Tourist Pet Hates Costa Blanca North: Beachwear in Shops & Speedos in Bars

Hola Terrace Crew! ☀️🍷

Pull up a lounger, grab something very cold, and let’s have a chat about one of the gloriously ridiculous things that happens every summer here in Costa Blanca North.

We’re almost at the end of summer 2026, and you can feel it. The heat is still sticky, the sangria is still flowing… and the collective patience of the residents is hanging by a very thin thread.

You’ve just driven around for a full hour looking for a parking space that doesn’t involve three-point turns on a one-way street, only to watch a tourist reverse into the last remaining spot while wearing a look of pure triumph. Then, as you finally walk away muttering, you nearly get flattened by another visitor cheerfully going the wrong way down a one-way street, map held upside-down, looking mildly surprised that the locals are pointing and shouting.

Tempers are frayed. The air-con in every car is working overtime. And yet, somehow, a few visitors still manage to raise the bar of summer chaos even higher…

Wearing Full Beachwear in the Supermarket

Nothing quite prepares you for the sight of a sunburnt gentleman in tiny swim shorts and sandy flip-flops carefully choosing avocados in Mercadona. Or the lady in a bikini top and see-through kaftan standing in the frozen aisle looking slightly confused by the temperature.

It’s not a fashion crime exactly… It’s just that the supermarket is not the beach. Sand trails across the floor, the air-con hits bare skin like a personal insult, and the poor cashier has seen it all before with the eye roll.

Speedos in the Bar After Dark

There is a time and a place for the classic European Speedo. That place is roughly three metres from the water’s edge. It is not the bar at 9 pm when the rest of us are trying to enjoy a quiet drink.

I’ve lost count of the times I’ve watched someone stroll in still damp from the sea, order a large gin and tonic, and look faintly surprised that a few people avert their eyes. Confidence is wonderful. Lycra after sunset is… optional.

The Hotel Lobby Towel Look

Hotel receptions are not an extension of the sun lounger. Walking through in wet swimwear with a towel draped like a Roman emperor is not the power move some people think it is. The receptionist has already dealt with seventeen versions of this today. She is not impressed. She is just calculating how much sand is now in the carpet.

Flip-Flops as Formal Footwear

The soft slap-slap-slap of wet rubber on restaurant tiles has become the unofficial soundtrack of high summer. Some of us would genuinely prefer the sound of a mosquito. Although I do love my Haviannas every year, so I can’t complain.

The Towel-Around-the-Waist Situation

You know the one. A gentleman decides that a hotel towel wrapped low around the hips counts as “getting dressed for dinner.” Physics always wins. Gravity is undefeated. And the table next door does not need the plot twist with their paella.

Sunburn as a Fashion Statement

We have all been sunburnt in our past, but there’s something uniquely optimistic about turning up to the evening bar glowing like a nuclear warning sign, still in yesterday’s beach clothes, and looking surprised when the air-conditioning feels personal. SPF is not a suggestion; it’s a must in Spain and a public service.

True-ish Tales from Costa Blanca North: When Tourists Went Rogue

The northern stretch of the Costa Blanca is meant to be the slightly more relaxed, slightly more elegant end of the coast. Think old inland towns, beautiful blue-domed churches, proper seafood, and far fewer high-rise karaoke bars and hotels. And yet every summer a few visitors still manage to go full rogue.

The Calpe Mercadona Moment

Last August a man walked into the big Mercadona near the salt flats wearing nothing but a pair of microscopic turquoise Speedos, flip-flops, and an extremely confident tan. He filled a trolley with six bottles of Rioja, a family-size bag of crisps and an entire leg of jamón. When the cashier gently suggested a shirt might be nice, he replied with complete sincerity: “But it’s only shopping. I’m not going to a wedding.” He paid, left a sandy trail, and wandered back out looking very pleased with himself. The jamón stayed under his arm. The Speedos stayed triumphant.

The Altea Old-Town Escalation

In the pretty cobbled streets leading up to Altea’s famous blue-domed church, a couple decided that “smart casual for dinner” meant the same wet swim shorts and bikini they had been wearing on the beach two hours earlier, plus one shared hotel towel worn like a toga. They attempted to claim a table on a terrace with a sea view. The waiter (who has seen things) simply placed two large menus in front of them and said, perfectly politely: “Would sir and madam like to order… or would sir and madam like a larger towel first?” They ordered. The towel stayed. The photos did the rounds on local WhatsApp groups for days.

The Jávea Market Marathon

One Tuesday morning at the weekly market in Jávea, four British lads arrived in full beach mode: board shorts, no tops, salt-crusted hair and the kind of optimism that only comes after three days of unbroken sunshine. They spent a happy hour sampling cheeses, olives and local wine while bare-chested. When one of them tried to haggle over a handmade leather bag while still dripping seawater, the stallholder simply pointed at a nearby clothes stall and said, “First the shirt. Then we talk business.” They bought four identical white T-shirts on the spot, put them on over damp chests, and continued shopping with the proud air of men who had just discovered civilisation.

We’re not asking for three-piece suits and brogues, Terrace Crew. We’re just asking for a thin layer of fabric between the holiday body and the rest of the world once you leave the sand. A T-shirt. A pair of actual shorts. Maybe even shoes that don’t go flap.

The beach is for beachwear. The supermarket, the bar, the restaurant, the hotel lobby, and especially the charming old towns of Costa Blanca North… are not.

I’ve seen it all over the last twenty years, and I still smile every time. Because of all the sand in the supermarket aisles and the unexpectedly lycra-clad at dinner, most people are just having the time of their lives. And that, in the end, is what this coast is all about.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to hide behind a large sangria until September. See you on the other side — preferably wearing something with at least two straps.

With sun, sea and a bit of gentle side-eye,

Joanne xx