Asian confusion in Spain's Costa Blanca

The Barceló Asia Gardens hotel on Spain’s Costa Blanca is perfect for couples in the throes of early passion; those who can happily spend hours staring meaningfully into each other’s eyes as if the rest of the world, or at least the scowling British girl and her aunt on the adjacent loungers, don’t exist. This stunning Thai-inspired spa hotel is a lovers’ paradise and not necessarily somewhere you should take anyone you’re not having sex with — least of all your Auntie Cheryl.

While handsome young Spanish men and their gorgeous girlfriends dipped in and out of the seven outdoor pools and peacocked around the resort — set over three levels in the rugged hills of the Sierra Cortina — never missing an opportunity to grab a handful of each other’s suntanned flesh and fall into a mildly pornographic pash, Cheryl and I tried to stop staring at the beautiful people and start relaxing. This wasn’t hard as the Asia Gardens, with its calm, cheery staff, gardens blooming with more than 200 different plants and flowers, yoga classes and piña coladas by the pool, goes out of its way to chill you the heck out.

The 312 rooms, housed in split-level complexes, are scattered through the gardens. My Balinese-style suite had a huge, sumptuous bed, a black-slate bathroom and a fabulous balcony. It was from here that the chic, stylish Asia Gardens’ dark secret was revealed: between the hotel and the dazzling Mediterranean rises... Benidorm. You can’t miss it. You can, however, forget to look.

Our first distraction was a massage in the spa pavilions. I lay on the floor while a tiny Thai lady straddled me and proceeded to dig her elbows, knees and feet into every knotted nook and cranny. Unlike my amorous fellow guests, this was as much action as I’d be getting all weekend. Cheryl opted for a less intense Swedish massage and we met up by the Jacuzzi afterwards to compare notes.

It seems that avoiding bodily contact with strangers is a terribly British approach to spa life. The Spanish were far more willing to strip off and hop into the sauna where we were quietly luxuriating (in appropriate swimwear). Even the pool — which, call me prudish, but I think of as a place for swimming — became a hot tub of nubile young couples bobbing around in buoyant embraces, while Cheryl and I attempted to breaststroke without getting our hair wet. In the end, feeling like voyeurs at the Playboy Mansion, we returned to our rooms.

There are six restaurants at the hotel, so plenty of opportunities to play ‘spot the hotties’. We attempted to identify couples we’d seen earlier in the day — him now reeking of Davidoff and buttoned up in a form-fitting shirt; she tottering around in Gina stilettos with a matching gold handbag. On our first night we ate at Koh Samui, which served excellent Thai food, and the next at the resort’s fanciest restaurant, In Black, where we enjoyed the delicious Spanishy/Asiany menu and enough wine for Auntie Cheryl to spill a few family secrets. We were having much more fun than the couples who, now unable to grope each other, appeared to have little to say.

On our final evening, after a blissful day that started with a yoga class and ended with more people-watching and cocktail quaffing by the pool, we ventured into Benidorm. It’s only a 15-minute taxi ride but it’s a different world. We followed the many signs for ‘All-you-can-eat English breakfast’ to the seafront promenade, which was teeming with leathery OAPs who had cashed in their maisonette in Stevenage for a sea-view apartamento.

Sitting in an American bar by the playa, we sipped 2-4-1 pints of Foster’s and watched the world go by. When a couple of octogenarians zoomed past on a tandem mobility scooter, with a poodle in an England shirt in the front basket, we felt we’d seen enough and returned to the cool, lemongrass-fragranced enclave of the Asia Gardens. We wished we’d never left.