Ítrabo

The morning mist clings to the valley floor 390 metres below as Itrabo's white houses catch the first sunlight. From the village edge, the view stretches across a patchwork of avocado groves and custard apple orchards to the Mediterranean glittering in the distance. It's a sight that stops visitors mid-stride – and explains why locals here talk about the weather with the enthusiasm of farmers everywhere.

This isn't your typical Costa Tropical day-trip destination. While coastal Almuñécar bustles with beach bars and souvenir shops, Itrabo remains what Spanish visitors call "un pueblo de verdad" – a real village where neighbours still gather in the plaza to discuss whose tomatoes are ripening first. The 25-minute drive up the GR-5300 mountain road from the coast feels like crossing into another century, though the hairpin bends demand more concentration than your average Spanish motorway.

The Vertical Village

Itrabo doesn't so much sit on the hillside as cling to it for dear life. The Moors who founded the village understood something about defensive positioning that modern town planners have never forgotten: steep streets deter invaders and casual visitors alike. What looks like a gentle five-minute stroll on Google Maps becomes a thigh-burning expedition up cobbled lanes barely wide enough for a donkey – which, incidentally, was the traditional method of transport here until surprisingly recently.

The houses cascade down the slope in seemingly random clusters, their whitewashed walls reflecting sunlight so brightly that sunglasses become essential equipment. Windows sport the characteristic iron grilles of Andalusia, painted green or burgundy, while terracotta pots overflow with geraniums that somehow thrive despite the altitude. It's photogenic without trying to be – no boutique hotels or artisan soap shops here, just everyday life playing out against a backdrop that would have location scouts weeping with joy.

Between Two Worlds

What makes Itrabo genuinely fascinating is its position straddling two distinct ecosystems. Look north and the Sierra Nevada's snow-capped peaks dominate the horizon, their winter snows feeding the irrigation channels that snake through the village. Face south and you're confronted with palms and papaya trees, the latter introduced by returning emigrants who worked in South American plantations during the 1960s and 70s.

This botanical schizophrenia extends to the village's agricultural heritage. Walk ten minutes uphill from the church and you'll find yourself among almond and olive terraces that wouldn't look out of place in Granada's high plains. Descend the same distance towards the valley floor and custard apple trees heavy with green fruit create an almost tropical atmosphere. The local saying goes that you can pick mangoes while watching snow fall – a claim that sounds like tourism office hyperbole until you experience it firsthand during an unseasonably cold March afternoon.

The Church That Commands Respect

The Iglesia Parroquial de Nuestra Señora de la Encarnation squats at the village's highest point like a weathered fortress. Built in the 16th century on the site of the mosque, its simple tower serves as both spiritual and geographical beacon. Inside, baroque altarpieces gleam with gold leaf that catches shafts of coloured light from modern stained glass – a recent addition that divided opinion among traditionalists but has proved popular with younger parishioners.

The church's real treasure is its 18th-century carving of the Virgin, paraded through Itrabo's steep streets during the March fiestas. Watching forty villagers struggle to manoeuvre the heavy platform around impossibly tight corners becomes a masterclass in Spanish determination and community spirit. The procession stops at pre-arranged points where residents offer glasses of mosto – the young white wine that tastes like alcoholic grape juice and goes down far too easily at 11 am.

Eating Like a Local (or Not)

Food here reflects the village's agricultural split. Traditional highland dishes like migas – essentially fried breadcrumbs with pork crackling – sit alongside mango chutney and avocado salads that wouldn't disgrace a Notting Hill brunch menu. The two village bars take turns opening for lunch, meaning choice is limited but authenticity guaranteed. Bar Salva does an excellent line in hearty stews, while Bar Vicente's wood-fired oven produces crusty bread that British expats drive up specifically to buy.

For the culinarily curious, local farmer José María offers informal tours of his subtropical plantation by prior arrangement. He'll demonstrate how custard apples ripen off the tree and explain why Itrabo's avocados fetch premium prices in Granada's markets. The tour concludes with a tasting session that might convert even the most avocado-sceptic visitor – though be warned, José María's definition of "tasting" involves consuming enough fruit to make dinner redundant.

When to Visit (and When Not To)

Spring transforms Itrabo into a photographer's paradise. Almond blossom gives way to orange groves heavy with fruit, while the surrounding hills turn an almost Irish green. Temperatures hover around a pleasant 20°C, making the steep walks manageable without collapsing from heat exhaustion. The March fiestas see the village at its liveliest, though accommodation in the immediate area books up months ahead.

Summer brings a different challenge. Despite the altitude, temperatures regularly hit 38°C during July and August. The village empties as locals sensibly decamp to coastal relatives, leaving a handful of elderly residents and confused tourists wondering where everyone went. If you must visit during peak season, restrict strenuous activities to early morning or late afternoon – the siesta isn't laziness here, it's survival.

Winter surprises many visitors with its severity. While the coast enjoys T-shirt weather, Itrabo can see frost on north-facing walls. Snow occasionally dusts the village itself, creating surreal photo opportunities with tropical fruit trees in the foreground. The Kitty Harri Garden Museum – created by a British artist who made Itrabo her home – opens only twice monthly during winter, so check dates before making a special trip.

The Practical Reality

Let's be honest: Itrabo isn't for everyone. There's no nightlife to speak of, unless you count the evening gathering of men outside Bar Salva discussing football. The last bus back to civilisation leaves at an embarrassingly early hour, assuming it turns up at all. Mobile phone reception remains patchy in the village's lower reaches, which either horrifies or delights depending on your perspective.

Yet these supposed drawbacks are precisely what preserves Itrabo's character. In an age of identikit Spanish villages tarted up for tourism, this place remains stubbornly itself. The elderly gentleman who insists on showing you his vegetable garden isn't performing heritage – he's genuinely proud of his courgettes. The woman selling eggs from her front door isn't running an "authentic experience" – she just has too many chickens.

Itrabo rewards those willing to slow down and observe. Sit in the plaza with a coffee and watch village life unfold: the bread delivery van honking its arrival, children practising football against the church wall, neighbours exchanging news over balconies. It's Spain as it existed before guidebooks and Instagram, where the day's rhythm follows agricultural rather than tourist seasons.

Drive back down to the coast as the sun sets and you'll understand why those hairpin bends are worth navigating. The Mediterranean spreads below like wrinkled blue silk, while behind you Itrabo's lights twinkle against the darkening mountain. It's a view that explains everything about this village's appeal – caught between mountain and sea, tradition and modernity, Spain's past and its future.