100 Years of History in Calp

At the beginning of the 20th century, Calp was a small fishing village of just over 1.800 inhabitants, isolated from the world by bridle paths and connected to Alicante only by stagecoach, a journey that cost 4 pesetas and required hours on a dusty road. There was no tourism as we know it today. There were travelers.

"Calp (town, 1879 inhabitants). Port. Dry salt flats. Church. Our Lady of the Snows. Hermitage on a small hill. Ancient walls that do not surround the outskirts." — Manuel González Simancas, archaeologist and military officer, 1907

The difference is important: the 19th-century traveler was not looking for beaches or sun. A well-to-do bourgeoisie arrived at the inns and taverns fleeing the cold of northern Europe, an exploring elite that could afford the luxury of travel. Calp was, at best, a picturesque day trip from the provincial capital: a white village overlooking the Mediterranean, dominated by the imposing silhouette of the Peñón de Ifach.

Meanwhile, Calp was being illuminated—literally. Between 1902 and 1907, electricity arrived, although the streetlights still relied on oil lamps. It was a town in transition, caught between two centuries: the old rural world of the phylloxera plague that forced Calp residents to emigrate to America, Algiers, and Oran, and the new world of modernity that was slowly arriving from the city.

The year 1911 marked a symbolic moment: an air raid between Valencia and Alicante used La Fossa Beach as an improvised landing strip. The skies were opening up. Four years later, in 1915, the true connection to the outside world arrived: the Trenet de la Marina, the Alicante-Dénia railway line that broke centuries of isolation and transformed Calp into an accessible destination.

That same year, a visionary named Vicente París bought the Peñón de Ifach and built the "Casa de París" at its base. It wasn't a hotel. It was a declaration of intent: this extraordinary place could be inhabited, enjoyed, shared. And in 1917, the Alhambra Cinema-Theater opened its doors on Purísima Street, bringing fantasy and entertainment to a town that was beginning to dream of its future.

In 1920, Calp was still a small, poor town, dependent on fishing. But something had irrevocably changed: the world had discovered its existence. And some pioneers—botanists, archaeologists, members of parliament, aviators, railway workers—had begun to forge the path that would forever transform the history of this corner of the Costa Blanca.

If the first phase was one of discovery, this second was one of commitment. Spain decided that tourism mattered. And it did so by building: roads, pharmacies, hotels, and state-run hotels. Calpe ceased to be a picturesque curiosity and became a destination, but the path was neither easy nor straightforward. These four decades spanned dictatorships, a republic, a devastating civil war, and the long postwar period of hunger. And yet, against all odds, tourism survived.

"...a population of 2,300 registered inhabitants and 2,044 actual residents, of whom 460 live in the countryside. It has 890 buildings, 414 of which are scattered throughout the countryside" — Vicente Llopis, Parish Priest of Calp, 1953

In 1920, the improvement of the N-332 highway—the main artery connecting Valencia with Alicante—began to bring Calp closer to the world. The automobile, that invention which in 1935 only four families in Calp could afford (one Opel, one Renault, and two Citroëns), was beginning to change the way people traveled. Days of stagecoach travel were no longer necessary. Now, with a car and CAMPSA gasoline, one could travel from Alicante in a matter of hours.

Calp quietly became a refuge during the war, a stop for artists in internal exile, an oasis of normalcy amidst the chaos. Arturo Barea frequented the Buena Sombra bar (the "Corner of Joy," opened in 1927). Even General Tito, the Yugoslav leader, visited the town. In 1935, the Parador de Ifach opened. Calp offered something rare in those years: discretion and beauty in dark times.

But it wasn't all glamour. Daily life remained extremely difficult. In 1937, the City Council noted "the precarious state of the population due to the water shortage." Potable water didn't reach the town center until 1952. By 1943, of nearly one hundred fishing boats, only eleven were still operating. Poverty was real, tangible, persistent.

