Dilip Kuner
AS you pass the fleshpots of Benidorm and head north, you’ll feel the Spanish coastline exhale.
The dense clusters of high-rises of the Costa Blanca south, Murcia and Andalucia begin to thin, giving way to more inviting beaches. The air itself feels lighter, sleepier, and altogether more comfortable.
Then finally, as you approach the striking Montgo mountain you arrive in Denia.
Forget Javea to the south, Denia is THE Valencian coastal town that doesn’t need to shout to be heard; it simply is – and has been for a very long time, for two millenia, in fact.
Romans laid the foundations here, before the Moors left an indelible mark, especially on the town’s silent sentinel: a sun-bleached, time-worn fortress.
The Castillo de Denia isn’t aiming for glossy tourist brochures. You won’t find a bustling gift shop in the castle, or flashy signs. Instead, you’ll discover ancient stones, wild fig trees, and a quiet, dusty path from the heart of the town winding up through fragrant pine and rosemary.
Reach the top of the walls, and Denia truly unfolds beneath you, a jumble of terracotta rooftops framed by the turquoise sea on one side and the Montgo on the other.
Within the castle walls, the Museo Arqueologico offers a surprisingly intimate peek into the past, showcasing delicate pottery, Roman coins, and amphorae – echoes of lives lived long ago on the very spots where today you find lively beach bars and tapas joints.
But the town is about much more than simply its castle. Denia has beaches for all personalities. To the north, Les Marines is the classic summer beach – soft, golden sand, umbrellas for hire, and a backdrop of apartment blocks that somehow don’t feel offensive. It’s functional, clean, and easy.
To the south, things get more interesting. Les Rotes is where locals go when they want to avoid the sunbeds and sangria crowd. It’s a rocky, raw stretch of coast, with low cliffs and pebbly coves that slip into clear water. There’s a footpath along the shoreline that winds past fishermen’s huts and 1970s villas, and if you keep walking, you’ll eventually reach the Torre del Gerro, a watchtower with a view worth sweating for.
In between, there’s a beach for every mood – Almadrava is quiet and low-key; Deveses has a touch more drama and is a favourite with kite surfers when the wind picks up.
Up the Montgo
You can’t ignore Montgo. It’s not Spain’s biggest mountain at 753 metres, not even close, but it dominates Denia in a way that makes it feel important.
Locals call it the sleeping elephant – from some angles, you can see the head, the back, the tail. It’s a strange and solid presence, almost mythical, and climbing it is almost a rite of passage.
There are routes for everyone, but the best trail is Cami de la Colonia – a manageable couple of hours through scrubland and over ancient stone terraces.
The scents of thyme and fennel follow you up. On clear days, the view from the top reaches all the way to Ibiza. But beware! The last time I followed the trail an angry wasp buzzed in and stung me on the leg!
Denia itself is the kind of place where locals still live in the old town. That’s increasingly rare along this coast. In the Baix la Mar district – once the fishermen’s quarter – people still lean on windowsills to chat with neighbours, and sometimes you’ll still see octopuses hanging on lines to dry outside front doors.
There’s no rush here. Breakfast is slow, lunch is later, and the evening paseo – a ritual stroll before dinner – is taken seriously.
You don’t need to do much to enjoy the town. Just walk. Stop for a beer. Browse the municipal market (Mercado Central) if you’re in town in the morning – the cheese and tomato stalls alone are worth the visit.
From the marina, you can board a ferry to Mallorca, Ibiza or Formentera – the white boats of Balearia chug out daily during the warmer months.
But you don’t have to go far to get on the water.
There are local boat trips to Cova Tallada, a partially submerged sea cave carved by hand centuries ago.
It’s moody and beautiful, especially if you catch the light just right. The water here is sparklingly clear, and snorkelling is a no-brainer. But it’s also worth just sitting on a rock and taking it all in: the way the light bounces, the smell of salt and seaweed, the lapping water inside the cave’s mouth.
Creative cuisine
And when it is time to eat, you are in the right place. Denia’s been recognised as a UNESCO Creative City of Gastronomy since 2015, which usually signals inflated prices and overwrought menus. But here, it still feels local, even when it’s fancy.
If you want the high-end stuff, go to Quique Dacosta – a three-Michelin-star restaurant that’s about as close as you’ll get to experimental food without it turning into theatre.
For something more grounded, head to Casa Federico, El Pegoli or El Farallo, where the seafood is local, the rice dishes are slow-cooked, and the prawns – Denia’s own, fat and crimson – are served with nothing more than coarse salt and olive oil.
Tapas bars line Calle Loreto, many of them in old townhouses with shuttered windows and cool courtyards. Some are slicker than others, but even the most basic bar will serve up excellent calamari and a glass of cold.
Denia has a few museums, none of them big, all of them personal. The Toy Museum is unexpectedly moving – not because of the toys themselves (though the wooden trains and tin cars are charming), but because it speaks to a time when Denia was a working town, with factories and trade and hands-on craft. Indeed, the town was famous throughout Spain for its hand-made toys.
The Museo Etnologico, tucked into a 19th-century house, gives similar vibes – a glimpse of what life was like when people made a living drying raisins, not renting out holiday flats.
Denia’s calendar is dotted with fiestas, many of them seemingly designed to set things on fire.
The fallas – where giant effigies are burned, as they do in nearby Valencia city – has already happened – but there is plenty to come.
Sant Joan, on the night of June 23/24, was traditionally a night of beach bonfires and mild chaos – locals jumping flames for luck and swimming after midnight.
The beach bonfires are no more – they were banned in 2022 – but a range of different activities have taken their place.
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From August 13 to 16, the town hosts its famous Moros y Cristianos festival – more pageantry than historical reflection, with mock battles, processions and a lot of cannon fire. It’s loud, crowded and very, very Spanish.
Denia also works well as a base. From here, it’s an easy drive to Javea, a slightly glossier coastal town with equally stunning beaches and decidedly more English menus. Or head inland to L’Albarda Gardens, a manicured take on Mediterranean horticulture, all symmetry and shade and trickling water.
Altea, with its whitewashed houses and hilltop church, is about an hour away, and makes for a good day trip if you’re after something a bit more arty.
It’s hard to say exactly why Denia works so well. It’s not showy. It doesn’t push itself on you. Maybe that’s the point. You can climb a mountain, swim in a cave, eat prawns so fresh they were twitching that morning – and still be back at your digs in time for a quiet beer on the balcony.
Denia doesn’t try to be perfect. It just is. And once you’ve been, you’ll wonder why more people haven’t caught on. But then again – maybe it’s better that way.
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