Colomera

The church bells ring at quarter past seven, and within minutes the aroma of strong coffee drifts from doorways along Calle Real. At 885 metres above sea level, Colomera's morning air carries a bite that surprises visitors expecting Andalucía to be uniformly balmy. This small municipality, forty-five minutes north-east of Granada along the A-92, sits high enough for the Sierra Nevada to dominate the southern horizon, snow-capped peaks glinting above a patchwork of olive terraces.

A Village That Works

Five thousand souls spread across white houses that grip the hillside in irregular terraces. There's nothing picture-postcard about the arrangement; walls meet at odd angles, stairways shoot up between dwellings, and the occasional tractor squeezes through alleys barely wider than its wheel-base. The place functions first, poses second. Walk up from the main road at eight in the morning and you'll meet growers heading out to check moisture levels, elderly residents carrying bread still warm from the cooperative oven, and a handful of dogs who have appointed themselves unofficial tour guides.

Architecture is modest but layered. The sixteenth-century Iglesia de Nuestra Señora de la Expectación squats at the top of the slope, its bell-tower patched over centuries. Step inside when the door stands open—usually before Mass on Saturday evening—and you find a nave that mixes late-Gothic ribs with Baroque plasterwork, all dimly lit by gilt-framed oil lamps. Nothing is roped off; if you want to examine the polychrome statue of the Virgin, simply walk up the side aisle. Ask the sacristan for the key to the sacristy itself and he'll probably hand it over, trusting you to lock up afterwards.

Footpaths and Four-Wheel Drives

Colomera's hinterland is tractor country. Dirt tracks fan out between olive groves, many of them public rights of way that double as walking routes. The most straightforward circuit, the 7 km "Ruta de la Sierra," starts by the cemetery and climbs gently through aromatic scrub of rosemary and thyme until the village shrinks to a white smear below. Spring brings carpets of purple flax and white asphodel; by late June the ground is crisp and gold, and you understand why locals schedule longer hikes for dawn.

Serious walkers can link up with the GR-7 long-distance path, but signposts are sporadic. The tourist office—one desk inside the town hall—will print out a basic map, yet mobile coverage drops once you dip into gullies, so carry a downloaded track. In summer, start early: temperatures at midday regularly top 35 °C, and shade is limited to occasional oak clumps. Winter is sharper than newcomers expect; night frosts are common and the occasional dusting of snow closes the minor road to neighbouring Íllora.

Oil, Wine and Whatever's in Season

Food here follows the agricultural calendar. Between November and January the cooperatives run almost continuously, washing and pressing local Picual olives into a green-gold oil that bites the back of the throat. Buy it in five-litre containers from the mill gate for about €35—half the price of equivalent quality in British farm shops—and they'll decant into smaller bottles if you ask.

Meal options are limited to a handful of bars around Plaza de la Constitución. Mesón los Olivos serves a daily menu del día for €12 that might include migas—fried breadcrumbs laced with garlic and chorizo—followed by conejo al ajillo, rabbit simmered in white wine. Vegetarians can usually coax a thick garlic soup or peppers stuffed with goat's cheese from the kitchen, but phone ahead in low season; if no one books, the chef simply locks up and goes home. House wine arrives in plain glass jugs, usually a young Tempranillo from Granada province that costs €2.50 a quarter-litre and tastes better after the first glass.

Beds, Rooftops and Family Houses

Accommodation divides into two categories: palace or farmhouse. The H10 Palacio Colomera occupies a converted nineteenth-century mansion whose central patio is now a glass-roofed lounge. British guests tend to head straight for the rooftop terrace, order a gin-tonic heavy on the botanicals, and watch swallows dive above the square. Rooms facing the plaza pick up a low hum of chatter until midnight; those at the back overlook terracotta roofs and the castle ruins on the opposite ridge. Expect to pay €90–110 per night including breakfast, though weekday rates drop by twenty per cent outside school holidays.

Alternatively, several village houses have been retro-fitted as self-catering lets. Columbaira, a three-bedroom property on Calle Ancha, keeps original stone thresholds, beams wide enough to sleep on, and a kitchen that comes with basics: coffee, sugar, olive oil pressed by the owner's cousin. At €140 for the entire house it suits two couples sharing, provided you don't mind the occasional tractor rattling past at seven o'clock.

When the Village Lets Its Hair Down

Festivities book-end the year. The first weekend of December honours the Virgen de la Expectación with processions, brass bands, and a street market where you can taste churros so fresh they burn your fingers. Inevitably, the programme includes a late-night foam party in the sports pavilion—proof that even the most traditional pueblos bow to teenage pressure. August fiestas are louder: open-air dancing finishes after 3 a.m., and the single police officer is reduced to leaning on his car watching fireworks rather than enforcing noise bylaws. Book accommodation early; every cousin who ever left Colomera returns for those three days, and spare beds vanish.

Semana Santa is quieter. On Maundy Thursday the narrow streets fill with the scent of beeswax and incense as a modest paso (float) carrying a carved Christ sways uphill shouldered by twenty men. Spectators squeeze against doorways; if you want a clear view arrive forty minutes early and claim the top step of the alley beside the bakery.

Getting There, Getting Out

Granada airport is 55 km south, Málaga 110 km west. Hire cars cluster at both terminals; Colomera has no rail link and only one daily bus from Granada that leaves mid-afternoon and returns at dawn—fine if you're backpacking, hopeless for a weekend break. Roads are generally good, but the last exit off the A-92 snakes down a short stretch of 10% gradient; after heavy rain in March 2023 the surface slipped, leaving a single lane controlled by temporary lights. Allow an extra ten minutes and keep the tank quarter-full; the village petrol pump closes on Sundays and accepts cash only.

Worth It?

Colomera will never make the front cover of a glossy Andalucía supplement. It offers no souvenir fridge magnets, no flamenco tablao, no Michelin stars. What it does provide is an unfiltered slice of rural life where British visitors are still novel enough to warrant a friendly nod, yet infrastructure is sufficiently evolved that you can drink the tap water and get 4G on the main square. Come for the olive oil, stay for the mountain light, and leave before the August disco starts—unless you packed ear-plugs alongside your hiking boots.