Aznalcóllar

The castle above Aznalcóllar isn't pretty. Half its walls have collapsed, thorn bushes push through the stonework, and the only visitors today are a pair of local lads sharing a cigarette where the keep used to stand. Yet from this rubble, you can see why people have settled here for 3,000 years: the Guadiamar valley spreads southwards like a green carpet, olive groves give way to cork oak dehesas, and beyond them the first ridges of the Sierra Morena rise brown and purple against the Andalusian sky.

This is the view that stops you. Not the castle itself – there's precious little left of the 12th-century Almohad fortress – but what it shows you about a place that most British tourists thunder past on the A-66 to Seville.

A Working Town, Not a Theme Park

Aznalcóllar makes no effort to charm. At 155 metres above sea level, with 5,000-odd inhabitants, it's a mining town that happens to have some Roman ruins and decent tapas bars rather than the other way round. The name comes from the Arabic Hisn al-Qullar – fortress of the hill – though these days the hill feels more like a bump, and the fortress is essentially a pile of interesting stones.

What the town does have is authenticity in spades. Walk down Calle Real on a weekday morning and you'll pass elderly women in housecoats sweeping their doorsteps, delivery vans double-parked outside the butcher's, and the unmistakable sound of Spanish radio drifting from open windows. Nobody's selling you anything. The souvenir shop doesn't exist.

The 1998 mining disaster – when a dam burst and released five million cubic metres of toxic sludge into the Guadiamar – left scars both environmental and psychological. A small memorial near the river explains the cleanup operation; the modern museum by the town hall covers local mining history in displays entirely in Spanish. British visitors who stumble in usually last ten minutes before heading back to the car park. They're missing the point: Aznalcóllar isn't about attractions, it's about atmosphere.

Food, Drink and the Art of Timing

Come hungry, but come on time. Lunch service stops dead at 3:30 pm and nothing – absolutely nothing – reopens until 8 pm. The Saturday market in Plaza de Andalucía winds down by 2 pm, so if you want ripe avocados or local cheese for a picnic, set your alarm.

El Rincón nº 7 on Calle Pablo Gargallo has become the unofficial canteen for the few British expats who've bought country houses nearby. They come for the chuletón – a Flintstones-sized rib-eye for two that arrives sizzling on a wooden board with proper chips, not the frozen French fries that plague rural Spain. The owner speaks enough English to understand "medium-rare" and will bring you English mustard if you ask nicely.

For something more Spanish, Bar Restaurante El Mena does a no-nonsense pluma ibérica – grilled pork shoulder that tastes of acorns and wood smoke – with optional fried egg on top. Locals wash it down with beer served in small glasses that never quite empty because the waiter keeps topping them up. A three-course lunch with wine costs about €12; they'll accept cash only, so visit the Cajamar ATM first. (It often runs dry at weekends – another reason to bring euros.)

Sunday morning means churros at Bar Las Adelfas, but only before 11 am. After that, the oil goes cold and the regulars switch to beer and tapas. The torrijas – thick slices of bread soaked in milk, cinnamon and honey – appear during Easter week and are worth the calorific splurge.

Walking, Birds and Bad Mobile Reception

The Guadiamar Green Corridor, created after the 1998 disaster, now forms a 60-kilometre wildlife haven. From Aznalcóllar you can join the river path opposite the old train station and walk south through poplar and ash woodland. Information boards (in Spanish) explain how engineers removed thousands of tonnes of contaminated soil; kingfishers and night herons provide the commentary.

Drive ten minutes south to the abandoned mine tailings ponds – now a shallow lagoon system – for serious birdwatching. Park at the mirador, pull on wellies if it's been raining, and scan for purple gallinules, hoopoes and the occasional osprey. Mobile signal dies completely here, so download your bird app beforehand.

Back in town, the castle walk takes fifteen minutes from Plaza del Ayuntamiento. Stone steps lead up between houses, chickens scratch in gardens, and suddenly you're on the summit with 360-degree views. The Sierras look close enough to touch; in reality they're 30 km away, which explains why this spot has always been strategic rather than scenic.

If you're staying overnight – and one night is plenty – book the Hotel La Gitana on Avenida de la Constitución. It's clean, cheap (€45 double B&B) and the owner keeps the bar open late for residents. WiFi works in the lobby if you sit near the router. Don't expect luxury: the furniture is functional, the towels are small, but the coffee is strong and the croissants come from the local bakery at 7 am sharp.

When to Come, When to Stay Away

Spring brings wildflowers in the olive groves and comfortable walking temperatures around 20°C. Easter processions wind through the narrow streets with drums that echo off the whitewashed walls; visitors are welcome but there's nowhere to sit, so arrive early or be prepared to stand.

Summer is fiercely hot – 40°C isn't unusual – and many locals escape to the coast. Bars still serve dinner at 10 pm, but you'll be eating with the few remaining miners and the town's elderly population. Air-con is rare; fans are provided.

Autumn means mushroom season and the smell of woodsmoke from early evening. The September feria fills the fairground on the outskirts with sherry tents and flamenco that continues until dawn. Accommodation triples in price; book ahead or day-trip from Seville (45 minutes by car).

Winter can be surprisingly chilly. At 155 metres you're not high enough for snow, but the damp air cuts through clothes and most houses lack central heating. Come in December for the olive harvest – the mills near the station work 24 hours and the smell of fresh-pressed oil is extraordinary – but pack layers and a waterproof.

The Bottom Line

Aznalcóllar won't change your life. It doesn't do Instagram moments or boutique hotels. What it offers is the chance to see Andalusia without the filter: a place where people still nod hello in the street, where lunch is the most important event of the day, and where the landscape tells a 3,000-year story of copper, olives and stubborn survival.

Drive here for lunch, walk up the castle, buy some olive oil from the cooperative on Calle Pablo Gargallo, and leave before the afternoon shutdown. Or stay overnight, listen to the nightingales in the river woods, and discover that "ordinary" Spain has its own quiet magic. Just don't expect anyone to sell it to you – in Aznalcóllar, you're left to find it yourself.