THE JOURNEY

by Derek Blevins 13th January 2017

It is exactly seven years to the day, from I arrived in Benidorm and made this great place my home.

A great time to reflect on what was the most horrendous journey of my life.  I set of from Northern Ireland on 10th January 2010, expecting a journey that would take about 2 days to complete, it took a little more due to a few oversights on my part.

Advertise Here

My journey really starts a few months before setting off from Spain.  I had reliably been informed that you can’t keep a British registered car in Spain for longer than 6 months.  With this bit of information I decided the best option was to buy a car in Northern Ireland which would be cheap enough to scrap in Spain but good enough to make the journey to get me to Spain.  After several trips to the local car auctions and buying a few cheap cars, driving them for a few days and deciding they where no go and putting them back in to the auction to try again, I eventually settle for an old BMW.  It had a few problems like it tended to jump out of first gear and the heater didn´t actually work.  But my journey was long so not much use for first gear, and I was going to Spain so I wouldn´t need a heater.  I decided this was the one that would make it to Spain.

Early on the morning I packed my PA system into the boot and filled the passenger seat to capacity and half of the back seat as well.  I was clever;  the driver’s seat could fully recline for sleeping breaks.  Off I set, at 1pm, leaving behind a temperature of minus 10 to live under sunnier skies.  Just one hour later I was at Larne and boarding the boat for Scotland.  This was going to be easy.  I was already sitting back relaxing, life was good.

Driving off the boat at Sranraer, I headed down the beautiful Scottish coastline heading for the M6.  I had been in England many times so nothing much to see there I thought, get to France as quickly as possible.  Constant driving with only occasional coffee breaks and I was at the channel tunnel late that evening.  I think from memory I caught the 11pm train, and although a little freaked sitting in a cabin in my car and knowing the sea was over the top of me, that part of the journey had all gone to plan.  On arriving in France it was late and feeling tired I decided to rest up for the night.  Thank God I had packed a quilt, the temperature was still negative and the journey had been cold all the way through England, but with the quilt I was able to get a little sleep in a lay-by and prepare for the exciting part of the journey next morning.  I woke and set off at first light on the morning of the 11th.  Having to scrape the frost off the windows before I left, the temperature hadn´t risen much yet, but sure what the hell, Spain was only just over the border in the south.  I’d get warmed up then.  I had been reliably informed to set my Sat Nav to avoid Toll roads.  Apparently I would save myself about 300 quid in tolls and only add at most about 2 hours to my journey.  The roads run almost parallel anyway with the toll roads and are just as good I was told.  So far the information seemed accurate.

I was on motorways admiring the scenery and wondering why French fields don´t have hedges.  Anyway I could see for miles so who cares.  Then it all went pear shaped.  The back of the car started to sway from side to side.  I thought, so much for the cheap car, the back axel must have gone.  I managed to pull the car onto the side of the road, and stepped out to inspect the damage.  On setting foot on the road my foot decided it would prefer to be in the air and my ass hit the road seconds later.  With horror I realised I had been driving at about 70 miles per hour down an ice rink.  It seems I was the only one who realised it, as the cars where passing at typical motorway speeds while I was struggling to even stand up again.  I actually though I am going to slip and fall in front of one of these cars.  Getting back into the car, I decided the best option was to continue my journey at about 20 miles per hour.  Off I set again with cars flying past me at frightening speeds.  They must have been thinking I was a right idiot driving at that speed, but they would have realised the reason about 2 miles further up the road.

Suddenly there was a queue of traffic which appeared to go on for miles.   I m not sure if an accident had caused the initial tailback, I could not see anything ahead other than cars for what seemed like miles.  At first I had a great sense of relief.  I was no longer the only coward on the road driving at 20 miles per hour.  Then it struck me.  How far does this actually go and how long am I going to be here.  With speed now reduced to 10 miles per hour, Spain suddenly seemed like a very long way away.  Furthermore, with no heater and the windows down to avoid the condensation on the windscreen, at ceased every opportunity the traffic stopped to jump out and scrape a little more ice off the windscreen.  Taking great care no to land on my ass each time.  This part of my journey lasted for 200 miles.  Apart from a short break for a bite to eat I was sitting in the one position for about 10 hours.  My back was breaking, my ass was still sore and I was freezing.

