Partaloa

The church bell strikes midday and the only other sound is the clink of coffee cups outside Bar La Plaza. By the time the echo fades, the baker has already pulled down his shutters and the village cats have claimed the patch of shade beneath the olive tree in front of the ayuntamiento. This is Partaloa at noon: population roughly one thousand, altitude 544 metres, volume set to “barely audible”.

Up in the olive terraces

Partaloa sits on a shallow ridge above the dry bed of the Almanzora River, halfway between the market town of Albox and the railway halt at Cantoria. From the mirador beside the cemetery you look south across a chessboard of almond and olive groves that glow silver-grey after rain and biscuit-brown the rest of the year. The slope is gentle enough for an easy morning circuit – about 5 km on farm tracks that loop past ruined cortijos and the occasional sleepy sheepdog. Take water: there is no bar once you leave the village, and summer temperatures touch 38°C before lunch.

The tracks double as the Vía Verde del Almanzora, a disused mining railway now flattened for walkers and bikes. A good leg-stretch is to pedal north-west to the hamlet of El Egea (4 km) where the old station clock still hangs at a jaunty angle and an honesty box sells locally pressed oil at €6 a litre. Road bikes cope fine; hybrids are better if you fancy continuing on the stony section towards Fines.

Inside the white walls

Back in the village centre the streets are barely two cars wide. Houses are whitewashed annually, so the glare can hurt at eye level, but it also means the place looks freshly laundered even in January. The 19th-century Iglesia de San Antón keeps its doors open until 13:00; inside, the cool air smells of candle wax and the plaster is flaking just enough to reveal earlier frescoes of blue cherubs. Donations box: €1 buys a taper and the right to photograph the gilded altar.

There is no souvenir shop. Instead, the bakery on Calle San Sebastián sells almond biscuits called mantecados year-round and switches to ring-shaped roscos de vino at Easter. Ask for a quarter-kilo; they’ll tip the still-warm biscuits onto brown paper and twist the corners like a 1950s sweet shop. Next door, the tiny convenience store stocks UHT milk, tinned beans and, mysteriously, one shelf of Waitrose tea. British residents – about eighty of them – have clearly lobbied for home comforts.

What passes for nightlife

Evenings start late. At 20:30 the plaza fills with grandparents on metal chairs and toddlers chasing pigeons until the mothers arrive with handbags and reproachful looks. Tabernero opens its roller shutter at 21:00 and serves cañas for €1.20 and tapas that change according to whatever Juan has in the fridge. Tuesday is meatballs in almond sauce, Thursday is migas – fried breadcrumbs laced with chorizo and grapes. Vegetarians get a plate of grilled peppers and no apology.

If you want a second bar you have two choices: walk 200 metres to Bar El Cortijo, or drive to Albox where a handful of expat pubs show Sky Sports. Most visitors stick with option one and are back in their rental cottage by 23:00, trading the murmur of Spanish conversation for cicadas and the occasional bark of a distant dog.

When to come – and when not to

March brings blossom on the almond trees and daytime highs of 20°C; walkers can do the valley circuit without carrying two litres of water. Late October is almost as good, with the added bonus of pomegranate trees dripping fruit over garden walls. Between those brackets Partaloa bakes. July and August nights stay above 24°C; houses built 40 cm thick to keep heat out also keep it in, so unless your accommodation has a pool or air-conditioning you will sleep poorly. Winter is crisp – 14°C at midday, zero at night – and the village can feel hollow when half the owners return to Manchester or Oslo for Christmas.

Rain is infrequent but spectacular. One October cloudburst washed away the AL-950 and left locals pumping out garages for a week. Check the forecast if you’re staying in a dry-river-bed cortijo; the Almanzora can rise two metres in an hour.

Eating beyond the plaza

For a sit-down meal you need wheels. Five minutes towards Cantoria, Restaurante Los Limoneros occupies a former olive mill. They do a fixed-price menú del día (€12) that starts with garlic soup and finishes with cinnamon-dusted rice pudding. Game season runs November to January; order the conejo al ajillo and you get half a rabbit simmered in white wine, plenty for two with a bowl of papas a lo pobre on the side.

Cantoria’s Friday market is the place to stock up on fruit, knock-off denim and the local queso de almendro – a soft, fresh cheese rolled in crushed almonds. Take €20 notes; few stallholders accept cards and the village cash machine has a talent for running dry on Thursday afternoons.

Practical grit

A hire car is non-negotiable. Almería airport is 55 minutes south-east on the A-7 and AL-950; Alicante is 1 h 45 min but often cheaper for UK flights. Fill the tank at the airport – rural stations close on Sundays and the nearest 24-hour garage is a 20-minute detour at Huércal-Overa. Add 25% to Google’s mountain-driving estimate after dark; the final 8 km are unlit and shared with the occasional wandering goat.

Medical cover: the consultorio opens 08:00–14:00 on weekdays only. Anything nastier means a trip to Huércal-Overa hospital, 25 km away. Travel insurance stamped “Spain inland” is wise; EHIC/GHIC cards work but ambulances still bill you €150 if you’re uninsured.

The honest verdict

Partaloa will not dazzle you. There is no beach, no Michelin listing, no flamenco tablao. What it offers instead is volume control: the chance to reset your internal clock to siesta time, to drink coffee that costs less than a London newspaper, and to walk farm tracks where the loudest noise is your own footfall. Come with a car, a paperback and modest expectations; leave with your phone full of photos of white walls, almond blossom and the certain knowledge that places this quiet still exist – provided you don’t expect them to stay that way for ever.