Hola Costa Brava

As a clear affirmation that the Lamonts will get itchy feet literally wherever they are in the world, after just over two months of glorious Provence exploring we were fairly desperate for a change of scene.

Ironically it was largely a more relaxed, holiday restaurant vibe that got us hunting for seaside options – we love the food scene around here but it can be a bit stuffy, especially when the weather is not quite warm enough for al fresco eating (heavy leather chairs, white tablecloths and foie gras everywhere you look). Service hours are also very un-Continental, lunch cuts off at 1.30, and dinner by 9. I say ironically in that of course we forgot about our total inability to enjoy said restaurant vibe with these girls in tow.

Initial plan was to continue Eadie’s first birthday celebrations by hitting up a rosé festival down near Bandol and head onto an idyllic, peaceful French Riviera seaside town – I suspect so idyllic that it doesn’t actually exist. The Riviera doesn’t seem to be aware of the ‘last minute deal’ concept – serious €€ for largely 1960s resort rooms – so we went west instead, all the way to España.

One more perk to life in Provence is the 4 hr drive down to the Spanish seaside (and 2.5 to skiing the slopes, 4 to Piedmont red drinking in Italy, 4 to – I’m not sure what – in Geneva – you get the gist).

Inevitably 4 hrs became 5.5 hrs what with the endless wee stops (we’re facing some serious potty regression at the moment), and a decision to take the scenic route. Us islanders are still amazed when one drives across an international border with nothing to show for it but a flag (and Alba shouting HOLA SPAIN!) – although the fierce Catalan (independent) spirit was soon laid bare through the streets leading us to our destination.

Hitting the sea air made the journey all worth it – beautiful views, incredible crystal clear waters and beaches that would rival Southeast Asia. Ah Europe we’ve missed you!

We got a good last minute deal at the perfectly located Aiguablava Hotel (between Playa Fornells and Playa Aiguablava, and about a 10 minute drive from Begur. The hotel has been passed down through generations, and my Scottish Grandfather hung out there before married life. The majority of guests may well have been hanging out with him at the same time (we brought the average age down somewhat) but I can see why they have a big repeat bookings market.

Arriving at lunch time immediately presented our first Spanish challenge – feeding children. I am unsure what the Spanish (a little like the French) do with their kids at mealtimes. Home cooking until they’re at least 6 I suspect. Cue A LOT of pan con tomate for lunch and dinner, eating on laps/the floor/the car/the buggy – most restaurants open for lunch at 1.30 (going on until 4) and then again at 8 for dinner (including our own hotel restaurant), and no high chair or kids menu in sight. Still beats the French way.

We must have been nuts to attempt an 8pm family dinner out on our first night – lesson very quickly learnt and not to be repeated.

Pizzeta in Begur – came highly recommended by my parents – beautiful garden but too many pebbles and Eadie likes to eat them so we sat inside. But the menu featured Thai curry, pasta, pizza and the ubiquitous fajita (a strict no-no in our restaurant book) – I’m not sure if we actually got round to eating much of our respective pizzas but we could make better at home (and we make terrible pizzas). So we downed our Rioja and admitted defeat.

Playa Aiguablava

We had a slightly more successful lunch on day two at the wonderful TOC ALMAR on Aiguablava beach (reservations recommended) – reminiscent of pre-baby long beach lunches but brought back to reality with a screaming one year old you’re trying to get to sleep in the carrier for the entire meal. Have the tuna/tomato salad and the anchovies – most people were on the paellas but we’re not big fans – and drink the Albamar. We hadn’t realised how much we’ve missed good Spanish white wine – Luberon supermarkets sell strictly Luberon wine.

Festoon lighting draped above the decked terrace overlooking the beach suggested a fantastic dinner venue – we could see it buzzing from our hotel room at night as we looked on enviously.

Also to be recommended is the 30 minute coastal walk from Fornells to Playa Aiguablava (slightly challenging return walk after another quickly drunk bottle of Albariño, plus children on our respective backs). Alba was also loaded up with her Paw Patrol beach gear, which didn’t help.

Buggy-friendly Begur

Begur is a lovely history-steeped town, overlooked by a little medieval castle. Excellent shopping, yet more gorgeous boutiques I wasn’t allowed to spend any money in (a reminder that I must get a job) and some great (looking) restaurants. El Tapas de Begur bang in the centre of tow sorted us out with some simple pinchos outside of Spanish hours so a good tip for those needing to feed kids at normal kid eating hours.



The hope that these parts might be easier on the wallet than Provence was quickly quashed though – not a cheap part of Spain. But it’s very buggy friendly, which was a delight after fearing dislocated necks pounding the Yoyo along Provençal cobbled streets (Avignon – the worst!).

My parents have stayed here a few times (there’s definitely a bit of a Southwest London/over 60s feel here) and rave about Hotel Aiguaclara – it looks lovely, and set up by a young family from Barcelona who left the city to pursue their boutique hotel dream (resonates with us somewhat).

Franc, or is it Steve?

On a blustery and rather chilly day we ventured down to Llafranc on the recommendation of new breakfast pals (one of the couples who had been returning to the hotel for 40 years). We were welcomed by what looked like a communist party beach training programme for Spanish kids – about 200 of them running amok in identical brown outfits – but it was lunch time so we quickly began our ‘check every menu before returning to the first’ routine along a rather long promenade. By the time we had decided the sun had made its way through, so we bagged a lovely harbour-side table at La Sirena, right at the very end. Recommended (particularly the house mussels and sardines), but we got food envy when we walked back past Jani, which has a delish menu.

Miraculously Ally managed to get Eadie to sleep in the buggy so we settled in for a fun afternoon of hole digging and destructive sand-castling (followed by more sand-eating).

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Restaurant regrets

Heading home from Llafranc we popped by Calella de Palafrugell on another recommendation (thank you Vanessa) – mainly to crush our souls by checking out what looks like a relatively baby unfriendly seafront restaurant Tragamar. We regret not attempting it as it looks right up our street – home inspiring decor, beautiful setting and a mouthwatering seafood-heavy menu.

Home via a confused Perpignan

After checking for last minute hotel deals in Barcelona (we’ve come this far..) we set off for home, with a lunch stop planned in Perpignan. The Sunday Times’ France travel man, Anthony Perigrine, writes with passion about the city just north of the Spanish border, with a hint of a warning that it’s “not for the faint hearted”. We barely scratched the surface, and didn’t even catch a glimpse of its famous Palace of the Kings of Mallorca, but didn’t see anything too crazy.

It has a very Spanish feel (probably the palm trees) and we heard people speaking Spanish, Catalan and French.

After walking about a 10th of the way into the historic centre, we went for a quick lunch at the eclectic and very cool Les Halles Vauban. Too much choice of course, but a great eating and drinking spot with a busy outside bar where Perpignaners drinking away their Thursday afternoon). Andstill in my holiday Spanglish mode, no one was confused by my muchos graciases – the lady at one Italian food stall admitted that the town was a little confused by which language to stick to.