Costa Blanca arrived loud, sunny, and completely uninterested in subtlety. Benidorm especially looks like it was built by someone who asked, “What if the beach… but vertical?” Skyscrapers rise straight out of the sand while below them life happens at full volume — umbrellas popping open like confetti, waves slapping the shore with confidence, and people absolutely committed to doing nothing in the most serious way possible.

In Benidorm, things turn gloriously dramatic. Towers lean into the sky with full main-character confidence while the beach below runs on pure chaos and sunscreen. The sea looks calm from a distance, but step in and it grabs your ankles like an overfriendly dog. Long shoreline walks become people-watching marathons — accents from everywhere, laughter carried by the breeze, and locals moving with the relaxed certainty of people who know they’ve chosen the right address.

Up the coast, things mellow out. Denia swaps noise for boats, nets, and that gentle harbor smell of salt and yesterday’s fish stories. Fishing boats nap against the pier, gulls supervise everything with suspicion, and time slows to a pace that makes checking the clock feel unnecessary and vaguely rude. One drink turns into two, two into “let’s just sit a bit longer,” and suddenly the afternoon has vanished.

Teulada and the nearby coves seal the deal. Rocky edges, absurdly blue water, and beaches that feel like secrets you’re not supposed to tell anyone about. People float, swim, and disappear into the sea like they’ve solved something important about life. Costa Blanca doesn’t try to impress you — it just casually convinces you that summer should probably be permanent.