And yet, something began to change in the 1950s. Hotel establishments proliferated. In 1957, British European Airways officially coined the term "Costa Blanca", and that same year, the NO-DO newsreel filmed a report in Calpe presenting it as an ideal Mediterranean destination. In 1958, José Más Capó inaugurated the Hotel Las Salinas, the first hotel specifically designed for modern tourism.

By 1959, Calpe had 2,044 registered inhabitants (2,300 registered), 890 buildings, a nascent tourism infrastructure, and something far more valuable: a reputation. The Franco regime's Economic Stabilization Plan was opening Spain to the outside world. The peseta was devalued to 60 to the dollar, making the country an affordable destination for Europeans.

Calpe had gone from being an isolated village to a destination with its own name, basic infrastructure, and an intangible asset that no Master Plan could quantify: the memory of all those artists, writers, actors, and musicians who had made the Peñón de Ifach their muse, their refuge, their temporary home.

In just two decades, Calp went from village to city, from elite destination to mass tourism paradise, from 2.044 inhabitants to more than 10.000 in peak season. What had taken centuries to build —a fishing village identity, a subsistence economy, a landscape of orchards and salt flats— was radically transformed in the time it takes a generation to grow up. This was the explosion. And it was literal.

"From the above, it follows that the possibilities for tourist development are greater than the forecasts established in the Regional Master Plan, [...], and that, given the low agricultural value of the land, the entire territory can potentially be considered of tourist interest." — Excerpt from the Calp General Urban Development Plan (PGOU) (Riesco-Morales Plan) 1972

It all began far away, in the heart of Africa. The independence of the Congo in 1960 triggered a crisis that forced thousands of Belgian settlers to flee the country hastily. Meanwhile, German legislation in 1963 granted tax advantages for investment in Spain. It was no longer just a matter of temporary visitors, but of new residents and investors, pioneers of the modern second home.

Between 1962 and 1966, a major turning point occurred. The number of building permits grew exponentially, and the municipality entered a period of rapid transformation. In 1964, the first General Urban Development Plan was approved; in 1965, the road to Moraira was opened, unlocking the development of the entire eastern coast; in 1967, El Altet Airport began operations; and in 1968, the first British charter flights arrived. For the first time, Europe was less than an hour from Calpe.

Tourism ceased to be exclusive . The model of package holidays, cheap flights, and functional hotels perfectly aligned with the Francoist slogan "Spain is different". Calp offered sun, competitive prices, and a unique icon: the Peñón de Ifach, an image instantly recognizable.

It wasn't just tourists who arrived. Thousands of workers came, especially from Andalusia and Castilla-La Mancha, drawn by the construction boom. While the Paradero de Ifach continued to receive illustrious visitors occasionally, the new tourists stayed in family-run guesthouses, apartments, and developments like Maryvilla, which began in 1970.

During these decades, Calp also achieved significant cinematic recognition. Between 1961 and 1980, 13 films were shot in the town, directed by 9 different filmmakers. Jesús Franco stands out, having directed 6 films, along with names like Vicente Escrivá, José María Elorrieta, Ramón Torrado, Tulio Demicheli, and Ramón Fernández.

In 1972, Alicante Airport surpassed one million passengers annually. A figure unthinkable two decades earlier. And an unmistakable sign: there was no turning back.

In 1973, the seafront promenade was inaugurated; in 1974, the current Town Hall opened on Avenida Ifach, and the Department of Tourism was established; and in 1978, the Tourist Initiatives Center was created. By 1980, Calpe was no longer a transformed coastal town: it was, definitively, a tourist destination.

The boom was over. Now it was time to manage its consequences. If the 60s and 70s were marked by uncontrolled growth, construction euphoria, and accelerated transformation, the following two decades were characterized by consolidation, professionalization, and, for the first time, limits. Calp was no longer asking itself if it wanted to be a tourist destination. It was.

