Ugíjar

The sheep appear first, trotting down Calle San Sebastián at half past seven, their bells clanking against the stone walls. Shepherds in flat caps follow, exchanging morning greetings with neighbours leaning from wrought-iron balconies. This is Monday in Ugíjar, and nobody reaches for a camera.

At 549 metres above sea level, the village sits low enough for almonds to ripen yet high enough for snow to dust the surrounding peaks. The contrast defines daily life: subtropical fruit grows beside cold-climate vegetables, and winter mornings can start at 2 °C while afternoons hit 18 °C. Locals dress in layers for good reason.

The Working Mountain

Unlike postcard villages hollowed out by second homes, Ugíjar keeps a primary school, two dentists, a Friday market and traffic jams at home-time. The municipal swimming pool opens June to September (€2 entry) and fills with shrieking children whose parents once learned to swim in the same spot. Elderly men still hand-roll cigars on benches outside the agricultural co-op, though nowadays they WhatsApp their grandchildren between puffs.

Terraced slopes below the church are planted with olives, vines and the last commercial mulberry trees in the Alpujarra, relics of a silk industry that financed the village until the 1880s. Walk the old irrigation channel (the acequia remains public right of way) and you’ll spot abandoned dyeworks carved into the rock, their walls stained imperial purple by long-vanished cochineal.

Banking is trickier than farming. Only two ATMs serve 2,500 residents; both run dry during fiestas. Most shops close 14:00–17:30 and all day Sunday, so Saturday stock-up is essential. The small Dia supermarket on Plaza Nueva sells UHT milk, tinned pulses and little else after 20:00.

What the Stones Say

The Church of Santa María looks plain until you circle it. A horseshoe arch, repurposed from the mosque it replaced, frames the north door; inside, a 16th-century cedar ceiling hides above dusty chandeliers. The tower is pure Mudéjar: brick laid in zig-zag patterns copied from Almohad minarets. Climb it on the first Saturday of the month (€3, cash only) and you’ll see the Mediterranean glinting 35 kilometres south, exactly the view Moorish watchmen relied on for pirate warnings.

Below the tower, lanes narrow to shoulder width. Houses grow from the rock like stalagmites: each roof forms the terrace of the house above, creating a staircase that climbs 150 metres in less than 300 metres’ horizontal distance. Flat roofs are still sealed with launa, the local clay that turns iron-hard after rain, then cracks under summer sun. Residents sweep them daily; one week’s neglect means leaks come October storms.

Calle de las Eras leads past grain threshing circles now used as vegetable plots. Knock on any low wooden door marked “Se vende huevos” and someone’s grandmother will appear with a dozen for €1.80, still warm if you arrive before 09:00.

Eating Between Seasons

Food here follows altitude, not fashion. Winter means matanza: families slaughter a pig, then spend two days turning every gram into chorizo, blood pudding and lomo curado. Visitors staying in self-catering flats often wake to the smell of paprika drifting through windows. If you’re invited to help, accept; you’ll be sent home with a shoulder of jamón serrano and strict instructions to hang it above the cooker.

Summer dishes exploit the heat. Gazpacho blanco, thickened with ground almonds, appears in August when tomatoes are too scarce to waste on soup. Migas—fried breadcrumbs with garlic and grapes—served at Bodega El Cortijuelo cost €7 and feed two. The house red from Dominio Buenavista vineyard (€12 a bottle) tastes of thyme and iron, the soil speaking more clearly than the winemaker ever could.

Choto al ajillo (kid goat simmered in white wine and mountains of garlic) splits opinion: locals devour it on Sundays, while some British palates find it too gamey. Ask for “poco hecho” if you prefer it mild; the kitchen will oblige, no eyebrows raised.

Walking the Old Silk Mule Tracks

Three signed paths start from the fountain on Plaza de la Constitución. The easiest, 5 km to Válor, follows the medieval silk route: stone paving survives for long stretches, polished smooth by centuries of mules. You’ll pass almond terraces, abandoned copper mines and a 17th-century lime kiln still smelling faintly of burnt stone. Allow two hours and carry at least a litre of water; there’s no shade until the final climb into Válor.

Harder is the 12 km loop to Laroles via the Río Ugíjar gorge. The path drops 400 metres, crosses the river on a Roman bridge (rebuilt 1923 after floods) then climbs past abandoned hamlets whose roofs collapsed during the 1959 earthquake. Look for ibex on the skyline; they’re shy but plentiful. The full circuit takes four hours and demands walking boots—trainers slide on marble-scree slopes.

Winter hikers should check weather: snow can block the pass above 1,200 m as early as November. In summer, start before 08:00; afternoon thermals rising from the valley create a furnace effect by 14:00.

When the Village Lets Its Hair Down

Fiestas are loud, Catholic and non-negotiable. The Virgen de los Desamparados in mid-August fills every bed within 20 km. Brass bands march at 07:00, fireworks explode at midnight, and the plaza becomes an open-air kitchen where volunteers dish out paella for 800. Rooms in private houses (ask at the ayuntamiento) go for €40 a night, cash in advance. Light sleepers should book elsewhere; silence does not resume until 05:00.

San Antón on 17 January is gentler: dogs, donkeys and one bemused British cyclist receive a priest’s blessing outside the church, then everyone retreats inside for chocolate and churros. The only soundtrack is barking and church bells.

Getting Here, Getting Out

Granada airport is 90 minutes north, Málaga two hours south. Hire cars need nerves of steel: beyond Órgiva the A-4132 narrows to single track with 300-metre drops and no barrier. Coaches leave Granada’s Estación de Autobuses at 07:15 and 15:30 (€8.50, 2 h 10 min) but terminate in Ugíjar’s plaza; if your accommodation lies up the hill, prepare for a steep final push with suitcases.

Cyclists rate the climb from Adra as “Vuelta-worthy”: 43 km gaining 1,100 m. E-bikes available in Berja (book via Alpujarra Electric Bikes) transform the ordeal into a morning’s scenic ride, though you’ll still push the final 3 km at 10 % gradient.

Leaving is easier than arriving. The 08:05 bus to Granada connects with the 11:30 airport shuttle, putting you at departures by 12:45—plenty of time for that 15:00 EasyJet back to Manchester, memories of sheep bells echoing above the duty-free tannoy.