At around 10 that evening I decided to give up and call it a day.  Spain would have to wait.  I found a service station where it was possible to get a shower to help warm me up; a decent hot meal and I needed my quilt again.  Somehow I managed to sleep in the same seat I had sat on for 10 hours.  Exhaustion won.

Next morning it seemed a little brighter and the traffic seemed to be moving a little faster now.  I had been driving all day yesterday down though France.  I didn´t really know where I was but I was following a Sat Nav so at least I wasn´t lost.  Spain could not be that much further.   Wrong again.  20 miles per hour for 10 hours is only 200 miles.  200 miles does not even make a start when you driving through France.  That country is much bigger than it looks on the map.  I wasn´t even halfway down there yet.  Thank God I had decided to move to Spain.  I already hated France.  Constant driving, stopping only for coffee breaks and to occasionally scrape the windshield clear (the temperature was still below freezing), I continued driving, and driving and driving.  How big is this bloody country?  Eventually I reached a point where I could see mountains  ahead.  It was already dark, but I was determined to make it to Benidorm that night, (Well I didn´t know I was nowhere near it yet, did I?).

I followed my trusted Sat Nav up into the mountains.  Again there was a sense of pleasure as I got higher and higher in to the mountains and could see the breathtaking scenery even in the dark due to the bright moonlight and the beautiful snow.  What added all the more was the fact that no other cars seemed to be taking this route.  They were all French I presumed and no reason to go to Spain.  I was content although still freezing.  I had my thick coat, hat, scarf and gloves and the quilt thrown over my legs, I would be fine.  There was an unnerving little bit of road where the wheels started to spin slightly going up a hill, and I realised the roads are a little slippery up here again.  Better to slow down a bit.  Then it struck me.  There was no one up here because it wasn´t safe.  There are no road barriers.  The drops on either side of the road are about 100 feet.  It’s frosty and I am up here on my own.  I thought I should turn back, this is crazy.  I looked around and realised the road was far too narrow to risk a three point turn.  I had no choice but to go forward. Ok I thought in that case I am going to stop for the night and carry on in daylight.

But where could I stop.  There was no place to pull in and I had no idea when a lorry or large vehicle might come around the corner and I would be parked in the middle of the road.  Furthermore I realised the temperature was dropping drastically and that to attempt to sleep up there and risk the car not starting next morning, was second only to suicide.  I would almost certainly freeze to death, and by the look of things there might not be another vehicle up here before April.   I had to go on.  Now I am travelling at about 5 miles per hour in a constant upwards direction.  The scenery by now was terrifying.  I suddenly struck me.  I may never see Spain.

I continued my journey all through the night.  I remember at one point thinking, I am actually driving down now more often that I drive up.  Hopefully I am past half way.  This journey took me the entire night.  As dawn was breaking I suddenly came across life again for the first time in the entire Journey over the Pyrenees.  I realised I had reached the Spanish border.  The Spanish Patrol looked at me in shock as I approached them.  I didn´t understand the language but it was probably, “where the hell did he come from” in Spanish.  I think they give me a fool’s pardon to let me pass as I just sat and smiled at them all no matter how aggressive they tried to look.  I was so pleased to see them.

I arrived in Spain on the early hours of the 13th Morning.  It was still snowing.  I was still freezing, but I was happy again.  This seemed like a normal road at last.  I found another service station where I could have a breakfast and stopped to have yet another sleep in the same position I had sat in for almost 3 days now.  My ass was really sore by now.

I’m not sure what time it was when I awoke, but I checked the map on the sat nav.  That didn´t look too bad.  I’m sure I would be in Benidorm within about 6 hours.  Almost there.  I´m not sure if it was because the sat nav was still avoiding toll roads or if it was because I hit something I shouldn’t have when I checked the map.  But almost as soon as I set off the sat nav directed my off the main road and I found myself driving along the coast in the north of Spain, looking at yet more beautiful scenery.  Again, at first I thought, how nice.  The road is going to take me into Benidorm by the coast.  What a nice finish to my journey.  Wrong again.