"...to implement the necessary structural changes to achieve balanced and sustainable population growth, since Calp cannot afford to experience the kind of growth seen until recently again" — Calp General Urban Development Plan, 1998

In 1981, Calp attended FITUR, Madrid's major tourism fair, for the first time. The gesture was symbolic and decisive: Calp was moving away from intuitive promotion and presenting itself as a structured tourism product, with its own materials, statistics, and message. Three years earlier, the Tourist Initiatives Center had already been created, publishing guides such as "Peñón de Ifach, Symbol of the Costa Blanca," reflecting a new professionalization.

The early 1980s consolidated this institutional leap. In 1983, the first Tourism Information Commission was formed, and Calp reached fourth place among tourist destinations in the province of Alicante, with more than 300,000 visitors annually. Attendance at national and international trade fairs became the norm, Miss Tourism of Calp was chosen as the promotional image, and the municipality's international profile was strengthened, coinciding with the creation of the Costa Blanca Provincial Tourism Board.

Spain's entry into the European Economic Community in 1986 brought about a profound change. Calp became integrated into a European tourism space without mental borders, later reinforced by the Schengen Area. Residential tourism, especially from Britain and Germany, was definitively consolidated. In 1986, Miss Tourism Calp also won the title of Miss Costa Blanca, a sign of the growing importance of the municipality in the provincial tourism landscape.

In 1989, the ITVA (Valencian Community Tourism Institute) took over the management of the regional tourist offices and launched the Tourist Info Network, consolidating a professional and coordinated structure throughout the Valencian Community. Calp joined this modern institutional network.

But this growth also brought tensions. In 1987, the Peñón de Ifach was declared a Natural Park, protecting this iconic landscape after decades of urban development pressure. That same year, the Gran Hotel Peñón, a symbol of unchecked development, was demolished. In 1988, the Coastal Law and serious water supply problems demonstrated that the growth model clashed with available resources.

The approval of the General Urban Development Plan (PGOU) in 1989, definitively ratified in 1998, attempted to bring order to a territory that had already undergone profound transformation. Meanwhile, Alicante Airport handled over 9 million passengers in 1996, and Calp was establishing itself as a European destination for long-stay travelers.

By 2000, Calp was no longer a conventional town or city. It was a mature tourist destination: successful, diverse, international, with a complex identity and a landscape irreversibly shaped by tourism.

The new century began with a risky gamble and an unforgettable name: Terra Mítica. Opened in 2000 in Benidorm, the Valencian Community's largest theme park promised to revolutionize tourism on the Costa Blanca. Calp, ever opportunistic, immediately adopted the slogan "Calp, just a stone's throw from Terra Mítica", attempting to capitalize on the media attention surrounding its neighboring project. Terra Mítica ended up becoming the symbol of "anything goes," of an era of colossal investments, poor planning, and blind faith that tourism growth was limitless.

"We do not inherit the land from our parents. We borrow it from our children." (Adapted proverb)

During the 2010s, Calp began to rethink its strategy. New tourism promotion plans were launched, institutional cooperation was strengthened, and efforts were focused on reducing seasonality and diversifying the offerings. The municipality invested in specific segments —gastronomy, cycling, active tourism, and culture— while consolidating its role as an international destination.

At the same time, the tourism landscape continued to evolve. Large hotel complexes, new destination brands, and the growing presence of foreign visitors throughout the year confirmed that Calpe was no longer just a summer destination, but a place of temporary residence for thousands of Europeans.

But the real turning point came in 2020. The COVID-19 pandemic suddenly paralyzed global tourism. For the first time in decades, beaches were empty, hotels closed, and airports shut down. The health crisis highlighted the vulnerability of tourist destinations highly dependent on international travel.

The response was to accelerate a transformation that was already underway. Calp began to orient its strategy towards new concepts: sustainability, digitalization, climate resilience, and smart destination management. Strategic plans, projects funded by European funds, and joining networks of smart tourism destinations marked the beginning of a new era.

