Belalcázar

A Keep that Glows After Dark

Drive north from Córdoba on the A-4 and the sierra skyline slowly lowers itself until only a single stone tower still catches the late-afternoon sun. That tower belongs to Belalcázar’s fifteenth-century castle, and once darkness falls the council leaves it flood-lit all night. From the village lanes the lit keep appears to hover above the rooftops like a beacon for anyone who has ever muttered “I just want to see a proper Spanish castle without queues”.

The effect is deliberate. The Sotomayor lords who raised the fortress wanted it visible from every corner of their estate; the modern ayuntamiento simply replaced torches with LEDs. Either way, the glow is useful: you can park on the upper ring-road, glance upwards, and orientate yourself without a map.

Walking the Frontier of Jamón

Belalcázar sits at 488 m on the southern lip of Los Pedroches, a region that survives on acorns, pigs and silence. The streets tilt gently towards the castle, short enough that you can cover the historic core in twenty minutes yet long enough to work up an appetite for jamón. Stone houses the colour of toasted bread squeeze together, their iron balconies holding flowerpots that somehow stay alive despite summer drought. At the centre, Plaza de la Constitución hosts a weekend market occupying exactly six stalls: one for cheese, one for olives, one for knickers, three for more jamón.

This is Spain’s regulated ibérico zone. The black-footed pigs you’ll see printed on bar signs really do wander the surrounding dehesa, gorging on holm-oak acorns until they double in value. Order a plate of caña de lomo in Bar La Muralla and the barman will slide a sheet of waxed paper beneath the meat so you can see the marbled fat that proves the animal’s woodland CV. Price: €3.50, including bread and a napkin. Vegetarians get a roasted piquillo-pepper toast for the same money.

Up the Tower, Down the Ledger

The castle keep opens at 11:00 sharp. Weekdays outside July and August you may have the guide – usually María or her son Miguel – entirely to yourself. The ticket is €3, cash only, and the climb is 118 steps. Half-way up, a slit window frames the dehesa so perfectly that several visitors admit to stopping simply to regain breath while pretending to take photographs.

From the crenellated roof the view stretches 40 km north to the granite batholith of Piedrasluengas. Miguel likes to point out the abandoned railway embankment that Franco planned but never finished; beyond it, the Guadamatilla reservoir glints like polished steel. On clear winter mornings you can just make out the snowcaps of the Subbética range, a sight that makes the €3 feel almost embarrassing.

Back at ground level, the small interpretation room keeps the conquistador story honest. Sebastián de Belalcázar, born here in 1479, left for the Americas, founded Quito, and was eventually sentenced to death by fellow Spaniards for executing a rival. A copy of the 1551 arrest warrant hangs next to a modern map of Ecuador so visitors can trace just how far a Los Pedroches lad might get if he doesn’t mind falling out with people.

When the Plaza Smells of Anise

Food arrives in waves. Breakfast is churros from the mobile fryer that parks beside the town hall on Saturdays; the queue forms at 08:30 even though the man doesn’t untangle his first spiral of dough until nine. Lunch starts around 14:00 and finishes when the cooks feel like it – rarely before 16:30. Evening tapas begin at 20:30, by which time British stomachs are already rumbling. Order gazpacho de Los Pedroches and you’ll receive a thick stew of tomato, pepper and roughly broken bread that has nothing in common with chilled Andalusian soup. It arrives with a side plate of raw onion and mint; sprinkle both in or the locals will know you’re foreign before you open your mouth.

If you need something approaching British timing, Bar Casa de la Cultura keeps the kitchen open continuously and will happily produce a toasted sandwich while the regulars knock back cañas. They also have the only reliable Wi-Fi in the village, password written on the beer fridge: Belen2022.

Hiking Among Pig Territory

Three way-marked trails leave from the castle gate. The shortest (5 km, yellow way-marks) loops through the dehesa to a ruined shepherd’s hut and back; allow ninety minutes including photo stops at century-old holm oaks whose trunks resemble melted wax. The longest (12 km, red-and-white stripes) climbs to the Cerro Masatrigo, a 952 m summit that gives views across four provinces. Spring brings thyme, rosemary and sudden splashes of red poppy; after rain the path smells of liquorice from crushed hedysarum leaves. Take more water than you think – the only bar en route is a mobile van that appears unpredictably at forest track junctions.

Mobile coverage is patchy under the trees but functions perfectly on the ridge, so you can summon a taxi back to Córdoba if your legs give up. The local firm, Los Pedroches Taxi, charges a flat €45 to the city centre and will stop at Villanueva de Córdoba cash-point on the way if you ask nicely.

Where to Lay Your Head

Belalcázar has two small guest-houses, total nine bedrooms. Hospedería Conquista occupies a sixteenth-century house opposite the church; beams are original, Wi-Fi is modern, and the owner keeps a kettle in the corridor for British guests. Double room €55 including scrambled eggs that taste faintly of the village’s own olive oil. The alternative is Casa Rural La Dehesa, half a kilometre out among the acorns, with a pool that feels decadent given the medieval setting. They offer half-board: dinner stars secreto ibérico, a pork shoulder cut that eats like turbo-charged bacon, followed by payoyo cheese drizzled with rosemary honey. Price €70 for two, wine included.

August fiesta week trebles demand; if you must come then, book early or stay 25 km away in Pozoblanco’s Hotel Monasterio, a converted seventeenth-century convent with underground parking and a lift wide enough for a wheelchair – rare luxuries in these parts.

The Honest Season

Winter delivers crisp cobalt skies but also shuts the castle on weekdays unless you telephone ahead. January mornings can start at –2 °C; stone houses are built to stay cool, so bring slippers and request extra blankets. Summer, on the other hand, is reliable sunshine yet sends the mercury past 38 °C by 14:00; the village empties while everyone sleeps, and even the swifts stop screaming. Spring and autumn are the sweet spots, when daylight lingers around 20:00 and the smell of wet acorns drifts through the streets after rain.

Whatever the month, remember: no cash machine. The nearest ATM waits 15 km away in Villanueva de Córdoba, beside a Mercadona where you can also stock up on Brit-friendly teabags. After that, head back into the hills, park by the cemetery, and let the castle light show you home.