perfect. There are no high-rise eyesores, just low-rise whitewashed buildings bordering the horseshoe-shaped sandy bay and turquoise crystalline waters. The clientele are predominantly European – Spanish, Dutch, French and German – with nary a British accent to be heard. There are no British pubs, no Irish bars, and no kebab shops. Heavenly.

Day two began with an hour or two on the beach, before opting against getting completely fried by noon. I got in the car and drove 20 minutes north to the town of Begur, about 2km inland. The medieval castle is unremarkable, but the views along the coastline are stunning. A wander through Begur’s narrow, photogenic streets led me to the rather busy central square for a spot of lunch. While the central square was mobbed, the backstreets, by contrast, were peaceful and empty.

Back in the car for a short drive to Sa Tuna, a small cove lined with fishermen’s houses. They’re doubtless now apartments or AirB&B’s but they still retain their old charm. There’s time for another dip in the sea before heading on to Tamarui, another beautiful little town. A planned diversion to the cape and lighthouse at Sant Sebastià was abandoned in favour of a return to Llafranc for another hour or two on the beach. Tough life.

That evening, I enjoyed a few beers in the Hotel Terramar’s seafront bar. I had planned to stay for dinner, only to be told that the restaurant was fully booked – which may be no surprise given that they serve food only between 8pm and 9.30pm. So I booked myself a table for tomorrow night (“just for one”), and found another spot for a delicious veal steak. More beer then early to bed.

Decided that day three shall involve some walking. Torn between heading north and south, the lovely lady on reception suggested heading south and pointed out accessible coves and beaches. “It’s only a 15 minute walk. I do it in heels going out for dinner,” she commented. “Oh no, I didn’t bring my heels with me”. She indulged me with a laugh.

And the day was an absolute delight. A beautiful coastal path winds out of town, offering lovely views back over Llafranc’s bay. Numerous coves and rocky inlets invite swimmers. Fifteen minutes south lies Platja del Canadell, followed by La Platgeta, Platja del Port Pelegrí, Cala de Sant Roc, Cala Foradada, and finally El Golfet beach. It’s only 3km from Llafranc to El Golfet so hardly a strenuous hike, but with frequent stops for a swim, and a delicious grilled squid lunch somewhere en route, it’s mid-afternoon by the time I get back to Llafranc. Nothing much to do other than a few more hours on the beach.

Dinner in the Hotel Terramar beach front restaurant, a bottle of wine, a stroll along the promenade, and that was good night Llafranc unfortunately. All that remained was to get up in the morning, chuck my bags back into the car, and enjoy the drive back to Barcelona.

The original plan post-Valencia had been four days in Barcelona. But somewhere along the way that lost its appeal. A newspaper article planted the seed of the Costa Brava and I can only be thankful it did. It must be one the most beautiful stretches of coastline in Europe, full of sandy bays and secret coves, still authentically Spanish, and blessedly free of the package holiday hordes. I genuinely cannot wait to return. Chas ‘n Dave can keep their Margate for themselves.