In a less technical blog entry, come with me on a soggy, scenic road trip to the legendary Costa Blanca Pub – The Black Flame.
The famous tongue-twister goes: “The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain.” But today, it feels like someone rewrote the lyrics just for us.
Right… repeat after me, slowly now:
The rain in Spain… falls mainly… on the MontePego plain.
Yup. Turns out that old pronunciation exercise wasn’t just a vocal warm-up for Eliza Doolittle, it was apparently a sneaky weather forecast for this corner of the Costa Blanca.
Monte Pego, perched in the hills above Pego and not far from Dénia on Spain’s northern Costa Blanca, is usually the stuff of postcard dreams: panoramic views stretching from rugged mountains to the glittering Mediterranean, palm trees catching golden sunlight, winding roads promising epic drives. Today? Not so much.
The hills are shrouded in thick mist. Grey clouds hang low like a heavy blanket. The roads glisten like rivers, slick with relentless rain. Even the palm trees are swaying dramatically in the wind, looking more windswept and waterlogged than tropical paradise. The ‘costa’ has completely forgotten its job, and the ‘blanca’ has switched to full rain-god mode proper British-weather-transplanted-to-Spain levels of damp.
I set off this morning full of optimism. The plan was simple: a quick, sunny road trip with my eldest daughter Teagan. We’d cruise through the Monte Pego area, stop at a few viewpoints for those classic sea-and-mountain shots, maybe explore some hidden corners of the hills, and cap it all off at the legendary Black Flame Bar & Grill in nearby Pedreguer. There, we’d settle in for a proper Full English breakfast (or whatever hearty equivalent they were serving that day), hot coffee, perhaps a roaring fire if the weather stayed miserable, and that warm, welcoming expat-pub atmosphere the place is known for.
What I didn’t account for was the Monte Pego plain having entirely different plans.
The reality hit fast: roads turning into shallow streams, visibility dropping to almost nothing in the thicker clouds, viewpoints that should have been sweeping panoramas reduced to foggy white walls. We were sliding our way through the hills above Pego and Dénia, windshield wipers on frantic double-time, testing just how waterproof my new Meta glasses really are (spoiler: they’re holding up better than my optimism at this point).
And yet… somehow, it’s still weirdly beautiful?
There’s a moody, atmospheric charm to it all. The rain softens the edges of the landscape, turning the greens lusher, the occasional bursts of color from roadside flowers more vivid against the grey. The mist drifting over the valleys creates layers of depth that sunny days can’t match. Teagan and I found ourselves laughing at the absurdity here we are, chasing “epic views” in what feels like a relocated Manchester morning, yet the car is filled with that cozy road-trip energy: music on low, snacks half-eaten, dad-daughter banter bouncing back and forth.
So today became the full damp adventure. We navigated slippery bends, hunted for any surviving panoramic spots that weren’t completely fogged out, marveled at how quickly paradise can flip to atmospheric drama, and kept our eyes on the prize: reaching our holy grail, the Black Flame Pub.
Because if you’re going to get properly soaked on the Costa Blanca, you might as well end up somewhere that knows how to make the best of it. A place with good grub (think hearty English classics done right), hot drinks to chase away the chill, a proper welcome fire crackling if the weather gods cooperate, and that unmistakable sense of community that draws expats and locals alike.
The rain in Spain may fall mainly on the MontePego plain today, but the memories we’re making? Those are crystal clear, no matter how grey the sky gets.
