Christmas and New Year in Jávea: a Mediterranean midwinter

Christmas with the heating optional

A Jávea Christmas confuses newcomers in the pleasantest way. The lights are up, the nativity scenes are out, the supermarkets are stacked with turrón — and it is 17 degrees and you are eating lunch on a terrace in sunglasses. Spain takes Christmas seriously; the Mediterranean simply refuses to take winter seriously at the same time. The result is a season with all the warmth of the northern version and almost none of the weather, running from early December right through to the Kings in January — because here, crucially, Christmas ends late, not on Boxing Day.

What December feels like

Expect strings of bright, still days ideal for coastal walks, cool nights that justify the fireplace, and the occasional wet spell to keep everyone honest. The sun sits low and golden all day, which flatters the old town enormously. It is jacket-in-the-shade, shirtsleeves-in-the-sun weather — the kind northern Europeans fly four hours specifically to obtain.

Lights in the three towns

Jávea is really three towns — the historic centre on its hill, the port, and the Arenal — and each dresses for Christmas in its own way, which makes the evening lights tour a genuine three-act outing. The old town takes the crown, as it takes most crowns: lights strung across the narrow tosca-stone streets, the fortress church floodlit, the square with its nativity scene, and shop windows doing their annual competitive best. Timings drift year to year, but the switch-on generally lands in early December and the display runs right through to Reyes in January — Spain does not dismantle Christmas on Boxing Day. The port keeps things maritime and pleasingly low-key, lights along the harbour front and the fishermen's church at the centre of it, while the Arenal adds a slightly surreal seaside gloss: palm trees wound in fairy lights, carols drifting over a beach promenade, diners in December sunshine. Touring all three of an evening, ideally with hot chocolate, is the season's simplest and best pleasure.

• Old town: the classic — lights, nativity scenes and church-square atmosphere
• Port: quieter, salty, with the fishermen's church at its heart
• Arenal: palm trees in fairy lights and carols by the sea

Nochebuena versus Christmas Day

The Spanish rhythm inverts the British one, and knowing this saves a visit. The main event is Nochebuena — Christmas Eve — when families gather for the longest feast of the year: seafood by the platter, lamb or suckling pig, turrón, and conversation that runs to the small hours, with midnight mass for the traditional. Restaurants either close so their own families can do exactly that, or serve one grand set menu and shut the kitchen early. Christmas Day itself is gentler by design: a slow morning, another substantial lunch — this one increasingly borrowing turkey and trimmings from the internationals — and a digestive walk along the front. For visitors the practical points are simple: book the 24th well ahead or plan to cook, expect the 25th to feel surprisingly calm, and understand that the calm is not neglect but pacing — Spain is saving its energy for the Kings.

The Christmas Day swim

Somewhere late on Christmas morning, a cheerful crowd gathers on the Arenal in dressing gowns and Santa hats, and at the appointed moment charges into a sea of around 15 degrees to considerable applause. The Christmas swim has become a genuine Jávea tradition, equal parts charity fundraiser, expat institution and excellent spectator sport. Participation is optional; the vermouth afterwards is apparently not. Even as a spectator it is a superb start to the day — arrive before noon, bring a coffee, and applaud people braver than yourself. Details vary by year, so check locally for the exact time and cause.

Fifteen degrees of sea, three hundred lunatics, one very good morning.

A veteran of several Arenal Christmas swims

Turrón, roscón and the Christmas table

The season has its own larder, and it is worth exploring properly. Turrón — the almond nougat whose spiritual home, Jijona, is just down the coast — appears in every house in both canonical forms: duro, the hard Alicante style that tests dental work, and blando, the soft one that tests restraint. Around it orbit marzipan, polvorones, mantecados and mountains of seafood for the Nochebuena table — the fish market's busiest week of the year, with prawn prices to match. In January the roscón de Reyes takes over: a ring-shaped, orange-scented brioche crowned with candied fruit, served for breakfast on the 6th and hiding a figurine and a dried bean. Find the figurine and you are crowned king of the table; find the bean and, by cheerful tradition, you are buying next year's roscón. The local bakeries take orders days ahead and sell out anyway — join the queue early.

New Year and the twelve grapes

Spanish New Year's Eve — Nochevieja — comes with the country's best-loved ritual: twelve grapes, eaten one per chime at midnight, for twelve months of luck in the year ahead. It is considerably harder than it sounds and funnier than it should be, especially watched from close range. The evening's shape is fixed: a late family dinner or a restaurant gala menu, then out with the grapes for midnight — crowds gather at the church square in the old town and along the Arenal — followed by cava corks going off like artillery and a night that carries on very late indeed, for the young via the bars and for everyone else via somebody's terrace. New Year's Day is nationally, officially slow. The first swim of the year on the Arenal and the first walk up the Montgó are both well-established recovery rituals, performed with sunglasses and quiet dignity.

Reyes: the real gift day

Ask a Spanish child about the 25th and you get polite interest; ask about the Kings and you get fervour. The Three Kings — los Reyes Magos — bring the presents on the night of 5 January, and Jávea's celebration leans on its harbour: the Kings traditionally arrive by boat at the port before parading through town, throwing sweets to a pavement of hysterical children. The 6th is the quiet, present-strewn morning; the roscón is sliced; and only then does Christmas officially stand down.

What is open, honestly

The honest picture: Jávea in late December is a living town of thirty thousand people, not a resort in hibernation, so supermarkets, bakeries, pharmacies and a solid core of restaurants keep going throughout the season. But the calendar has its trapdoors. The 24th and 31st see kitchens close early or switch entirely to set menus; the 25th and 1st are the two quietest days of the Spanish year, when even the reliable places may rest; and 6 January is a full public holiday with Sunday-style opening. A further wrinkle for January visitors: once Reyes has passed, a fair number of restaurant owners begin their own annual holidays, having fed everyone else's celebrations for a month. None of this remotely ruins a visit — it just rewards a little forward booking, a glance at the holiday calendar, and a well-stocked fridge on the two or three key dates.

The season by the numbers

The key dates on one card — the Spanish Christmas calendar runs longer and later than the northern version.