Cómpeta

The church bell strikes twelve as two elderly men in flat caps shuffle past a group of British pensioners drinking gin and tonic at an outside table. Nobody flinches. In Competa's Plaza Almijara, this counts as perfectly normal behaviour. The village sits 638 metres above the Mediterranean, close enough to see the coast on clear days but far enough up the mountain to escape the Costa del Sol's summer furnace.

Getting here requires commitment. From Malaga airport, drivers face 54 kilometres of increasingly dramatic roads. The final stretch along the MA-4102 features enough hairpin bends to test seasoned motorists. Coaches manage it daily, but nervous drivers might prefer the morning bus from Malaga's main station. Either way, arriving feels like an achievement.

The reward is a working village where tourism exists alongside daily life rather than replacing it. Competa's 3,875 residents include a substantial British contingent who discovered the place through property programmes and word-of-mouth recommendations. They've settled here for the climate (300 days of sun annually) and the pace, though they've also learned that Spanish village houses can feel perishing in January despite the daytime sunshine.

The Square That Tells Two Stories

Plaza Almijara functions as Competa's living room, kitchen and social club combined. Three restaurants occupy one side, their tables spilling across the stone flags. La Taparia does brisk trade in modern Spanish plates, while Balcon de Competa trades on its panoramic terrace. Between them sits a third option, useful when weekend crowds descend and tables become precious commodities.

The sixteenth-century church of Nuestra Señora de la Asunción anchors the opposite side, its Mudejar influences visible in the brickwork patterning. Local women still use it properly - arriving for mass clutching their handbags, exchanging village news afterwards while tourists photograph the architecture. The bell tower serves a practical purpose beyond aesthetics; its chimes regulate village life, marking time for workers in the surrounding vineyards.

Those vineyards produce Competa's most famous export: sweet muscatel wine. The tradition predates the Christian reconquest, with Moorish settlers recognising the slopes' potential for grape cultivation. Today's production remains small-scale, dominated by family bodegas whose output rarely leaves the Axarquia region. The Fiesta del Vino each August celebrates this heritage with generous tastings and the kind of street party that explains why hotel rooms get booked months ahead.

Walking Into the Landscape

Competa sits on the edge of the Sierras de Tejeda, Almijara y Alhama Natural Park, making it a base for serious walkers rather than casual strollers. The Route of the Mills provides a decent introduction, following ancient paths between abandoned watermills and farmsteads. It's properly mountainous though - loose stones, steep gradients and the occasional testing scramble. Proper footwear isn't optional; the village pharmacy sells enough blister plasters to confirm this.

More ambitious hikers can tackle routes towards La Maroma, the region's highest peak at 2,068 metres. These require full-day commitments and navigation skills. The tourist office stocks decent maps, though staff admit that English translations can be patchy. Spring and autumn offer ideal conditions; summer walks demand early starts and abundant water, while winter brings occasional snow that catches unprepared visitors out.

The reward for effort comes through perspective. From various miradors (viewpoints) scattered around the village, the Mediterranean appears as a blue stripe between mountain and sky. On exceptional days, the African coast becomes visible, a reminder of Andalucia's position as Europe's final frontier before another continent entirely.

Market Day Realities

Saturday mornings transform Competa's normally tranquil streets into a different proposition entirely. The weekly market draws locals from surrounding villages plus day-trippers from the coast. Parking becomes impossible within the centre; seasoned visitors leave vehicles on approach roads and walk in. The market itself concentrates on practicalities rather than tourist tat: seasonal vegetables, locally produced honey, almonds and those characteristic muscatel raisins that sustained the local economy for generations.

Timing matters. Arriving at 11am means fighting through crowds around the few produce stalls. Early birds get better produce and space to manoeuvre, while latecomers find traders reducing prices from 1pm onwards. The market winds down by 2pm, after which restaurants refill with shoppers seeking lunch. Without advance bookings, weekend dining becomes a lottery.

Winter Truths and Summer Realities

Competa's altitude moderates coastal extremes, but weather still shapes village life. Summer days reach 35°C, though nights cool sufficiently for comfortable sleep. Winter tells a different story. January temperatures drop to 5°C, feeling colder in stone houses designed for heat relief rather than retention. British residents learned quickly that Spanish properties require additional heating; German neighbours install proper central heating systems while Spanish families rely on gas heaters and layered clothing.

The village functions year-round rather than hibernating through winter like some white villages. Bars maintain their rhythms, restaurants adapt menus seasonally, and the substantial foreign resident population ensures critical mass for social life. This continuity appeals to repeat visitors who've experienced the ghost-town sensation of coastal resorts in January.

Beyond the Obvious

Competa rewards those prepared to abandon expectations of a typical Andalucian experience. The British influence means finding proper tea served alongside cortados, and hearing Geordie accents discussing property prices in the same breath as local farmers complaining about water restrictions. This cultural collision shouldn't work, yet somehow does.

The village hosts genuine artisan workshops rather than tourist demonstrations. Potters, basket-weavers and food producers operate from premises that open sporadically; checking at the tourist office reveals current schedules. These aren't sanitised experiences but working spaces where craftspeople produce items for local sale rather than airport souvenirs.

Evenings bring their own rituals. Spanish families emerge for paseo strolls around 7pm, nodding acknowledgements to British neighbours walking dogs acquired since relocating. Bars fill gradually, conversations mixing languages as naturally as the wine flows. By 10pm, restaurants hit their stride, serving everything from traditional kid goat to internationally-influenced dishes that reflect the village's mixed demographics.

Competa doesn't offer instant gratification or postcard perfection. Its streets demand effort, the weather requires adaptation, and understanding its rhythms takes time. Yet for travellers seeking somewhere that functions as a real place rather than a heritage display, this mountain village delivers something increasingly rare: authenticity without self-consciousness, where Spanish tradition and foreign settlement coexist without either dominating completely.