Between rankings and reality: Notes from the coast Reportage on Caliber.Az

On the key ingredients of happiness: Albir and its beaches

In 2024, the World Happiness Report once again recognised Finland as the happiest country in the world—for the eighth consecutive year. The top 10 happiest countries are as follows: Finland, Denmark, Iceland, Sweden, the Netherlands, Costa Rica, Norway, Israel, Luxembourg, and Mexico.

The happiness ranking takes into account factors such as gross domestic product per capita, the level of social support, expected healthy life expectancy, freedom in making life decisions, generosity, and perceptions of corruption. As can be seen, the Nordic countries continue to lead, demonstrating high levels of well-being and life satisfaction.

It is particularly worth noting that these countries have harsh climates, with few sunny and warm days, and no beaches at all. Spain, on the other hand, has all of this in abundance, yet it ranked only 36th in the happiness index with a score of 6.421. While this reflects a stable level of life satisfaction among Spaniards, the result could have been higher.

On a hiking trip and a Dutchman named Dirk

I was once again reminded of this last Saturday. But first, let’s note that according to the Spain Happy Index, the happiest city in Spain is Almería. Located in the southeast of the country, on the Mediterranean coast, it is the capital of the province of the same name in the autonomous community of Andalusia. As of 2019, its population was approximately 198,533.

The Costa de Almería boasts over 200 kilometres of coastline with unspoiled beaches and picturesque landscapes. I haven’t been there yet, but I have been to Albir—a small resort town on the Costa Blanca, in the municipality of L'Alfàs del Pi. As of 2017, its population was around 18,394, with a significant proportion being foreigners.

Indeed, there are many of them here: Britons, Danes, Norwegians—residents of nearly all the top ten happiest countries in the world (except Costa Rica, Israel, and Mexico). You can find them everywhere: in hotels, cafés, restaurants, supermarkets, clothing stores, and, of course, on the beach. Albir’s main beach, Platja del Racó, is renowned for its cleanliness, crystal-clear water, and Blue Flag status. That was exactly where I was headed.

The distance from our apartment to the beach, according to Google Maps, was only about four kilometres. We decided to combine business with pleasure: explore the town while getting some exercise—a great way to shake off the sedentary routine of spending too much time at the computer. On the way back, we took a bus—about a seven-minute ride, with tickets costing €1.60 per person. Payment could be made by card or cash.

But that was later. For now, we set off on foot. It took us around 45–50 minutes to reach the beach. At times, the roadside would disappear, forcing us onto the main road and making us look for alternative paths.

Just as we were entering Albir, a familiar voice called out—it was Dirk, a Dutchman we had met a few days earlier. Back then, he had shared a rather sad story. He had come to Spain to meet a woman he had connected with online, but by the second day, she had kicked him out.

"All my belongings—suitcases, wallet with cards and cash—are still with her. The police stations are closed, and I have no one to turn to. So, here I am, wandering around town with just a handful of change, trying to figure out what to do," he told us.

I then asked him if he knew anything about Azerbaijan. Dirk replied that he knew a little—something about oil and that "you defeated someone in a war a few years ago." After that, I briefly explained the causes and consequences of the Armenian-Azerbaijani conflict. We also talked about football and found common ground in our admiration for Marco van Basten—he was a favourite for both of us. Back then, I believed his story and gave him some money.

But on Saturday, he once again lamented his fate, his lack of money, and the treachery of women in general—his Spanish love interest in particular. This time, I settled for just taking a photo with him.

He wandered off under the scorching sun, while I found myself wondering: how did it happen that a citizen of the Netherlands—a country ranked among the world's top five happiest—ended up begging in Spain, which sits at 36th place in the same ranking?

Rankings and reality, as we can see, often run on parallel lines, never intersecting.

The disarming beauty of the sea

I must admit—so far, Dirk has been the only Dutchman to ask me for financial help. The rest of his compatriots, like the residents of other top-ten happiest countries, were leisurely enjoying a pint of beer or a glass of wine in the local cafés. Every venue was packed. Tourism was in full swing—and it was only late March.

Everything here is designed for tourists. Albir is full of clothing stores for all tastes and budgets, from high-end designer boutiques to small shops selling affordable T-shirts, shirts, trousers, and shoes from India, Pakistan, and China. Asian cuisine is also well represented—Indian, Chinese, and Japanese. However, when it comes to wine, the local tradition is clear: it’s all about Spanish wines, whether for dinner or to take home.

Stepping into one of the supermarkets, I was astonished—it took me nearly twenty minutes just to browse the wine aisles. The selection covered every corner of Spain. White, rosé, red—something for every palate. Prices started at €3.35 per bottle. And at that very price, I spotted a local wine with a surprisingly familiar name—Albali. Standing at the checkout, I noticed tourists eagerly buying it in generous quantities.

What I saw next didn't matter anymore. Because no camera, no video recorder, no smartphone in the world could ever capture the beauty that unfolded before my eyes. It was something out of a fairy tale. The dazzling, mesmerising blue of the sea against the backdrop of the mountains. It instantly brought to mind a line from a song performed by the great Muslim Magomayev: Guarda che luna, guarda che mare…

I’ve been to Türkiye and swam in the Mediterranean there—but believe me, in Albir, it’s even more beautiful. A white boat against the deep blue—a picture of pure romance. Some tourists had already opened the beach season. Yes, in late March!

The beach is free to enter. You take a towel—or a blanket if you prefer—and lounge for as long as you like. Everything is here: volleyball and football courts, outdoor showers, changing rooms. The beach is a mix of sand and pebbles. Next to it stretches a long boulevard with a cycling lane. And the palm trees—huge, majestic, stunning. You sit on a bench in their shade and could spend hours gazing at the emerald expanse of the sea.

Isn’t this one of the most essential components of happiness? To me, it certainly is. And the people of coastal Spain, especially those who live by the sea, seem destined for happiness—regardless of hardships. And certainly—regardless of rankings.