Sierro

The road signs give up 8 km short of Sierro. From Olula del Río the tarmac narrows, climbs and corkscrews until phone reception flickers out and the only soundtrack is the hire car’s engine cooling in the thinner air. At 755 m the village appears suddenly – a wedge of white cubes pressed against the rock, too tight even for a single through-lane of traffic. Engines off; from here everything travels on foot.

A town that grew upwards

Space is the commodity Sierro never had. Hemmed in by the sierra, houses stack vertically: a front door opens straight onto a calle scarcely wider than a British pavement, while the back balcony hovers three storeys above the almond terraces. Staircases twist inside thick stone walls, and neighbours lean out of windows to hold conversations across the alley. The geometry is easier to feel than photograph – light wells, shadowy tunnels and sudden rooftop views that spill across the whole Almanzora valley.

Start at the modest Plaza del Ayuntamiento, the closest thing to a hub. The church of the Inmaculada Concepción keeps Andalucian hours – unlocked for early mass, then again at dusk when the stone interior is deliciously cool. Inside, a nineteenth-century painted altarpiece and a tiny museum cupboard of silver processional crosses reward anyone who lingers longer than the average passer-by. Donations go towards a new roof; the priest points out the buckets behind the pulpit if evidence is required.

Behind the church a stony footpath snakes up to the tenth-century castillo ruin. Little more than a crenellated shell remains, yet the platform delivers a drama the original Moors could hardly have imagined: ripples of almond and olive terraces below, the muscular ridge of the Filabres blocking the horizon, and on clear winter evenings a ribbon of Mediterranean silver 40 km away. Bring a windproof; even in April the breeze can knife through.

Almond snow and rambla walks

The almond blossom season is Sierro’s fleeting celebrity. From mid-February to early March the valley blushes white and rose, an effect that lasts barely ten days and varies by up to three weeks depending on winter rainfall. Coach parties from the coast have yet to discover it, so mid-week visitors usually have the groves to themselves. Walk south-east along the signed rambla: the dry riverbed cuts through pastel-coloured strata like badly stacked plywood, a reminder that water, when it comes, arrives violently.

Four marked footpaths fan out from the village, none longer than 9 km. The most straightforward loops past the hamlet of La Torca (abandoned school, two barking dogs) and returns via an old grain threshing floor now carpeted with esparto grass. Yellow way-marks are fresh, but mobile GPS wavers in the gullies; screenshot the route before you set off. Sturdy shoes suffice – this is hiking at its most civilised, with the village always in view and the soundtrack of song larks overhead.

Summer walkers should start at dawn. At 30 °C by noon the landscape feels closer to North Africa than northern Europe, and shade is scarce. Conversely, nights can be surprisingly chilly even in May; pack a fleece for star-watching sessions on the castle ramparts. Light pollution is minimal – the Milky Way appears within minutes of switching off a torch.

A kitchen without frills

Sierro will never be a gastronomic destination, which is part of its honesty. The single bar-restaurant, Casa Paco, opens when Paco returns from the baker in Purchena. If the metal shutter is up, order migas de trigo: fried wheat crumbs laced with pancetta and grapes, halfway between stuffing and savoury granola. Empedrado, a tomato-rice stew studded with salt cod and butter beans, appears on Thursday lunchtimes; it is filling, cheap (€8) and tastes better with a squeeze of lemon. Vegetarians make do with fritada – a slow pepper and aubergine ratatouille topped with a fried egg. Pudding is usually bought-in almond sponge; the local tortas de manteca are worth pocketing for the walk back to the car.

There is no supermarket, only a social-shop run by the ayuntamiento: tinned tuna, UHT milk, overripe fruit on a plastic table. Self-caterers should stock up in Olula del Río before the final climb. Alcohol is limited to whatever Paco has chilled – Cruzcampo beer and, on feast days, a jug of homemade anis that clears sinuses at twenty paces.

When the village parties – and when it doesn’t

Sierro’s calendar is still dictated by the land. December brings the fiesta of the Inmaculada Concepción: daytime processions with brass bands borrowed from neighbouring towns, evening bonfires where locals roast chestnuts and teenage boys compete to leap the flames. August nights belong to the Virgen de la Asunción; plastic tables appear in the plaza, elderly women deal cards under fairy-lights and the village youth drink mixed cola-red wine until the Guardia Civil gently suggest bedtime. Visitors are welcome, expected to buy a raffle ticket and cheer the late-night football match under floodlights powered by a chugging generator.

Outside those windows the silence is almost absolute. British second-home owners admit that after three consecutive quiet evenings they sometimes drive to Tíjola for a livelier coffee and a cash machine – Sierro has neither. Plan accordingly: nearest ATM, petrol station and 24-hour medical centre are all 12 km away down the corkscrew.

Getting there, staying sane

Fly to Almería (Norwich, London, Manchester seasonal) or Murcia (year-round from several UK bases). The hire-car queue is the last bit of hustle you’ll encounter. Take the A-92 west, peel off at junction 376 for the A-334, then follow the ALP-713 towards Olula del Río. The final 8 km to Sierro (AL-5403) climbs 400 m through hairpins with no barrier; reverse into bay parking spaces – getting out forwards saves a three-point turn on a cliff edge.

Accommodation is limited to three village houses converted into self-catering casas rurales (from €70 a night). Book ahead even for spring blossom weekends; supply is tiny and cancellations rare. Hosts leave the key under a flowerpot and a bottle of olive oil on the table – hospitality, Sierro-style.

Leave the car below the church and walk everywhere. Heels are useless; trainers suffice for short hikes, boots for longer rambles. Carry water April-October; fountains inside the village are drinkable, but none exist on the surrounding tracks.

Worth it?

Sierro offers neither boutique glamour nor Insta-ready spectacle. What it does give is a measured slice of inland Andalucía that mass tourism forgot: steep alleys scented with woodsmoke, almond terraces that glow at sunrise, and a night sky worth switching the phone off for. Come prepared – cash, food, layers – and the village repays with an unfiltered quiet that is becoming rare across southern Europe. Arrive expecting nightlife or souvenir shops and you’ll last half a day. Stay long enough to learn Paco’s opening hours and you may find yourself plotting a return before the car has reached the coast.