Calle Gerona is Benidorm’s main strip and walking down its deserted pavements on Tuesday you could have been in any off-season resort town, until you saw the chap in racing silks. Here was an early faller in Festival week, leaning on a windowsill and holding his head as if suffering a premonition of his hangover.
The road is empty because the bars on either side are packed. Cheltenham week has become an unlikely boom time on this stretch of the Med, as Brits come in vast numbers to watch races that are taking place much closer to home. Roughly a thousand are around the pool at the Marina Resort and gazing at the largest big screen in town. The first race of the day is about to start, the skies are clear, it is 19C and shirts of any variety seem to have gone out of fashion.
For such a large crowd there is remarkable consensus about the appeal of Alicante over the Cotswolds. It is well summed up by Paul Berry: “It’s an amazing place to go. Cheap drinks. The sun. It’s just amazing, mate.” The Cheltenham Roar is rivalled by the Benidorm Bellow at the start of the Supreme Novices’ Hurdle. There are joyful cheers when 6/4 favourite Kopek Des Bordes comes in first, a win made sweeter by the TV coverage mentioning an “icy breeze” blowing over the course.
Faint praise warning, this is one of the smartest hotels on the Benidorm strip. Pints are around the €6 (£5) mark, but you could be down the road at Med23 Pub in less than five minutes and sinking Heineken draught for €2 a time. The estimates among tourists for what a beer costs back at Cheltenham keep going up throughout the day, like an old fishing story, topping out at £11 according to one disgusted reveller. Most are not far off the true £7.80 mark, roughly what you will pay at Tiki City here for a pitcher of Fat Frog: lots.
Several who have made this punting pilgrimage are former Cheltenham attendees. The North East feels particularly well represented judging by the number of Newcastle, Middlesbrough and Sunderland shirts, although many live closer to the course and still see better value in Spain. Kevin, a keen racegoer at home, comes here every year for Festival week and is in lime green and black silks for the occasion. “I’m roasting. If my next horse wins I’m going in the pool.”
He recommends following Willie Mullins all week but does not wish to give me his own surname, instead pointing me to his TikTok with more than 40,000 followers – bigballs162b. “Everyone just wants a party, don’t they? They want fun, a couple of drinks and everyone’s so friendly.” He would not be tempted back to Cheltenham for the Festival, despite living relatively nearby in Exeter. “It’s £110 to get in and £150 on the train. We’re staying in a lovely hotel here which we paid £150 for and the flight was £67.”
Glyn Williams and Craig Moore are both from Bristol with a party of 15 friends ranging in age from 21 to 83. They keep control of their thoroughbreds as we speak: Nee Chance and My Little Pony. Both are inflatable, although Williams claims My Little Pony was sired by Istabraq. “She’s very well kept, she does like a sugar cube every now and again,” says Moore before taking in his surroundings. “It’s glorious sunshine, the atmosphere is great, what more could you ask for?”
There is certainly an absence of the crowdedness, punchy pricing and transport hassle which have become unavoidable features of Cheltenham. Guy Lavender, the chief-executive of Cheltenham Racecourse, was moved to publish an open letter last week admitting crowds were likely to be down. “The decline is not catastrophic but nor are we seeing growing attendances.”
Robert Donnellan is a regular attendee and has noted a decline. “It’s not as much fun as it used to be. The vibe has changed a little bit, the love of the racing isn’t as central as it used to be. The balance between people who absolutely love it and people who have heard it’s really great and just want to come for the craic has massively shifted.”
But if queues and cost were really so unpalatable, attendance numbers would be dropping at a faster rate. There is still so much to recommend the real thing. “When you walk in at the top of the course, turn the corner and the finishing line is at the top of this massive hill which looks out across the Cotswolds, everyone I’ve ever taken there has gone ‘oh right, I get this’,” says Donnellan. “When there’s an exciting, competitive race and they turn the corner at the bottom of the hill and the crowd starts cheering, oh my God, that is not replicated at any other racecourse.”
Back in Benidorm, the bar and hotel owners are in great form, not yet ground down by a full summer of rowdy tourists. “The summer of Benidorm starts now, with the races,” Sara Puigcerver tells me. She is head of marketing for Marina and says the hotel would usually be at around 60 per cent occupancy during midweek days in March. For Cheltenham week it is close to capacity.
Its bars are open 24 hours a day and patrons are taking advantage. I count 20 bottles, a mix of live and empty, on one table for three. It is not yet 3pm. Everything at the hotel is adapted for British tastes this week, more of the food and booze which sells best to UK visitors. The staff who speak the best English have been put on the rota and there is some light-touch security in operation but Puigcerver says: “It’s a big party, not a big crazy party.”
I feared the worst on my early flight from Gatwick, which included several kiddies and biddies with a couple of groups of lads with mischief in their eyes. One trio stowed their sombreros neatly in an overhead locker but another gentleman boarded the plane unknowingly carrying a Bluetooth speaker hidden in his bag, turned up to maximum volume. An elite banter assassin then played some pornographic noises through it.
You might expect standards to slip from there, leading to a full breakdown of societal norms before sunset, but the vibe is far friendlier in Spain, bordering on mellow. One furtive-looking team of topless men have formed a circle in a secluded corner near the pool. Such secrecy on a racecourse is often masking a packet of something illicit. Here they are comparing betting slips.
Queues for the toilets, a frequent pain for Cheltenham attendees, are short and good-humoured. One man opens a cubicle door without realising it is occupied. “Sorry mate.” Then a beat. “Do you want to cross swords?”
“Can do if you want,” is the unflustered reply from behind the door. “I guarantee you’ve got a bigger one than mine.”
By time of the Champion Hurdle the clouds have rolled in and most tops have been put back on. It is a thrilling race and the audience is rapt and emotive. Few are on the winner, 25/1 shot Golden Ace. Bet slips are torn up and some rude words are shouted. The smell of cigarettes is unavoidable now. This being the feature race, there is a mass exodus immediately afterwards. Soon it starts raining. Close your eyes and you could be on the course.
