A Secret Spanish Riviera: Lloret de Mar

The heady scent of pine trees swirled with champagne-based cocktails and Mediterranean Sea water is usually reserved for the likes of St. Tropez and Ibiza, lined with Riviera chic boutique hotels and rosé pink palaces possessing a Wes Anderson-style charm. However, the same scent, along with some of my teenage memories spent holidaying with my family in the Côte d’Azur over several long summers, drifted back to me on a balmy breeze as I climbed the medieval steps to Castell de Sant Joan, looking back along the Costa Brava coastline, curving under the weight of several ruined castles dating back to the 11th century, interspersed by fragrant forests and hidden white sandy beaches.

The somewhat questionable strip of nightlife popular with underage drinkers and water park frequenters in the centre of Lloret de Mar now seemed a world away, quickly forgotten in the short walk around the headland of golden rocks and gleaming rock pools reflecting the morning sun in their shallow crab-inhabited waters. The cliff walk from Lloret de Mar to Blanes is marked by hand-painted crosses of red and white emblazoned onto tree trunks, stone steps, or any natural object deemed worthy of direction along the rustic route through the botanical Jardins de Santa Clotilde and up towards a crumbling turret once controlled by the Lords of Lloret. Some of the signs were certainly more subtle than others, obscured by an overhanging branch or faded by the coastal elements, or simply missed because a sudden drop towards the impossibly blue waters was too irresistible a view, the journey soon became more of a treasure hunt of landmarks than the painted crosses (which more often than not did not mark the spot). Making our way along the rocky land, we navigated by sea and kept time by the sun, which had just passed the midday mark when the semi-circular sandy sight of Blanes emerged as we reached the top of the second turret of the day, pausing a while to take in the seaside town known as the Gateway to Costa Brava, Catalonia’s wild coast.

Descending the dizzying heights of the tower, the footpath led us down a countless cascade of steps into the town, along one of the longest stretches of sand in the region which makes up the 4km beachfront promenade of ice cream stalls and tapas restaurants. It is not until after lunch that we discover the real treasure trove, hidden away en route back to Lloret de Mar in a quiet cove seemingly known only to a handful of locals. The water has been warmed enough by the afternoon sun for us to take a dip without turning blue ourselves, but still temperate enough for the droplets running in little streams down our salty skin to cool us as we gradually dried.

Winding our way back through the shaded pathway of windswept terrain, radiating from the warmth of the walk and a day under the Spanish sun, the glassy reflection of the lapping waves glimmer in the floor-to-ceiling windows of Mirador de Llaverias, a sun-soaked spot surrounded by white parasols, deck chairs and swaying palm trees delivering exactly what its name promises – a perfect view point to enjoy an evening cocktail, or three. Still tasting the coconut cream from my piña coladas as we’re greeted by the duck-egg blue walls and wicker-basket chairs in the reception of our boutique hotel reminiscent of a simplistic Soho House, I fall asleep dreaming of my discoveries of a secret Spanish Riviera and ready for another day of cliff walks and castles in the sand.