Alhama de Granada

The first thing you notice is the drop. From the mirador beside the 13th-century castle wall the ground falls away almost vertically for 150 metres, revealing a ribbon of eucalyptus-green far below where the Río Alhama carves its gorge. At 9 a.m. in February the air is sharp enough to make your ears tingle; by noon the same stone parapet is warm to the touch. This is a town built on an edge, both literally and historically—Moorish armies, Catholic monarchs and Victorian spa-goers have all fought for the right to call Alhama theirs.

A town that forgot to move on

Alhama’s population has hovered around 5,500 for half a century. The result is a centre that feels lived-in rather than curated. Laundry still flaps from wrought-iron balconies, old men in flat caps argue over cards in the Plaza de la Constitución, and the Friday market blocks the main road with stalls selling knobbly tomatoes for €1.50 a kilo. Guidebooks like to call places “untouched”; here the more honest description is “unbothered”. The castle keep is little more than a broken tooth—climb it anyway, because the 360-degree view explains why every invader wanted the ridge. To the south the olive terraces stack like theatre seats; to the north the Sierras de Tejeda rise above 2,000 metres, their limestone flanks already snow-dusted by December.

Below the castle the Arab baths still operate, fed by the same sulphurous spring that the Romans channelled. Entrance is free, opening hours are elastic, and the two small pools are separated by gender only when the local police decide to enforce a faded cardboard sign. British visitors expecting Ragdale Hall will be disappointed: the changing area is a stone bench, the water smells of hard-boiled egg, and weekends see toddlers bombing in at full volume. Arrive just after dawn, however, and you may share the steam with a silent farmer easing arthritic shoulders before work. Bring flip-flops; the path down from town is 2.5 km of exposed track—glorious at sunset, purgatory at midday in July when the gorge radiates heat like a pizza oven.

Walking on the roof of Granada province

Alhama sits at 895 metres, high enough for the climate to misbehave. In August the thermometer can still hit 40 °C, but night temperatures drop to 18 °C, so sleep comes easier than on the Costa. Winter mornings hover at 3 °C; occasionally the olive groves turn white with frost. The reward for the altitude is space. The GR-7 long-distance footpath passes straight through the town, and the signed Ruta de los Tajos follows the gorge rim for six kilometres before looping back via abandoned threshing circles. Trainers are adequate; sandals are a bad idea—sections of the path tilt outward like a ships’ deck and the drop is unforgiving. Cyclists can pick up a 30-km circuit to the abandoned village of Ventas de Zafarraya, mostly on concrete farm tracks where the biggest hazard is free-ranging pigs.

If you prefer someone else to organise the gradients, the tourist office (open 10 a.m.–2 p.m., closed Sundays) sells a €5 leaflet of nine local walks. The most popular is the river trail, a five-kilometre scramble that ends at a waist-deep pool where kingfishers flash turquoise. In May the oleander blooms pink; in September the fig trees along the bank are fair game if you can reach them.

Food that knows the season

Alhama’s restaurants change menus with the weather. October brings setas—wild mushrooms sautéed with garlic and parsley—while January means hearty ñora-and-bean stew thick enough to stand a spoon in. The British habit of ordering “a starter and a main” feels alien; locals eat a single plate and bread. Try the sopa maimón, a peasant broth of poached egg and fried bread that tastes better than it sounds, or migas, a weekday lunch of fried breadcrumbs, chorizo and grapes that started as shepherd fodder. House red from Loja costs €2 a glass and arrives at whatever temperature the bottle has been kept—usually room, which in August is decidedly warm. Most bars still honour the free-tapas rule: order a caña (small beer) and you’ll get a plate of something—perhaps jamón scraps, perhaps a slab of tortilla—without asking. Repeat twice and dinner is sorted for under a tenner.

Sweet teeth should head to the Convento de las Clarisas before 1 p.m. Ring the bell, wait for the nun’s disembodied voice, and state how many pasteles de la Clare you want (€6 for six). The pastries arrive on a wooden turntable; money goes on, cakes come off—no eye contact required.

Getting there, getting stuck

Alhama is 55 minutes by car from Granada airport, most of it on the A-92 motorway. Hire cars are plentiful; parking in town is free and usually easy except during fiestas. Without wheels you are reliant on ALSA bus 303—three departures daily from Granada’s bus station, last return at 6 p.m. Miss it and the taxi fare is €90. The ride itself is half the appeal: the road corkscrews up from the vega, olive groves giving way to almond blossom and, finally, pine scrub.

Accommodation is low-key. The smartest option is the Hotel & Spa Balneario de Alhama, occupying the 16th-century hospital built by the Count of Tendilla. Doubles from €85 including access to a proper thermal pool—no children bombing here. Elsewhere expect family-run guesthouses with uneven floors and doors that don’t quite fit. In winter some close altogether; in summer they fill with Spanish walkers who go to bed early and rise at dawn to beat the heat.

When to bail out

Come November Alhama can feel like the set of a spaghetti western: sun-bleached, half-shut and whispering with stray cats. Many bars reduce weekday hours, the castle is locked if the caretaker is sick, and mountain fog can swallow the gorge for days. Conversely, August weekends see the thermal pools overrun with Granada students blasting reggaetón from Bluetooth speakers. The sweet spots are late April, when wild thyme scents the air, and mid-October, when the olive harvest starts and the town smells of fresh-pressed oil.

If you need nightlife beyond a quiet beer, drive on to Granada. If you want a castle you can dress up for Instagram, try Alhambra tickets instead. But for a place where the waiter remembers your name the second morning and the gorge glows amber at dusk, Alhama de Granada still trades on the simple proposition that hot water, cold beer and a 900-metre view will sort most 21st-century ailments.