Periana

The church bell tower punches skywards above a sea of white roofs, visible for miles across terraces of olive trees that shimmer silver in the Andalusian light. This is Periana's calling card: a village that grew upwards rather than outwards, clinging to a ridge 550 metres above the Mediterranean, forty minutes inland from the coast yet worlds away from the Costa del Sol's apartment blocks.

Morning here starts with the smell of woodsmoke and coffee drifting through narrow lanes barely wide enough for a donkey, let alone the rental cars that scrape their wing mirrors against whitewashed walls. Locals emerge onto doorsteps with clip-clopping slippers, exchanging greetings that echo off stone. The pace is deliberate; nobody's in a rush to go anywhere except perhaps the bakery on Calle Real, where warm empanadillas disappear by 9am.

Up and Down the Old Quarter

Periana demands sturdy legs. Streets angle sharply upwards from the central Plaza de la Constitución, where teenagers practise skateboard tricks beneath palms and pensioners occupy benches like territorial birds. The parish church of San Isidoro dominates one side – a sixteenth-century rebuild on mosque foundations, its Mudéjar ceiling worth craning your neck for. Inside, the air carries centuries of incense and candle wax; outside, the tower serves as the village's compass point.

Wander uphill past houses painted the colour of fresh yoghurt, their balconies spilling geraniums. Each turn reveals glimpses of Lake Viñuela glinting below, framed by mountains that change colour throughout the day: purple at dawn, ochre at midday, charcoal as the sun drops behind the Sierra Tejeda. The ermita of San Isidro sits above it all, reached via a path that doubles as a goat track. The chapel itself is unremarkable; the reward is the panorama – olive plantations stretching to the horizon like corrugated cardboard.

What Grows Here, Eats Here

This is farming country first, tourist destination second. Between November and February, the harvest dominates everything. Tractors rumble through streets bearing crates of olives; the cooperative on the outskirts presses fruit until midnight, filling the valley with grassy aromas. Visitors can watch the process by arrangement – phone ahead, as it depends on daily quotas. The resulting oil, made from verdial olives, tastes buttery rather than peppery; locals drizzle it over everything from toast to ice cream.

Food arrives in portions that would shame a Lancashire pub. Café Verdugo on the main drag serves migas – fried breadcrumbs with garlic and chorizo – that could floor a hungry walker. Their choto, kid goat stewed with almonds, tastes like the best lamb you've ever eaten. Portions come in two sizes: 'ración' feeds three, 'media ración' feeds two. Order accordingly, or watch the waiter raise an eyebrow at wasted food.

The peach deserves special mention. Periana's microclimate – hot days, cool mountain nights – produces fruit so sweet it once supplied the Royal Household. During August's feria, the plaza fills with stalls selling juice that tastes like liquid sunshine. The celebration lasts four days; bring earplugs unless you enjoy brass bands playing until 4am.

Hot Water and Cold Reality

Three kilometres north, the Baños de Vilo trickle sulphurous water into rock pools at 21 degrees year-round. Reached via a potholed track that tests low-clearance vehicles, these Roman-era baths divide opinion spectacularly. Some visitors wax lyrical about wild swimming beneath mountain laurels; others complain the water smells like rotten eggs and the site resembles a fly-tipped lay-by. Both are correct. Arrive before 10am when leaves haven't yet blown into the pools, bring flip-flops for the slippery bottom, and treat it as a curiosity rather than a spa experience.

Walking It Off

Periana works brilliantly as a walking base, though maps require interpretation. Routes from the village climb through abandoned almond terraces where stone walls collapse into wild rosemary. The PR-A 249 trundles towards the Sierra de Alhama, passing an old lime kiln and threshing circles now carpeted with thyme. It's marked in yellow and white – except where locals have painted over signs to discourage strangers. Download the route to your phone before setting out; GPS signal disappears in valleys.

Summer walking demands early starts. By 11am the sun feels like a physical weight; thermometers hit 38 degrees regularly. Spring and autumn offer kinder conditions, though sudden storms can turn paths into streams. Winter brings sharp frosts – the village recorded minus six last January – but days often dawn crystal-clear, perfect for seeing Africa on the horizon.

When the Music Stops

Practicalities matter here. The last bank closed in 2022; the ATM in Plaza de la Constitución charges €2 per withdrawal and runs out of cash at weekends. Bring euros. The nearest petrol station sits twenty minutes away in Vélez-Málaga; fill up before arrival. Accommodation ranges from restored townhouses with rooftop plunge pools to basic rooms above bars where Saturday night karaoke vibrates through floorboards. Book early for festival periods – particularly San Isidro in mid-May when half of Málaga province descends for the romería.

The Honest Truth

Periana won't suit everyone. Streets are too steep for mobility scooters; evenings finish early unless fiesta's in full swing. British accents remain rare enough to prompt stares in bars. Yet for those seeking Spain before tourism, where restaurant owners remember your order from yesterday and the baker slips an extra doughnut to children, it delivers something increasingly precious: authenticity you can taste in every drop of olive oil, hear in every church bell, see in every wrinkled farmer tending trees his grandfather planted.

Come for three nights minimum. Stay longer if you find yourself timing coffee breaks by the church bells rather than your phone, or choosing walking routes based on where the goats graze rather than TripAdvisor reviews. That's when you'll know Periana has worked its particular magic – no postcards required, no clichés necessary.