That coast goes on and on and on for miles.  Have you ever looked at a map and noticed just how many towns there are in Spain called Beni...something.    I never had, so when I come across the first town Beniwhateveritwas, I thought oh I must be getting near Benidorm.  Then I went through Benianother and Benievenmore.  On up past Beniyetagain and Beniwtf.  Next stop Beniallthetime, then Beninotyet, Benimustbeclose, Benistillmileto go and Benithisisajoke.  It took me about 11 hours to drive that dam coast.

At 11pm on the night of the 13th of January I arrived in Benidorm.  I stopped outside Marianos for a bite to eat and walked in to find my good friend from home Gareth Fulton and a good friend whom I had just met while on Holiday in Benidorm just a few months earlier Albi Senior, sitting enjoying the cuisine that only tasted nice out of Marianos once the clock approaches the midnight hour.  I was so relived to be there.  I sat and enjoyed a meal and the craic as we say in Northern Ireland.

Then as everyone got up to head home I suddenly realised.  I had no home to go to.  Hamed, a waiter in Marrianos at the time was kind enough to offer me a room for the night at his house.  Exceptionally generous since he had never met me before and he himself wouldn´t even be there, he was working.  But I was forced to decline.  Everything I owned in the world was in the car.  I wasn´t about to abandon it at the time of night in a town which I had been lead to believe was full of muggers and pea men.  I faced another night in that god awful seat.  Next morning I found an apartment and was able to move the contents of the car to a safe place and spend most of the day in a decent bed.  I was in Benidorm to stay.  But one thing was for sure.

If I ever decided to visit home.  I was flying.

This is now home.....

If anyone has a story to share please email it to This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.

CHARLIE BROWN

My move to Espana in 48 hours! The trials and tribulations…..

After spending over four years working at sea, I knew normality was calling and it was time to settle down – whatever that was!

One evening after working from my home in Nottingham (26th May 2016), I settled on the sofa and watched a documentary about Benidorm. I had visited Benidorm once as a child and we had a horrific experience…so much so, my mother wanted to fly home the next day. I had always associated Benidorm with cheap novelty gifts, hen & stag parties galore and all you can eat Chinese buffets washed down with gallons of larger for a pittance.

Advertise Here

Shortly after the programme I phoned my dad and told him I wanted to move to Benidorm, Spain. He nearly choked on his coffee.

I found a fantastic group on Facebook called ‘Benidorm-Seriously’ who gave me some valuable advice. I truly believe without their continuous guidance and support my spur of the moment idea would become nothing more than a dream.

The following day (27th May 2016), I phoned my manager and explained my intentions and requested a few days off to suss out the local area. Within 24 hours of watching a sixty minute programme on a town I had never visited, a one way flight to Alicante was booked  from East Midlands. I was lucky and found an apartment I loved on-line so arranged a viewing for the following day.

28th May 2016, armed with my worldly possessions – two suitcases weighing just over 50KG, I flew to Alicante. I landed at 10.00am and jumped in a taxi to the Melia hotel where I was staying ready for my 1.00 pm viewing with the estate agent. I rushed into the hotel room and grabbed a shower.

I left the agents contact details in my case and nipped onto my balcony to have a quick cigarette before meeting her in reception. I closed the balcony door behind me only to realise there wasn’t a handle on the outside! It was absolutely scorching (28 degrees plus) and I was stranded on the 18th floor of a  huge hotel. I did my up-most to shout to attract attention but to no avail. I didn’t have any water and started to feel claustrophobic. I managed to contact a friend in Ireland who phoned the hotels reception and explained the situation.

After a long sixty minute wait I was finally released but subsequently had missed my appointment with the estate agent! On the condition it was still available, I did manage to secure a viewing for the following day.

That evening I wondered into town for the Benidorm-Seriously meet. Remember, I had only spoken to these people on the internet and didn’t know what to expect. I was nervous, anxious and even considered giving it a miss but I was greeted and welcomed with open arms. A great night was had by all!

The following day I went to visit the apartment I had spotted on-line. It was brand new, furnished beautifully with a superb view of Benidorm’s skyline and Levante beach. I knew this was the one but decided to play it cool in-front of the agent and told her I’d sleep on it.

