Baños de la Encina

The first thing you notice is the castle. From the A-4 it looms above olive groves like a piece of North Africa that took a wrong turn, fourteen sandstone towers studding a ridge at the edge of Sierra Morena. Below it, 450 m up, Baños de la Encina spreads in two concentric rings: the medieval core of whitewashed walls and iron balconies, then the 1970s brick annex that arrived with indoor plumbing and never left. The contrast is blunt, honest, very Andalusian.

Inside the old quarter the streets are barely two Renault Clios wide, cobbles polished by 900 years of boots and tractor tyres. Park on the lower slope if you value your wing-mirrors; the signposted castle car park is free but fills early with Spanish school-trip coaches. From here it is a five-minute uphill dodge through geraniums and barking dogs to the Castillo de Burgalimar, the best-preserved 10th-century fortress in Spain. Entry is €4 (card accepted) and the interior is, frankly, empty – no tapestries, no VR helmets, just breeze and battlemented views that stretch south across Jaén’s ocean of olives to the Guadalquivir plain. Purists love the austerity; others mutter that four quid buys a lot of coffee elsewhere. Time your visit for 10 a.m.; the stone glows honey-gold and you beat both the heat and the guided hordes. If you catch José Manuel’s English tour (usually 11 a.m., no extra charge) the place crackles into life: Moorish plumbing, medieval graffiti, a quick tale of Queen Isabel’s flea-ridden overnight stay.

Back in the lanes, the Iglesia de San Mateo squats over its former mosque site, Gothic ribs springing from Visigothic capitals. The tower doubles as the village clock; bells clang the hour slightly early, a habit locals blame on the 19th-century sacristan who kept losing his watch. The square outside is the stage for evening paseo: grandparents on benches, teenagers circling with mopeds, British visitors trying to look invisible while photographing doors. No souvenir stalls, no fridge magnets – refreshment is limited to two cafés and a bakery that runs out of churros by 11. Bring coins; the terrace loo charges 20 ¢ and the nearest ATM is an eight-minute walk down by the bus stop.

Olive Oil, Game Stews and Other Serrano Staples

Food here follows the calendar. Between October and January the air smells of crushed olives as the cooperative presses the first verdial fruit; a free tasting is laid on at Palacio Guzmánes if you’re staying the night. The resulting oil is gentle, almost buttery – good for dunking the village’s rock-hard bread. When the hunting season opens, restaurants add perdiz estofada (partridge stew) and ciervo (venison) to handwritten boards. Mesonero on Calle Real will serve half-raciones: try migas – fried breadcrumbs laced with garlic and chorizo – ideal picnic ballast before a walk. Vegetarians get espinacas con garbanzos, though you may need to ask for it; meat is the default. House wine arrives in 500 ml carafes and costs less than the bottled water.

Tracks, Reservoirs and the Smell of Rosemary

Baños works as a base for short, leg-stretching hikes rather than epic Sierra Nevada treks. A signed 7 km loop heads north-east through encinas (holm oaks) to the Embalse del Rumblar, a turquoise wedge that supplies Jaén’s showers. Spring brings wild rosemary and the clack of stone-curlews; summer is furnace-hot – 40 °C is routine – so start at dawn or wait for late afternoon when the castle throws a long shadow over the town. Paths are clear but stony; trainers suffice if you’re nimble, boots if you’re British. Keep dogs on leads: wild boar loiter near the water at dusk and they own the right of way.

If you’d rather drive, the Molino del Viento sits 3 km south on a dirt road passable to anything wider than a Smart car. The 18th-century windmill is locked, yet the ridge gives the classic postcard shot: white village, caramel castle, olives fading to blue. Sunset here is 15 minutes later than in the valley; take a jacket – altitude bites when the sun drops.

When the Village Lets its Hair Down

August fiestas honour the Virgen de la Encina with brass bands, all-night verbena dancing and fairground rides squeezed into the main car park. The population triples, spare rooms are swapped for cousins on sofas, and British couples seeking rural hush have been known to flee to Úbeda for peace. Book accommodation outside 12–17 August if you value sleep. October’s Fiesta de la Aceituna is gentler: olive-oil competitions, children chucking aceitunas at targets, and free tastings in the cooperative yard – a better bet for gastronomes.

Holy Week is another matter. On Maundy Thursday the parishioners haul a 17th-century Christ down the cobbles, turn right under the castle arch and re-emerge at dawn. It is intimate, candle-lit, mildly penitential – nothing like Seville’s tourist spectacle. Bring a cushion if you plan to watch; processions last three hours and the stone steps are unforgiving.

Getting Here, Getting Away

Jaén city, 52 km south, is the nearest transport hub. Samar runs one morning and one mid-afternoon bus on weekdays; miss the return and a taxi costs €45–65. Car hire is cheaper if you collect at Granada or Málaga airports (both roughly 90 minutes away). From the A-4 take exit 292, follow the A-6177 for 19 km of curves – keep in third gear and watch for goats. Fuel up in Bailén; the village garage closes at 2 p.m. on Saturdays and all day Sunday.

Accommodation is limited: two small hotels, a handful of casas rurales. Palacio Guzmánes, inside a 16th-century manor, has roof terraces that stare straight at the castle; parking is a squeeze even for a Fiesta-sized Ford, so request the garage slot when you book. Expect €70–90 for a double B&B, less mid-week in winter when night temperatures flirt with frost and the heating bill kicks in.

The Honest Verdict

Baños de la Encina will not keep adrenaline junkies busy for a week. Evenings are quiet, nightlife is a choice between two bars and the castle is shut on Mondays. What it offers is continuity: bread delivered to doorsteps in wicker baskets, old men arguing over dominoes at 11 a.m., a skyline that has startled travellers since Ibn Marwan built his fortress in 967. Come for two nights, three if you sketch or photograph, and treat it as a hinge between the Renaissance glories of Úbeda–Baeza and the empty sierra beyond. You will leave smelling of wood-smoke and olive oil, pockets full of rosemary, wondering why more places did not simply stay themselves.