In parallel, the municipality reinforced its cultural and heritage identity: local gastronomy, archaeological heritage, and contemporary architecture —such as the Red Wall— were incorporated into the tourism narrative alongside the traditional sun and beach experience.

By the mid-2020s, Calp remained one of the most recognizable tourist destinations on the Spanish Mediterranean coast. But the question was no longer how many visitors arrived each summer, but rather how to manage tourism sustainably within a limited territory.

This turning point did not signify the end of tourism. It marked the beginning of a new way of understanding it.

If the previous fifty years were marked by quantitative growth, the following decade would be one of qualitative transformation. From volume to value. From quantity to authenticity. From mass tourism to experiences. Not by choice, but because the world had changed, and it was necessary to adapt or disappear.

It's no longer about growth. It's about improvement.
It's no longer about selling sun. It's about sharing identity.
It's no longer about numbers. It's about people.

For decades, Calpe grew driven by tourism. In the 21st century, the challenge is no longer to grow more. The challenge is to better manage what already exists.

If the 20th century was marked by the expansion of tourism, the 21st century is marked by its transformation. New environmental demands, technological changes, global mobility, and economic and health crises are forcing tourist destinations to rethink their future.

Calp has responded with planning, innovation, and a long-term strategic vision. The focus is no longer on volume, but on value. It's about evaluating, monitoring, and establishing indicators; the premise is: "what can be measured, can be understood and improved."

However, the biggest obstacle to this transformation is not only technical, but historical. Calp faces its own "path dependence": decades of inertia where economic success was measured solely in square meters of concrete. Breaking with this legacy requires disruptive decisions that challenge old speculative expectations. The debate surrounding the public reclamation of Pla de Feliu —those last 44 football fields of rural land— is not just an urban planning conflict; it is the symbol of a genuine desire for change. Choosing expropriation to create a green space, rather than the temptation to exhaust 90% of the land's capacity, marks the difference between a municipality that lets itself be dragged down by its past and a city that finally decides to take ownership of its future. It is the definitive step from a 'product city' to a 'lived city'.

Since 2013, the municipality has developed a broad network of strategic plans, European projects, and municipal regulations aimed at transforming its tourism and urban model.

Culturally, the focus is on the excavations and museum displays of heritage sites (Medieval Village, Queen's Baths, Pou Salat), prioritizing high-quality cultural events over mass entertainment.

Environmentally, the city is pursuing the effective protection of the Peñón and the salt flats, expropriating land in Pla de Feliu, and simultaneously working on sustainable resource management (water, waste, energy), sustainable mobility, traffic reduction, and urban rewilding projects.

Technologically, the goal is to become a Smart Tourist Destination (using sensors, big data, and smart city technologies) through the digitalization of tourism services and the analysis of visitor flows and carrying capacity.

Economically, the diversification of source markets, promotion of experiential tourism (gastronomic, cultural, sports, nature), support for local businesses and native products ("Peix de Calp" or "Gamba Blanca") have achieved effective deseasonalization.

Socially, the balance between tourism and quality of life, regulation of tourist rentals, recovery of public spaces for community use (Pla de Feliu), and participatory governance (Municipal Tourism Council) are key. A new identity is being consolidated with quality seals that protect our essence —from the excellence of Peix de Calp to a model of an accessible, diverse, and pet-friendly city—.

Reclaiming sovereignty over our landscape and consolidating a large green belt is not just an urban planning decision; it is an act of generational justice. By breaking with the inertia of concrete, we are transforming the territory: what was once land to sell is now a legacy to be inherited.

The challenge is colossal: transforming a mass tourism model consolidated over six decades without destroying the local economy. It's like walking a tightrope. But for the first time in its tourism history, Calpe is consciously choosing what it wants to be. Because a city that exhausts its land exhausts its capacity to imagine.

Thank you for visiting this exhibition. Now go out and see Calpe with new eyes. Because the future you see will depend on the present you build.