I'm standing on the beach, but the beach is gone. Instead of miles of white sand and clear blue Mediterranean waters, there are now massive piles of debris stretching along the coast, fading into the horizon.
The debris is stacked high in mounds, separated by lower stretches of rubble. It looks like the city bulldozers, usually here at dawn to smooth the sand, came early to build a grim mountain range of broken things.
I walk up to the first pile, hardly believing it.
Yesterday, this was still a beach—sand, surf, and the occasional beach bar. Now, the sand lies buried under rubble, reeds, baby flip-flops, and car panels, all washed down from the devastating Valencia floods, 40 miles up the coast.
Aragon is a high, arid desert stretching from the Pyrenees in Northern Spain to the Ebro Valley and southward to Teruel and the Valencia border. It's hot in summer and cold in winter, when its red desert land is coated with snow. George Orwell served in Aragon’s badlands during the Spanish Civil War and wrote about how the machine gun nests on the hills looked almost beautiful in the winter snow.
It’s summer now, and we walk along a dusty dirt track surrounding the ruins of Belchite. I pause to examine an old Mudejar-style church, scarred by bullet holes and mortar blasts. Across the street lies a destroyed village—a vortex of torn bricks, adobe, and plaster piled behind barely standing facades. Empty balconies open to nothing but destruction. I snap a few shots with a 22-millimeter lens, wishing I had my zoom lens, but it’s back in the car.
Despite its ruin, the church retains a certain dignity and exoticism, especially in the intricate Mudejar decorations on its minaret-like tower. Arabesque designs in red plaster, stars, and geometric figures adorn the tower—once, these skills decorated mosques. In Aragon, history lives in buildings and landscapes, and nothing tells the history of this land better than this ruined church destroyed during the Spanish Civil War in 1937.
It's late at night, and darkness engulfs us as I drive southbound on Highway AP-7 between Barcelona and Tarragona. I am thinking of the Roman Empire because Highway AP-7 follows the ancient Roman road, the Via Augusta, which once linked Cadiz with Rome.
Traffic is light, but mosquitoes swarm the car, challenging visibility. Our windshield wiper fluid is exhausted, leaving smeared bugs obstructing the view.
Every few kilometers, electronic signs in Catalan, French, English, and Castilian warn about highway robbers.
I smirk, imagining Roman travelers worrying about highwaymen.
A sign announces a pit stop to view the "Pont del Diable," the Devil's Bridge. There's no mention of its Roman origins, Emperor Augustus's involvement, or its 2000-year history—just "The Devil's Bridge," a name very fitting for a robbery spot under this night's cloak.
Food is a religion in Spain, and perfectly prepared seafood, rice dishes (paellas), and embutidos (jamón Ibérico) represent the Holy Trinity of coastal cuisine among the top-end restaurants along the Costa Blanca.
Restaurant owners on the Costa Blanca know their trade well and offer top-notch food and service, often boasting a loyal local following. However, challenges do arise when their local slice of coastal paradise becomes a haven for tourists and expats from northern Europe (and more recently North America), who may or may not be familiar with the local cuisine’s more “traditional” aspects.
When one thinks of Spain, the image of a steaming paella often dances through our collective minds. It's practically a culinary postcard from España—a cliché. But hold onto your forks! Upon touching down in Valencia, some of you might be shocked to discover that what we've been calling Paella all this time is actually called "Arroz a la Marinera"—a delightful mix of rice, saffron, and seafood. But how about the "real" Valencian paella? Well, that's a different dish, loaded with rabbit and snails and eaten only during the day, ideally on or near the beach, surrounded by family. Oh, and the rice? It must be super al dente. Culture shock. I know.
Benidorm is the beach resort that put Spanish overtourism on the map before it was trendy. It has a reputation for being a cultural wasteland (think geriatric British larger louts and kebab and curry shops under the Spanish sun), so we've gone here to find out if its reputation is warranted.
Could it be that Benidorm's reputation is unwarranted? I've heard from plenty of Spanish tourists from Madrid who love Benidorm. Could thousands of Madrileños that visit Benidorm every year be wrong?
So, let’s find out if Benidorm is a misunderstood gem or if it deserves its legendary reputation.
What do Michael Jordan, Paris Hilton, and Leonardo Di Caprio have in common (apart from their celebrity status)? They are known to regularly charter luxury yachts to enjoy the Mediterranean coasts of Spain and the Baleares Islands.
The fact is that all three of them have been recently spotted off the coast of Ibiza enjoying a well-earned rest (I’m sure) aboard a rented luxury yacht. And as long as A-list celebrities (and why not B-list and D-list celebrities) need to rent luxury yachts for their Spanish Mediterranean vacation, they might as well rent them from your yacht charter business. Right?
There is no point in being unambitious in your line of work (chartering luxury yachts). The cost of not aiming high enough is failure, and you didn’t get into the yacht charter business to fail, correct?
The allure of yachting along the Mediterranean coasts of Spain, particularly the Baleares Islands and the Costa Blanca, is undeniable. These destinations regularly attract high-end clientele from around the world, including the aforementioned Hollywood celebrities and sports stars who keep coming back year after year (and tell their other celebrity friends about how well they were treated in this particular yacht charter or other).
But how can your yacht charter company get in on the action and stay on top every season?
The Estero Beach Resort is the best hotel in Ensenada. It's a heaven of subdued luxury on a spot privileged by nature. It sits across the waters from a great sandbar that forms a natural lagoon with a long and wide beach on its ocean-facing side. At the tip of the sandbar, there's a deep and narrow tidal channel with the Estero Beach Resort on the mainland shore and a sandy beach claimed by sea lions on the opposite bank. Beyond the sand bak, the Pacific Ocean roars un-pacifically as six-foot waves chase each other up and down the coast, painting the shoreline in froth and blue walls of cold water that few dare to surf.
Mexico City Noir: Life Under The Volcanoes. A street photography journey to Mexico City by Max Milano
