Prado del Rey

The church bells strike noon as a tractor rumbles through Plaza de España, its trailer stacked with olive crates heading to the cooperative mill. Nobody bats an eyelid. In Prado del Rey, population 5,600, farm traffic shares the high street with shoppers and the occasional stray dog. This is a working town first, a visitor destination second – and that's precisely what makes it worth the 55-kilometre drive inland from Jerez.

An Enlightenment Blueprint in White-Wash

Carlos III's surveyors drew Prado del Rey onto blank parchment in 1787. Instead of the usual medieval tangle, they imposed a neat grid: straight streets wide enough for two mule carts, a central square with uniform arcades, and none of the vertiginous alleyways that characterise Grazalema or Zahara de la Sierra half an hour away. The result feels oddly un-Andalusian until you notice the whitewash, the geraniums and the iron-grilled windows. Parking is painless; even in August you can usually slide into a bay on Calle Constitución without circling.

The Iglesia de Nuestra Señora de las Mercedes anchors the plan. Neoclassical in stone the colour of freshly baked shortbread, it houses a venerated Virgin whose robes are changed by local volunteers according to liturgical season. Step inside during evening Mass and you'll catch a drift of incense mixed with the sweeter scent of sherry wafting from the adjacent bars – worshippers still observe the old rule of a quick nip before communion.

What the Sierra Gives You

Altitude matters here. At 440 metres the air is already ten degrees cooler than on the Costa de la Luz; night-time thermometers can dip to 14 °C in midsummer, so pack a jumper even for July. The surrounding hills – a patchwork of olives, old cork oaks and low vineyard terraces – form a buffer against coastal humidity. Walkers can join the GR-7 as it skirts the town, following stone-paved drove roads once used for moving merino sheep to winter pasture. A circular morning route, the Sendero de los Molinos, traces two dry-season streams past ruined watermills; allow two hours, boots optional if it hasn't rained.

Serious hikers treat Prado del Rey as an inexpensive base for the Sierra de Grazalema Natural Park. The famous Garganta Verde gorge and the cliff-hugging path to the cave village of Benaocaz are both within 25 minutes' drive, yet room rates drop by a third compared with the prettier but overcrowded pueblos inside the park boundary.

Ferment in the Cellar, Flamenco in the Street

The town's brief wine moment arrived in the late 1800s when phylloxera had yet to travel south. Locals still ferment a small quantity of tintilla and palomino in family garages; during the Fiesta de la Vendimia (second weekend of September) you can taste last year's vintage straight from the plastic barrel. Sweet pajarete, reminiscent of a light cream sherry, slips down dangerously easily at 11 a.m. – pace yourself.

A week later the Cante por Serranas competition takes over the municipal theatre and spills into the bars. Unlike the touristy flamenco tablaos on the coast, this is a proper contest: no microphones, no sparkly costumes, just raw voice judged by retired singers who heckle anything that sounds too polished. Entry is free but seats fill fast; arrive an hour early with a cushion and a packet of olives.

Calories and Carburettors

Food is campo cooking – filling, cheap, light on presentation. Gachas prados, a thick porridge of flour, pepper and chorizo oil, arrives at tables in winter looking like wallpaper paste but tastes far better than it photographs. Gazpacho serrano is the chunky mountain cousin of the chilled soup: more ham, less tomato, served tepid with a side of mint. Expect to pay €9-€11 for a menú del día that includes wine and coffee; Restaurant Carmen does a gentle garlic chicken that even fussy teenagers will eat, while Pizzería Gallo d'Oro offers thin-crust fallback for the desperate.

Self-caterers should shop before 14:00. Once the metal shutters roll down for siesta the only option is the Chinese bazaar on Avenida de Cádiz, which sells UHT milk, tinned tuna and not much else. Saturday morning market in the Plaza de Abastos yields local honey, goat cheese wrapped in chestnut leaves, and chorizo ibérico mild enough for British palates – take cash, cards still provoke sighs.

When to Come, When to Stay Away

Spring is the sweet spot: the surrounding dehesa glows green after March rains, and daytime temperatures hover around 21 °C – ideal for cycling the quiet CA-8102 to Villamartín without melting. Accommodation is plentiful in small guesthouses; Hostal El Cortijo del Arte has rooms from €45 including garage parking, useful if you've hired a car in Jerez and worry about street dings.

Autumn runs a close second, especially for bird-watchers. Honey buzzards and black kites ride thermals above the town on their way to Africa; Los Alcornocales Natural Park, twenty minutes south, hosts Europe's largest colony of Egyptian vultures.

August brings the double-edged sword of fiestas. The flamenco contest is thrilling, but caseta music thumps until 05:00 and every balcony sprouts a sound system. Book accommodation early, request a back room, and accept that sleep will be fragmentary. What the brochures don't mention: August days can hit 38 °C before the sea breeze lifts over the sierra – plan walks at dawn or give up and join the locals in the municipal pool (€3, open until 21:00).

Winter is quiet, occasionally bleak. When the levante wind howls up the Guadalete valley, cloud spills over the town like dry ice and damp creeps into stone houses. Several bars close for the season; others open only at weekends. On the plus side, you may have the GR-7 entirely to yourself, and hotel owners drop prices without being asked.

Getting Here, Getting Out

Jerez airport is the logical gateway: Ryanair and EasyJet run year-round flights from London, and the drive north on the A-382 bypasses Arcos de la Frontera's nerve-jangling gorge road. Allow 45 minutes unless a tractor convoy decides today's the day to move olives. Seville and Málaga airports offer more choice and slightly cheaper hire cars, but the extra 40 minutes on the motorway can feel long after an early-morning departure from Gatwick.

Public transport exists – one early-morning bus to Jerez, another to Arcos – yet timetables seem designed to frustrate. A car is non-negotiable if you want to reach trailheads or visit neighbouring villages for lunch. Roads are well-surfaced but narrow; meet a lorry on the CA-8104 and someone is reversing 200 metres to the nearest passing bay.

Leave time for the return leg. Motorway services east of Jerez are thin; fill the tank at the BP in Arcos and grab a jamon bocadillo for the plane – it's better than anything post-security at Jerez terminal.

The Honest Verdict

Prado del Rey will never win the "oooh" factor of cliff-top Zahara or postcard-perfect Frigiliana. Its appeal lies in the opposite: it feels lived-in, slightly scruffy, indifferent to whether you visit or not. If you want boutique hotels and infinity pools, stay on the coast. If you fancy a Spanish town where the baker recognises a stranger and still slips an extra doughnut into the bag, this plateau village delivers. Just remember to bring layers, cash and realistic expectations – and don't expect a lie-in during August.