Chirivel

The first thing that strikes you about Chirivel is the silence. Not the eerie kind, but the sort that makes you realise how much white noise fills most places. At 1,000 metres above sea level, this farming village sits high enough that the Mediterranean, just 60 kilometres away, feels like someone else's weather system. The air here carries the scent of almond blossom in spring and wood smoke in winter, never salt spray.

The Plateau That Time Forgot to Rush

Chirivel sprawls across a limestone shelf rather than clinging to precipices like those postcard hill towns further west. The streets run level, which comes as a surprise after navigating the corkscrew A-92 from Alicante. White-washed houses with terracotta roofs spread outwards from the sixteenth-century church of Nuestra Señora del Rosario, their walls thick enough to keep interiors cool during scorching summers when temperatures still hit 35°C despite the altitude.

This is working Spain, not the retirement coast. Tractors rumble through the main square at dawn. Farmers gather at Bar Central for cortados and gossip about rainfall, not property prices. The village supports five times its resident population during almond harvest, when mechanical shakers arrive to rattle the trees into releasing their crop. Between February and March, those same orchards transform into clouds of white and pink blossom that draw photographers and painters, though never in Costa-style numbers.

The surrounding Sierra de los Filabres rises another thousand metres higher, its slopes covered in drought-resistant oaks and aromatic scrub. This isn't lush mountain country – it's honest Mediterranean upland where stone, sky and wind dominate. Geologists appreciate the visible rock strata; everyone else notices how the light changes throughout the day, painting the ridges gold, then violet, as afternoon shadows stretch across the valley of the river Chirivel below.

Walking Through the Seasons

Footpaths radiate from the village like spokes, following ancient routes between abandoned cortijos and natural springs. The signed Ruta de los Almendros makes a gentle 8-kilometre circuit through blossom country, best enjoyed early morning before the sun climbs high enough to burn off the overnight chill. Even in April, dawn temperatures can hover around 8°C – pack layers.

More serious hikers tackle the track to Pico de los Filabres, a full-day expedition requiring proper boots and plenty of water. The path gains 800 metres of elevation through pine plantations and across bare limestone, rewarding effort with views clear to the Cabo de Gata on very clear days. Wild boar prints crisscross the trail; seeing the animals themselves requires luck and silence.

Summer walking demands different tactics. Start before 7 am, finish by 11 am, or risk heat exhaustion. The sun at this altitude feels closer, more intense. Local wisdom suggests carrying twice the water you think necessary – streams dry up completely between June and September. Autumn brings mushroom foraging and comfortable temperatures, while winter can blanket the higher peaks in snow, temporarily cutting access to some tracks.

Mountain biking enthusiasts find kilometres of agricultural tracks linking Chirivel with neighbouring villages. The terrain suits intermediate riders: loose gravel, steady climbs, technical descents through erosion gullies. Hire bikes in Vélez Rubio, fifteen minutes' drive away, though serious riders usually bring their own.

What Passes for Cuisine at 1,000 Metres

Food here reflects altitude and agriculture – hearty, filling, designed for workers who've spent hours on steep slopes. Migas, fried breadcrumbs studded with pork belly and garlic, appears on every menu. Gachas, a thick porridge of flour and water enriched with wild herbs, tastes better than it sounds. During game season, which runs October to January, restaurants serve wild boar stew rich with local red wine.

Hotel Restaurante Lorenzo, conveniently located near the A-92 exit, offers the safest introduction to local cooking. Their menú del día – grilled pork or chicken with chips and salad – won't frighten conservative palates. Be warned: previous visitors mention persistent flies in the dining room during summer months. The restaurant closes its kitchen at 4 pm sharp, reopening at 8:30 pm. Arrive outside these hours and you'll go hungry.

For more characterful dining, book dinner at Cortijo El Ciruelo, five minutes outside the village. British expats Gillian and Gary converted this farmhouse into guest accommodation, serving homemade jams at breakfast and offering full-English options for homesick guests. Their local knowledge proves invaluable for navigating walking routes and finding petrol stations that actually open on Sundays.

Stock up on edible souvenirs in the village bakery: crusty baguettes that put British supermarket versions to shame, plus locally produced honey and almonds that travel well in suitcases. The almonds taste different here – sweeter, more intense – having grown slowly at altitude rather than irrigated intensively in the lowlands.

The Practicalities of Choosing Height Over Coast

Flying into Alicante makes most sense for British visitors. Multiple daily flights from London airports meet rental car desks in the terminal. The drive to Chirivel takes ninety minutes via the A-92, though factor in another thirty for navigating the confusing Murcia ring road during peak times. Almería airport works too, slightly closer at seventy-five minutes, but offers fewer flight options outside summer.

You need wheels. Public transport doesn't reach Chirivel; the nearest train station sits forty kilometres away in Lorca. Taxis must be pre-booked from Vélez Rubio and cost €35 each way. Cars also solve the Sunday problem – when every village business shutters and the nearest functioning supermarket lies twenty minutes' drive towards the coast.

Accommodation remains limited. La Casona de Don Bruno tops TripAdvisor's list for good reason: six rooms in a converted manor house, personal service, reasonable rates. Book early during blossom season when photographers descend. Alternative options lie scattered across the countryside – converted farmhouses offering rural isolation, though you'll drive for dinner.

Bring cash. ATMs exist but frequently run dry during festival weekends. Many bars still operate cash-only policies, refusing cards for transactions under €10. The village follows Spanish time religiously: everything closes between 2 pm and 5 pm, Sunday nights see the entire place shut down, and August empties the place as locals head for the coast.

The reward for accepting these minor inconveniences? Empty trails through almond blossom, mountain air clear enough to see Africa on exceptional days, and a Spain that package tourists never encounter. Just don't expect white-washed hill-town charm – Chirivel trades in authenticity, not Instagram moments.