Rent prices in Benidorm, like any other popular town or city, vary incredibly. You can rent a room for £10 a day or live in a modern duplex penthouse complete with your own plunge pool for £120 a day. Whilst my soon to be new pad wasn’t a duplex it certainly wasn’t cheap – nearly double the price to other apartments close by. Being naive and slightly immature my budget was much higher than what I could realistically afford. I was still in cruise ship mode, expecting Meriam to appear and ensure I was fed and watered.

Estate Agents in Spain can be unpredictable and I would advise anybody looking at renting or buying to enter any agreement with caution.

Do your homework on the agent first…do they have an office? Can the previous tenants vouch for them? Will they issue a contract before you part with any money? Always, always, always get a receipt as most of these deals are done by cash.

Most agents will charge a new tenant two months deposit (equivalent to two months rent), one month commission (which they keep) and then your first months rent. You very rarely receive your deposit back in Spain as the agency automatically keeps half to pay the landlords commission.

With this in mind, I proposed one months deposit, one month commission and four months upfront and a discount of £50 a month. Eventually after a stressful four hours of negotiation via Google translator they agreed on the condition I paid all of the cash the following day. I agreed and skipped back to my hotel to enjoy a celebratory beer. I whipped out my TSB debit card to pay and it declined! I had already told TSB I was in Spain and last time I’d checked there was over 5K so panic set in and I raced to my hotel room….

…..after spending over thirty minutes frantically trying to login into my internet banking (but failing miserably) I decided to phone their UK call centre. An hour dragged whilst I was passed from one department to another. My dream of collecting the keys tomorrow and living in Spain were rapidly fading.

To make matters worse I had forgotten my telephone banking password! Despite being able to give them certain information only I would know, the fraud department said: “We can’t take the chance, you need to fly back to the UK and present your passport at your local branch”.

After devouring half a packet of cigarettes and a quick G&T I decided to post a Charlie rant on their Facebook page and to my amazement it was shared by a few hundred people.

Miraculously, my debit card was working the following morning. Powers of social media

Albeit stressful, the following week was a great insight to Spanish life. I opened up my first Spanish bank account and took out health insurance with Sabadell – they offer a special account for ‘non residents.’ I arranged for fiber optic internet to be installed with Movistar which I found very expensive – £80 a month if you want a decent connection!

SKY/English TV was another box ticked although it’s not actually SKY but an ex-pat who connects a box to your TV and bills you £35 a month for the privilege.

Finally, a lovely Spanish lady helped me arrange my NIE number at the local police station. I did try and do this on my own but the language barrier made it near impossible. She charged me £100 for her time.

After a stressful but productive week I decided to venture out in Benidorms Old Town. This part of Benidorm boasts quaint narrow cobbled streets with an abundance of alfresco eateries, small local bars and designer shops. There isn’t a motorised buggy in site.

It takes twenty minutes to walk from new Benidorm to the old town but this gentle stroll can be done along the sea front. It’s like visiting two completely different countries.

The old town is renowned for it’s gay friendly bars, outrageous drag queens and is home to one of Europe’s largest gay pride festivals every September.

Unfortunately my evening didn’t end well. I was in a bar and after quite a few sherries I was approached by a young couple who initially seemed very pleasant.

As I had run out of cigarettes they offered to escort me to the nearest tobacconist…big mistake! They led me up a side street and took £200 out of my pocket, waved it in-front of me, kissed me on the cheek and slowly walked off.

I froze.

Adrenaline, anger and sheer frustration at myself for being so naive and trusting. A police car drove by and I explained what had happened but the officers just shrugged their shoulders and drove off! Ever since the incident, I very rarely venture into the old town on my own.

Apart from being mugged in the old town my other fear is cockroaches! I wrote this on Benidorm Seriously (a Facebook group dedicated to helping people in Benidorm and the surrounding area with over 38,000 members!).

"Can anybody tell me about insects here? Are any dangerous that I should look out for?
I’m currently locked in my bedroom after seeing something scuttle along the kitchen floor.
Don’t laugh but I had a full blown panic attack but fortunately my inhaler was in my room.
I’m going to have to ask the agent to come out tomorrow and do a deep clean. It happened halfway through my meal so I didn’t even get to eat properly. I probably shouldn’t of left the food out but I had no choice! Never been so scared. I have a serious phobia of spiders/insects – don’t know why. Dad calls me a wimp but I just go into complete melt down. I didn’t have my glasses on so it could be a scorpion or anything. I think it’s under the sofa now and no I haven’t had a drink. Just going to have to wee in a bottle and wait for the agent to come tomorrow."

