Gerena

The morning freight train to Huelva rattles past Gerena's single platform at 07:43. Nobody gets on. Nobody gets off. Twenty-five kilometres from Seville, this is commuting territory in theory, yet most day-trippers rocket past on the A-66 to prettier postcard towns. Their loss. What they miss is a place where granite kerbstones shine like silver after rain, where farmers still lunch on cocido at 10:30, and where the only English you'll hear is the museum audio-guide apologising for the narrator's "Andalusian accent".

Stone, Pork and Early Closures

Gerena sits at 86 metres above sea level, low enough for olive trees to outnumber oaks but high enough that the Guadalquivir plain spreads out like a map from the northern ridge. The surrounding hills are scored with old quarry workings; the local stone built the cathedral of Seville and half the manor houses in the city centre. You can see the same honey-coloured granite in Gerena's 16th-century church tower, in the hefty doorways of Calle Nueva, and in the museum dedicated to the quarrymen who hacked it out.

The Museo del Cantero opens 10:00-14:00, Tuesday to Saturday (closed Monday, a trap for early motorists). Entrance is €2, audio-guide included, and it is worth every cent. A ten-minute film shows how a lump of rock becomes a perfectly balanced millstone; another display explains why the village clock tower leans 63 cm – subsidence from abandoned mine shafts, not Instagram-friendly earthquake damage. British visitors tend to linger over the black-and-white photos of 1920s emigrants boarding ships at Liverpool Docks; many were Gerena stonemasons heading for the Welsh slate valleys.

Outside, the streets follow a loose grid that makes orientation simple. Head uphill and you reach the dehesa, the open cork-oak pastureland where black Iberian pigs still root for acorns. Head downhill and you hit the main road, the N-630, where lorries thunder towards Portugal and the bars serve grilled solomillo with chips for the unconvinced. Kitchens shut sharp at 16:00; arrive at 15:55 and they'll feed you with a smile, but 16:01 means crisps and a beer until evening service starts at 20:00.

Walking Tracks Without the Crowds

There are three way-marked routes that start from the old railway station. The shortest, the 4 km Ruta del Ferrocarril, follows the disused mine tramline west to an abandoned loading bay now colonised by storks. The leaflet (free from the museum) warns about patchy signage; download the GPS track if you hate back-tracking through prickly pear. Spring brings carpets of purple flax and the clatter of hoopoes overhead; high summer is furnace-hot by 11:00, so start early or wait for the long autumn evenings when the stone glows amber.

Cyclists use the same paths, though the surface switches without warning from packed grit to fist-sized gravel. A mountain bike is advisable; skinny city tyres will pinch-puncture on the granite chippings. Local farmers drive pickups like rally cars: keep ears open for revving engines and be ready to dive into the oak shade.

What Actually Arrives on the Plate

Forget twee tapas tours. Gerena's food is built around the matanza, the winter pig slaughter, and whatever wild greens the grandmother next door foraged that morning. Collejas – bladder-campion leaves – appear in spring omelettes tasting like mild spinach; even children who recoil at "weeds" finish the plate. Cocido andaluz is a gentle chickpea and pork stew, less smoky than the better-known Extremaduran version, served here with a raw garlic & cumin mash that you stir in to taste. Tortas de hojaldre, flaky custard tarts, cost €1.20 in the bakery on Plaza de la Constitución and are usually warm until 11:00.

Vegetarians survive on tortilla, cheese and the excellent local olive oil, but little else is planned with them in mind. If you need a green option, ask for "espinacas con garbanzos" – spinach with chickpeas – though it may arrive dusted with bits of jamón. Sunday lunch is family-only for most restaurants; book ahead or expect closed doors and a room-temperature beer from the one bar left standing.

Fiestas, Sound Systems and Free Parking

August's feria transforms the fairground at the edge of town into a neon village of pop-up bars. Casetas are free to enter; you simply walk in, order a fino, and hope someone teaches you the local sevillanas step. Unlike Seville's famous fair, there are no ticketed enclosures or dress codes – shorts and trainers are fine, though the teenage cohort still presses its jeans. Midnight is when grandparents leave and the reggaeton volume creeps up; light sleepers should book accommodation on the quieter southern side.

Holy Week is low-key: three pasos (floats) carried by twenty men apiece, not the fifty-strong teams of the big cities. The brass band follows, playing a march that sounds suspiciously like a slowed-down football chant. Visitors are welcome to trail behind; just don't block doorways when the bearers need a rest – they will lower the platform onto your toes without ceremony.

Parking is free everywhere except the market square on Tuesday morning, when the fruit van needs room to turn. The British habit of squeezing into the smallest space is unnecessary; pull up parallel to the granite curb and lock – crime rates are low, but hire-car stickers invite broken windows in any country.

Getting Here, Getting Out

Seville airport is 35 minutes away on the toll-free A-66. Car hire desks sit directly opposite baggage claim; ignore the fuel-hard-sell, fill up at the Repsol in Gerena before returning (it's 8 cents cheaper than airport petrol). There is a weekday bus at 07:15 and 14:00 from Seville's Plaza de Armas, but none on Sunday or public holidays. A taxi booked from the capital costs about €45 each way – economical only if four share.

Allow three hours for the museum, a coffee, a walk and lunch. Stay longer and you'll start recognising the same faces at the bar, the mayor buying bread, the quarryman whose grandfather built your hotel in Seville. That is Gerena's real attraction: not a hidden anything, simply a working village comfortable in its own granite skin. Come, look, walk, eat – then leave the platform empty for tomorrow's 07:43 goods train.