"Right. Let's do this properly. I've just returned from a three-night, four-day stag excursion to Alicante and Benidorm, and I've reviewed the NH Alicante so you don't have to. That's N for November, H for Hero. Fitting, really.
Location. It's not in the hustle and bustle of the old town or the marina. It's about ten minutes out, roughly ten euros in a taxi. Some will call that inconvenient. I call it peace and quiet. You can hear yourself think, and in my case that's well worth hearing.
Staff. Very friendly. No complaints. Moving on.
Breakfast: 8 out of 10. A buffet with hot and cold options, and a lovely, unhurried dining room. But I have to talk about the toaster. Once again, continental Europe has shown it simply does not understand toast. This wasn't a conveyor belt. It was a grill, and you stand at it like a man waiting for a bus that may never come. It was quiet while I was there. If it gets busy, there'll be a queue for that thing longer than a Post Office on pension day.
The coffee machines were two bean-to-cup units of the kind you'd find in a dentist's waiting room in Stockport. They weren't plumbed in, so staff kept topping up the water by hand. Charming, but in a rush it'd be purgatory.
The bacon was decent quality but undercooked. Crispy bacon is not a big ask. It's a basic human right, or it should be.
But. They had HP Brown Sauce. HP! In Spain! I nearly wept. They also had pancakes with syrup and those Spanish fried doughnut sticks you dip in chocolate. I called them "churritos" at the counter, then "chorizo", which is a sausage, so not right. They're churros. Delicious either way. I also had pasta in the restaurant at lunch, which was very nice.
Room service: a warning. One afternoon, about 3 or 4pm, I rang down for food after a busy day of activities. Closed. As far as I can tell it runs mornings and lunchtimes, then stops until 8pm. If you get peckish mid-afternoon, you'll go hungry. Plan your snacks the way Rommel planned his supply lines.
The room. A superior room, large, with what I'd confidently call a super king bed. Very comfy. A big TV, but the channels were mostly local, so I watched Sky News International. On a loop. Like a sort of hostage.
The bathroom had a shower over the bath and was a touch dated. There was also a bidet, which I didn't use but which I respect as a statement of ambition. The lighting was dim, which seems to be the fashion now. Hotels have decided we should all dress like we're in a submarine.
Lots of hangers, two nice bathrobes, good towels. The toiletries come in big pump dispensers fixed to the wall, so no more little bottles to take home. Times change. The safe didn't work, but reception sorted it.
There was a nice balcony, sadly facing a main road. I didn't sit out there. I'm a man of leisure, not a traffic survey. There was also a coffee machine, a kettle and a fridge. Good.
The Water Bottle Incident. There were three large glass bottles of water, about 500ml each: one sparkling and two still. One sat by the kettle and the other two were in the fridge. They needed a bottle opener, which was provided. They were replaced every day, which any reasonable man would take to mean "complimentary". At checkout, they tried to charge me for two.
Now, I'd used one to fill the kettle. What was I meant to do, boil the bidet? I raised it politely but firmly, and they took the charges off. Credit to them. My advice to management is a small sign saying "free" or "not free". It's not hard. It's called communication.
Verdict: 4 out of 5. A comfortable, quiet, well-run hotel with a cracking bed and HP Sauce. It's let down by its toast technology, its bacon philosophy and its water-bottle policy. I'd stay again, but I'll bring a Twix for the 3pm famine."