My friend Lindsay helped me throughout the evening via Facetime. I would put the call on video mode and hold my phone out the bedroom door to see if she could spot anything scuttling around. After a restless sleep and being tormented on Facebook by my chums, my landlord came the following day and apprehended the naughty insect.

I spent the next few months enjoying and embracing all aspects of Spanish life. Benidorm really is the best of both worlds…the concrete jungle is home to some fabulous tribute acts, comedians and variety shows – on par to a 4* cruise ship.

I particularly enjoy the tribute shows. The old town is home to some gorgeous restaurants where seafood and fresh steak is served on tap.

Bizarrely, it’s impossible to get a Chinese delivery! Despite there being numerous Chinese restaurants, none of them offer a delivery service. My new favourite is Sushi – yup even in Benidorm!

Subconsciously, I was making friends very quickly who now have become my  Spanish family. Granted, I’m quite happy to pull up a pew and talk to anybody but I was overwhelmed with how close the ex-pat community is. I’ve somehow managed to bag myself over eight adopted mums & dads as well as big sisters and brothers.

I’ve been very lucky to have lots of friends come and visit over the year. I somehow managed to persuade my 75 year old Gran who is used to 5* World Cruises on Cunard to visit for a week in August. Gran had an absolute blast, dancing to the Beatles until the early hours and lounging by the pool with her book during the day.

All in all 2016 was a great year for me. I left my life at sea, secured a job I love, moved countries, made some amazing new friends and toured Japan in September with work, HOWEVER, there was something missing. Whilst I enjoy my own company and unwinding in the evening with some naff TV I was starting to get lonely in the apartment by myself.

When I was born 23 years ago, my parents had a dog called ‘Charlie’ who sadly passed away on the same day I arrived. Unsure what to call their new son, Mum & Dad decided on ‘Charlie’……in theory, I was named after a dead dog.

In Spain hundreds of dogs are born each day with a high percentage ending up at dog rescue homes or even worse, abandoned. I’ve seen several stray dogs over the year which breaks my heart. I noticed on a Facebook page that ten puppies had just been born and were in need of a new home ASAP. Another rash decision on my behalf (you can see what’s coming)….

Snoopy has given me a purpose and new lease of life. I adopted him when he was just six weeks old. Three months later he’s turned into a mischievous but love-able rouge. A true babe magnet, I love him dearly. He’s still got a lot to learn but we enjoy afternoons on the beach or chasing next door’s cat – shush! He has become very attached to me but it’s important he keeps mixing with other people.

Last month it became apparent that my apartment wasn’t practical or suitable for both of us. Snoopy needs a bit of outdoor space and I was craving a bath. I was sat in a bar having lunch when I spotted a plush pad in Torre Lugano, a modern complex slightly further away from the hustle and bustle of the main town. The rent was £150 cheaper a month and with two large bedrooms & bathrooms, impressive balcony with spectacular views and a spacious lounge – it really was a no brainer! You guessed it…without even viewing the property I emailed the agent and offered to pay a deposit straight away to secure the property.

A few weeks later, I’m sat on my new balcony now with Snoopy by my side. Despite the torrential rain we’ve had to endure this week, I’m happy and content with how my Spanish dream has panned out.

Charlie’s Top Tips….

• I was already employed by a company in the UK before moving to Spain so had a secure & regular income. Without the job security I doubt I would have ever made the move. If you’re prepared to work long hours for little pay – you’ll be fine – but don’t leave your job in the UK expecting the same wage!

• Always barter with the agents – their commission is negotiable – they would rather take a percentage than none at all!

• Be as sociable and outgoing as you possibly can. Without my Benidorm family, I don’t think I would of made it. Get friendly with your locals. Remember, you need to find them – they won’t find you.

• It’s hard but you must remember you’re here to live and work. Unfortunately, it isn’t one big party. It’s taken me a while to adapt and appreciate that – I would say I’m just about settled and look forward to my nights out at the weekend – you actually enjoy them more!

I hope you’ve enjoyed the read.  A special thank you to Benidorm Seriously – Tracy, Derek & Hazel you deserve an OBE.