Trevélez

The first thing you notice, after the engine noise fades, is the smell: cool air laced with woodsmoke and something faintly savoury drifting from the dark doorways of stone sheds. Then the gradient. Trevélez is built on a near-vertical crack in the southern flank of Sierra Nevada; streets are staircases and the church tower tilts backwards as if catching its breath. At 1,476 m above sea level it is Spain’s second-highest village, yet its main industry hangs quietly overhead—legs of jamón serrano maturing in mountain breezes that never quite lose their winter edge.

Three Villes in One

Locals split their home into three separate barrios, stacked like white shelving. Barrio Bajo greets drivers first: a broad burst of almond terraces, the municipal car park (free, flat, mercifully shaded) and the river that supplies both irrigation water and the trout appearing on every lunch menu. From here a single lane climbs 200 m in under a kilometre to Barrio Medio, where most of the curing factories sit. Their grey ventilation slats rattle softly; inside, hams sweat and cool in time with the day-night temperature swing that gives Trevélez ham its Protected Geographical Indication.

Keep climbing—past geraniums in olive-oil tins, past a butcher’s that still weighs meat on brass scales—until the lane narrows to a cobbled thread. This is Barrio Alto, oldest and wind-bitten. Flat roofs touch sky; on clear evenings the Mediterranean glints 60 km away, a silver hyphen between snowcaps and olive groves. British visitors arriving in February often find the streets empty apart from a woman beating rugs over a balcony and the echo of their own footsteps. Phone reception is excellent, so Google Translate can decode the neighbourly “¡Buenas!” when it comes.

A Building That Breathes

Sixteenth-century Iglesia de San Benito rises from the rock like an afterthought: modest stone, Mudejar tower, door left open only when the key-holder remembers. Inside, the Baroque retable gleams with centuries of beeswax; the Virgen de las Nieves, patron of the village, wears a cloak embroidered with tiny snowflakes. Step out again and you are immediately back in ordinary life—laundry overhead, a scooter wedged against a wall, the smell of beans and morcilla drifting from a ground-floor kitchen. No gift shop, no audio guide, just the building and its uninterrupted relationship with the people who use it.

Ham, Not Theatre

Tourism literature promises “ham museums”. In reality you are walking past working factories: pallets being shifted, hair-netted employees hosing down floors. Two firms—Francisco Pérez e Hijos and Jamones Juviles—open their drying halls at set times (usually 11:00 and 16:00, €5 including tasting). A guide will explain why the legs lose 40 % of their weight, why the mountain air is too dry for flies, and why the cellars are left unheated even when night temperatures drop below zero. Expect to leave with a vacuum-sealed quarter-kilo that costs €28 and fits neatly into cabin luggage; declare it at customs and the officer will probably ask for the address of the factory so he can order his own.

Walking Off the Salt

Trevélez is the easiest gateway to mainland Spain’s roof. The path to Mulhacén (3,482 m) starts 4 km above the village at a barrier called Alto del Chorrillo. From April to October a 4×4 taxi (€25 return) saves the 900 m grind on a dirt track, after which it is a straightforward, if lung-sapping, three-hour hike to the summit. Outside those months deep snow makes an ice-axe and GPS advisable; every year someone assumes “southern Spain equals warm” and has to be escorted down by Guardia Civil.

If 3,000-metre slog feels excessive, the GR-7 long-distance footpath skirts the village east-west. Walk east for 90 minutes and you reach tiny Tímar, its threshing circles intact; westwards brings you to tiny Bubión and Capileira, both within two hours. Neither route climbs more than 300 m, but carry water—there are no fountains once the irrigation channels peter out.

What to Eat, What to Pay

Menus are short, prices pre-Brexit. A plate of jamón serrano costs €9 in the barrio of your choice, cheaper if you stand at the counter. Trout from the river arrives simply grilled, skin blistered, flesh tasting faintly of thyme; €12 including boiled potatoes and a lemon wedge. Migas—fried breadcrumbs with garlic, pepper and scraps of chorizo—appears at weekends, ideal carb-load for walkers. House red is young Grenache, drinkable and €2.50 a glass; locals top theirs with a splash of lemonade and call it a “tinto de verano”. Pudding is often nothing more than a plate of almonds and honey, but the honey is chestnut-flower, dark and bitter, and the almonds were dried on the same roof where you are sitting.

When to Come, When to Stay Away

May turns the surrounding hills neon-green; wild orchids spot the verges and daytime temperatures hover around 22 °C. September repeats the trick, adding ripe figs you can pick from the path edges. Mid-July to mid-August is surprisingly hot—30 °C at noon—and Spanish families fill the sole campsite, so book a room or arrive before 15:00 to claim a pitch. November brings the matanza season; blood smells drift from backyard patios and several bars close while owners salt meat for the winter. From December to March nights regularly dip to –5 °C. British motorhomers still appear, surprised when water pipes freeze. Snow ploughs reach the village quickly—Trevélez is considered “strategic” thanks to its jamón output—but rental cars without winter tyres are turned back at the first bend.

An Honest Exit

Trevélez will not entertain you after 22:00. Once the last jamón baguette is sold, shutters clatter down and the only sound is the river and the occasional dog. Mobile data is fine, Netflix will stream, but you are essentially in a working mountain hamlet that happens to speak Spanish rather than Welsh. Bring walking boots, cash and a phrasebook; leave expectations of flamenco floorshows in the Costa del Sol. The compensation is an Andalucía that feels older, colder and more real than any postcard ever admitted—plus ham that tastes of altitude, woodsmoke and time.