Rute

The road from Málaga climbs through olive groves so uniform they look like a vast army of green lollipops. After 91 km the tarmac narrows, the thermometer drops five degrees, and Rute appears—white cubes stacked against a limestone ridge, the bell tower of Santa Catalina poking above the roofs like a raised finger. At first glance it could be any Andalusian hill town. Then the wind shifts, carrying a sweet, almost medicinal whiff that makes you wonder if someone has upended a bottle of cough syrup over the countryside. That scent is aniseed, and it has drifted out of copper stills here for three centuries.

Distillery air and castle stones

Rute’s economy still hinges on what happens inside the low, whitewashed warehouses on the southern edge of town. Inside, workers feed star anise and grain alcohol into century-old alembics, producing a liqueur that turns milky the moment it meets ice. The largest producer, Destilerías Muñoz Galvez, opens for tours most weekday mornings (€6, includes two thimble-sized tastings and a miniature bottle). Ask for the 20 % ABV version if the standard firewater makes your eyes water.

Above the chimneys, the 13th-century castle is little more than a broken curtain wall, but the 15-minute climb is worth it for the ledger-book view: rolling sierras on three sides, the turquoise sliver of the Iznájar reservoir to the south, and a patchwork of olive terraces that glow silver when the sun is low. The descent can be slippy after rain—proper footwear advised, and bring a torch if you linger for sunset.

Saturday currency and siesta logistics

Market day rewinds the calendar to a slower era. Traders arrive before dawn, string up canvas awnings, and lay out hams whose price drops the further you walk from the centre. A coffee at the aluminium kiosk costs €1.20; the owner still keeps a handwritten tab for locals who forgot their wallets. Arrive before ten to park inside the town; afterwards, follow the brown signs to “Parking – Centro Urbano” on the ring road and walk five minutes in.

Museums and most shops observe the classic siesta: shutters down from 14:00 until 17:00, everything locked on Monday. Plan accordingly or you’ll find yourself kicking your heels in the Plaza de Andalucía, watching grandmothers walk small dogs in perfectly coordinated coats.

Walking without crowds

The Subbética range starts where the streets end. A way-marked path, the Ruta de las Bodegas, loops 6 km through olive groves and past two working distilleries; pick up the leaflet at the tourist office beside the town hall. For something stiffer, the trail to the Hoz de Loja climbs 400 m through holm oak and gall-oak, ending on a limestone bluff that drops straight to the river Genil. Griffon vultures circle at eye level, and on weekdays you might have the lookout to yourself.

Winter brings sharp mornings—frost is common at this altitude—and the occasional dusting of snow that melts by lunchtime. Summer, by contrast, is fierce; thermometers touch 38 °C and the aniseed aroma thickens to a haze. Spring and early autumn are the sweet spots, with daytime highs around 22 °C and nights cool enough for a jumper.

Sweet teeth and savoury ends

Rute does nothing by halves when sugar is involved. The Museo del Azúcar occupies a former convent; inside, artisans mould 200-kg chocolate Nativity scenes that run the length of the nave. Admission is free if you buy a bag of mantecados (crumbly shortbread flavoured with cinnamon and, inevitably, aniseed). Across the street, pastelería El Molino turns out “huesos de santo” so delicate they shatter at first bite—pair one with a glass of sweet anise for the full local breakfast.

For savoury relief, order jamón de Rute at Bar El Pósito: milder than Jabugo, cured for 24 months in the mountain air, served on rough brown paper with nothing more than a quartered tomato and a drizzle of local olive oil. A plate for two costs €12 and comes with complimentary olives that taste of thyme and the faintest ghost of aniseed drifting in from next door.

Getting there, getting out

Málaga airport is 75 minutes by car: A-45 to Antequera, then A-331 south through endless olives. No tolls, and the final approach is on a twisty but well-surfaced road—keep an eye out for the occasional wandering goat. Without wheels, take the airport bus to Málaga María Zambrano station, then ALSA coach to Loja and change for Rute; total journey two and a half hours, €14 each way.

Bed stock is limited: two small hotels, a handful of casas rurales, and one 17th-century convent turned boutique guesthouse. Expect €70–€110 for a double, less mid-week. Book early if your visit coincides with the Fiesta del Anís (mid-September), when the town fills with liqueur aficionados and the air is so perfumed you can taste it.

Leave time for a last wander. At dusk the limestone walls blush pink, swifts screech around the bell tower, and the distillery chimneys exhale their final plume of fragrant steam. Rute doesn’t shout; it exhales. Whether that breath tempts you to stay another night or simply prompts a souvenir bottle for the suitcase depends on your tolerance for liquorice-flavoured memories.