Segura de la Sierra

The road signs warn of carretera sinuosa for the last 18 km, yet nothing prepares drivers for the final hairpin that suddenly lifts the village into view—white houses welded to a crag, the castle keep poking above a belt of pine like a ship’s prow. Segura de la Sierra sits so high in the eastern Sierra de Segura that even in July the evening air carries a trace of pine resin cool enough to make you reach for a jumper.

Park in the upper enclosure just before the traffic-calming boulders; anything wider than a Fiesta will scrape its wing-mirrors on the limestone walls beyond. From the barrier it is a five-minute shuffle uphill on polished cobbles to the only square large enough to swing a cat—Plaza de España, all 25 m of it—where the town hall flies the Andalucían flag at half-mast whenever a local octogenarian dies.

A Castle the Moors Would Still Recognise

The fortress that crowns the ridge is reached by a stepped lane so steep it has its own handrail. Entry is €3 (cash only; no change given) and the keeper will turn up clutching his keys precisely at 10 a.m.—or 10.30 if he stopped for an extra coffee. Inside, the climb continues: first to the parade ground, then up a spiral built for medieval ankles, finally to the rooftop parapet.

From here the view is pure ordinance-survey stuff: ridge after ridge receding into haze, the village roofs dropping away like a stone waterfall, and, on the clearest days, the glint of the Trujillo reservoir 40 km to the west. Interpretation boards quote Jorge Manrique, the fifteenth-century poet who commanded the garrison; unusually for Spain, the English translation is both grammatical and typo-free.

Photographers should arrive before 9 a.m.; by eleven the sun has flattened the contrast and the Indian-chief profile of El Yelmo to the north dissolves into bleached limestone.

Cobbles, Choirs and the Smell of Saffron

Back in the lanes, the church of Nuestra Señora del Collado keeps Renaissance sobriety—no dripping baroque here, just stone the colour of wheat and a single bell that marks the quarters. The side door is usually open; inside, a dim nave smells of candle wax and the previous night’s incense. A small glass case holds a wooden Virgin whose fifteenth-century face has the resigned expression of someone who has watched too many processions struggle up these gradients.

Lunch options are limited to four bars, all within 200 m of each other. Order the sopa de picante, a gentle saffron broth thickened with diced ham and mint; it arrives scalding in a clay bowl that doubles as hand-warmer when the mistral-style wind sneaks through the doorway. Follow it with migas—fried breadcrumbs, garlic and chorizo—a dish that tastes like Christmas stuffing and is oddly comforting to British palates. Vegetarians get grilled goat cheese drizzled with the local DOP olive oil: peppery, green, good enough to drink.

Walking Off the Bread

The village is a staging post on the GR-7 long-distance path, but you needn’t commit to a fortnight. The 5 km Fuentes loop, way-marked by green paint slashes, sets off from the fuente below the cemetery and threads through holm oaks to three springs that once fed the Moorish baths. Trainers suffice; take a bottle anyway—water in the village can be cut for hours if a summer storm muddies the upland intake.

Serious boots are required for the El Yelmo ascent: 9 km return, 500 m of climb, and the final 200 m are hands-on rock. The summit cross gives a 70 km panorama across two provinces; bring a windproof even in August because the thermals rising off the cliff can drop the perceived temperature by ten degrees.

When to Come, When to Stay Away

Spring is the sweet spot: almond blossom at 900 m, daytime 18 °C, nights cold enough for log fires. Autumn runs a close second—russet oaks, mushroom permits issued at the town hall for €5, and the castle sunset timed for a civilised seven o’clock.

Winter is spectacular but serious: the access road is gritted only as far as the lower car park; from there chains may be required. Hotel supplies of heating oil can run low if snow lingers, and the solitary cash machine (inside the pharmacy) has been known to swallow cards for three-day weekends.

August fiestas bring brass bands and open-air dancing, but also fill the 40-bedroom stock. Book early or plan to stay 25 km away in the valley and drive up for fireworks—legal here and launched from the castle battlements, echoing round the cirque like artillery.

Practical Fragments

• Castle hours: officially Tue–Sun 10:00–14:00 & 17:00–19:00, but ring +34 953 48 00 08 the evening before; the warden sometimes shuts for grandson’s football finals.
• Nearest fuel: 19 km downhill at Hornos; the village garage closed in 2012.
• Weather forecast: look for “Segura de la Sierra (Jaén)” on AEMET; if it predicts niebla, the summit will be inside a cloud by 11 a.m.
• Cash: the pharmacy ATM charges €2 and may be empty on Mondays; bring notes.
• Driving time: 2 h 15 m from Granada airport, 3 h from Alicante—roads twisty but scenic, so build in coffee stops.

Segura offers no souvenir tat, no flamenco tablaos, no all-day English breakfast. What it does give is altitude-induced clarity: the sense that you have reached the top of something—literal and metaphorical—before the rest of Andalucía has finished its morning coffee. Arrive with sturdy shoes, a handful of coins and enough curiosity to climb one more flight of worn stairs than you intended. The castle key-rattler locks up at sunset; miss that curfew and the night wind across the battlements will teach you exactly why medieval sentries asked for danger money.