My home for a month, in Calle del San Antonio, where my neighbours take life slowly and I have made friends already, if only of the canine variety.
A place of squares this, and al fresco dining, steps and side alleys. When I first arrived a young lad sang in Arabic in the street, unaccompanied. No busker this, he was singing for the sheer joy of it, and what a voice, rising upwards between the tall buildings.
A jumble of architecture, new and old with the occasional dilapidated gem, windows open to the elements once again, a roost for birds. Imagine the enticing rooms inside and winding stairs long unfamiliar with the footfalls of former inhabitants. The same story the length of Europe.
Old ladies sit in the street, noting your passing. Wise with their years.
Sento, a tapas bar full of raucous life where as a lone traveller I feel welcome. The Spanish make no enquiries of you or demand your reasons. I like that. Seville enchanted me, but Old Town Alicante has something extra.
A short walk to the harbour front, and a woman fires bread for the birds with a catapult. My trip is complete.