This is Altea. Alex says that this is what Guardamar would have looked like if it hadn't been flattened by an earthquake in 1829.
Most of the buildings are painted with lime, so they are white. It is one of the last "white cities" in Spain. The lime protects the buildings from the salt of the sea. As you can see, the sea is just a walk away.
We had to climb up, up, up to get to our hostel, which is in the part of Altea that is dense with houses, artisan shops, and restaurants. The cobblestones here are sharper, for some reason.
We had the evening to ourselves so I took a walk around Altea. To the Northwest are sharp, tall mountains. I felt drawn to them because we have been so close to the sea for so long. But I started to walk East again to loop back toward the ocean. I passed by a music school, admiring the loud boom of the drums echoing through the hilly streets. The street facing the water was lined with restaurants.
The beach here was made of large pebbles, not sand. They were probably still in the process of breaking down. As the waves crashed in, the pebbles made a loud rattling noise--like they were screaming, protesting against breaking down into sand. It sounded like thunder.
At night, the view is breathtaking. Everything down the hill seemed to glow. The air was warm and there was a slight breeze. I sat down with some friends to listen to a few guitarists. Lots of people were out and about. It was a good night.
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