Bailén

The Battle Britain Forgot

Three kilometres off the A-4 motorway, halfway between Madrid and the Costa del Sol, a stone obelisk marks the spot where Spain's army beat Napoleon's troops in 1808. Most British drivers thunder past at 120 kph, unaware they've just missed the first open-field defeat the Emperor's infantry ever suffered. Bailén, a workaday market town of 17,000, makes no effort to wave them down—and that is precisely why it is worth stopping.

The battle lasted four July days in olive groves that now sit beneath a Carrefour hypermarket. Spanish General Castaños trapped 18,000 French soldiers in 40-degree heat; when the surrender came, the news ricocheted across Europe. London newspapers ran ecstatic editorials; Beethoven tore up the dedication on his Third Symphony. Yet today the event is reduced to a ground-floor municipal museum opposite the Friday vegetable market. Entry is free; the attendant will switch on the 15-minute video if you ask nicely.

A Town That Puts Function Before Beauty

Bailén won't win any prettiness contests. The main drag, Avenida de Andalucía, is a conveyor of lorries, chemists and mobile-phone shops. Planning regulations arrived late here, so the skyline is a layer cake of 1960s apartments, neo-Tudor banks and the odd surviving balcony of wrought iron. The effect is oddly honest: this is what most inland Spaniards actually live in, once the postcards have been edited.

Turn off the avenue anywhere between Calle San José and the Plaza de la Constitución, though, and the traffic hush drops away. Narrow lanes open into courtyards where geraniums drip from terracotta pots and elderly men in flat caps play dominoes under orange trees. The old town is tiny—ten minutes diagonal walking sees you out the other side—but it contains two churches that book-end Spain's architectural mood swings. The Iglesia de la Encarnación (begun 1564) is all sober Renaissance stone, while the Iglesia de San Andrés, started a century earlier, can't decide whether it is Gothic or plateresque and settles for both. Neither charges admission; both are kept unlocked until siesta time, roughly 14:00 to 17:30 depending on the verger's lunch.

Oil, Olives and the Smell of Autumn Money

Geography has made Bailén a crossroads: the Guadalquivir valley squeezes the Madrid–Andalucía railway and the old royal road through its olive belt. From any viewpoint—try the Cerro de las Albahacas at sunset—the plain looks like an army of disciplined green lollipops marching to the Sierra Morena. These are Picual olives, high in polyphenols and prized by British delis for peppery finishes on sourdough. Local co-operatives will sell you a five-litre tin for about £18 if you turn up during the November–January harvest; the same oil retails in Borough Market for four times that.

Harvest mornings smell of wet leaves and diesel. Mechanical shakers clamp around trunks and shake the fruit onto nets; old women with berets and sticks spear the strays. It is hypnotic to watch, but visitors are politely ignored unless they bring gloves and want to earn €50 a day. For a softer introduction, the Almazara de la Trinidad on the town's western edge offers 45-minute tours in English on request—ring a day ahead (+34 953 580 244). The tasting ends with bread cubes dunked in oil so fresh it stings the throat.

Where to Eat Without the Coach-Party Fuss

Bailén has no Michelin pretensions; it feeds lorry drivers and travelling salesmen, and is proud of the fact. Mesón Sebastián, on Plaza de la Constitución, does a three-course menú del día for €12 including half a bottle of house wine. Expect grilled chuletón the size of a paperback, chips, and flan that wobbles like a 1970s dinner party. Vegetarians can try espinacas con garbanzos, though they should check the spinach hasn't been enriched with bits of jamón. For something approaching British pub food, Cervecería D'Cartutxos fries pescaito—tiny boquerones that arrive scalding hot with lemon wedges and a mayo-heavy alioli. Beer is served in cañas (200 ml) so you can drink two and still drive legally.

The daily market, open till 14:00, sells the local ajoatao, a garlic-paprika paste that turns rabbit stew crimson. Stalls also stock dulces de monja: almond biscuits baked by enclosed nuns from the closed convent of Santa Ana. Transactions are done via a wooden lazy-Susan; you place cash on the turntable, the biscuits rotate out. No eye contact required.

Walking, Riding and the Art of Getting Lost

The tourist office keeps a leaflet entitled Rutas del Olivar, though the paths are really farm tracks linking stone cortijos. A circular 8 km loop starts at the railway underpass west of town and follows yellow-and-white waymarks through silver-green ranks of trees. The terrain is flat; danger comes from tractors rather than ravines. Spring brings poppies between trunks and the chance to see bee-eaters flaring turquoise above the irrigation ditches. Summer is furnace-hot—carry two litres of water and start at dawn. Autumn smells of bruised olives; winter is crisp, empty and excellent for bird-spotting: woodlarks, black redstarts, the occasional Iberian grey shrike.

Horse-riding centres on the road to Linares offer two-hour hacks for €30, suitable for anyone who can stay on at a walk. They will not ask for a British riding-hat certificate; they will expect cash.

Practicalities Without the Brochure Gush

Getting here: Málaga and Madrid airports are equidistant; hire a car. Bailén is signposted from junction 292 of the A-4. By train, take the high-speed service to Linares-Baeza (2 h 45 min from Madrid, £35 return), then a €20 taxi. No buses run on Sundays.

Staying: Hotel Bailén (three stars, €55 double) is clean, central and overlooks the obelisk. Rooms at the back are quieter. Book early for the July re-enactment weekend; otherwise just turn up.

Opening hours: Museum closed Monday; churches close 14:00–17:30; shops shut Saturday afternoon and all Sunday except the Chinese bazaar by the petrol station.

Money: ATMs on Plaza de la Constitución; most bars don't take cards under €10.

Should You Bother?

If your ideal Andalucía is white lanes and flamenco skirts, keep driving. Bailén offers instead a snapshot of provincial Spain getting on with life: coffee at the counter for €1.20, waiters who call you caballero whether you ride a horse or a Honda, and a museum where the curator will probably walk round with you because you are the only customer that morning. Stay an hour, stay a night—just don't expect souvenir tea-towels. The town's greatest gift is honesty: it will not pretend to be prettier, grander or more exotic than it is. Some travellers call that dull; others find it a relief.