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 takes around three and a half hours. And while the train is modern and comfortable, and fairly fast, it’s all a bit dull to be honest. The scenery is all a bit bland and snatches of the coastline rare. It’s fine as a means of getting from A to B – or V to B as the case may be – but one of the great train journeys of the world, it certainly is not.

Arrive at Barcelona Sants Station and pick up a rental car. It is not the Mini that I’d hoped to be driving, but the “or similar car” that they inevitably provide. A Citroen something-or-other. But it’s clean, automatic (one less thing to think about when driving on t’other side of the road) and comfortable to drive. And it has some serious air-con, so all good. For some reason however the SatNav could not find the exact location of my destination, and my phone couldn’t find a signal. So for the first 10-15 minutes, I was driving blind. Have to pull over, reboot, and start again. But thankfully I’d been heading in the right direction. And after a while we’re out of Barcelona and heading up north towards the Costa Brava.

Until a few weeks ago, 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…”

So my understanding had been all high rise hotels, fish ‘n chips, and ‘British’ pubs. And indeed that may be the case in the larger resorts in the south of the region, Blanes, Tossa de Mar and Lloret de Mar. But a newspaper article alerted me to the fact that Costa Brava means ‘wild coast’. And most of it is a far cry from the beaches of Benidorm or Torremolinos. 

My destination is 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’ in general. And subsequently found myself arriving 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.

The location of Hotel Terramar is terrific – right on the seafront. It is literally a 20 second walk across the promenade to the beach. And they have their own bar and restaurant on the prom. The hotel has apparently been run by the same family since 1933. And the way the staff greet some of their guests like old friends shows that they must be regulars. Either that or they’re just taking friendliness to new levels. The rooms are modern, bright and fresh, comfortable and spotlessly clean. The only downside is that I didn’t pay the higher rate for a room with a sea view. So while my room has a small balcony, with a table and chairs, it’s looking up a side street rather than out on the gorgeous blue of the Med. Tight arse.

It’s gone 6pm by the time I’m sorted and settled so there is little to do but take a walk up and down the promenade, get what few bearings there are, and settle in to Blau Llafranc on the Placa del Promontori to order some beer and some fresh sardines.

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.

Begin day two with an hour or two on the beach, before opting against getting completely fried by noon. Get in the car and drive 20 minutes north to the town of Begur, about 2km inland. Head up to the medieval Castello which is, in truth, unremarkable, although it does afford some stunning views up and down the coastline. Then walk down into the town through the narrow and very photogenic streets of Moorish and Spanish architecture, before stopping in the rather busy central square for a spot of lunch. I guess many tourists don’t go beyond the central square as I seemed to have the backstreets to myself in the early afternoon.

Back in the car for a short drive to Sa Tuna. It’s a small cove lined with fishermen’s houses. They’re doubtless now apartments or AirB&B’s but they still retain their old charm. And time for another dip in the sea. Then it’s on to Tamarui, another beautiful little town, a little larger but much like Sa Tuna. A planned diversion to the cape and lighthouse at Sant Sebastià is abandoned. I’m happy to return to Llafranc by 5pm for another hour or two on the beach. Tough life.

Enjoy a few beers in the Hotel Terramar’s seafront bar. I had planned to stay for dinner, only to be told that the restaurant is fully booked – which may be no surprise given that they serve food only between 8pm and 9.30pm. Book myself a table for tomorrow night (“just for one”), then head off in search of somewhere else to eat. End up at another restaurant on the Placa del Promontori for a delicious and fairly chunky veal steak, although I suspect it is not the finest restaurant in town. More beer then early to bed.

Decide that day three shall involve some walking. Torn between heading north and south, the lovely lady on reception sends me south, helpfully pointing out which coves and beaches I can access and how long it will take me to walk to each. “It’s only a 15 minute walk. I do it in heels going out for dinner.” “Oh no, I didn’t bring my heels with me”. She indulged me with a laugh.

And the day is an absolute delight. There is a beautiful coastal path winding out of the town which affords lovely views back on the bay of Llafranc itself. There are numerous little coves and rocky inlets, most of which at least someone has managed to access for a dip. Fifteen minutes south of Llafranc is the beach at Platja del Canadell. And a few minutes south of that another beach at La Platgeta. More coves, and another beach at Platja del Port Pelegrí. Cala de Sant Roc. Cala Foradada. And finally the beach at El Golfet. 

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’s good night Llafranc unfortunately. All that remains is 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 and seemed too long. 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 very Spanish, and blessedly free of the package holiday hordes. I genuinely cannot wait to return. Chas ‘n Dave can keep their Margate for themselves.