Taberno

The road to Taberno climbs steadily through olive terraces that glow silver in the afternoon sun. At 700 metres above sea level, this whitewashed village marks the point where Andalucía's arid landscape finally relents, softening into folds of almond groves and dry-stone walls that have stood for centuries. The air thins slightly here, carrying the scent of wild thyme and the distant murmur of irrigation channels that still feed the terraced plots below.

A Village That Breathes at Its Own Pace

Taberno's 958 residents have perfected the art of unhurried living. The main street, Calle Real, stretches barely 300 metres from the 16th-century church to the town hall, yet a morning stroll can easily consume an hour. Time dissolves between conversations with neighbours, the slow preparation of coffee at Bar Central, and the ritual of choosing bread from the single bakery that opens its doors at 7 am sharp.

The village's rhythm follows agricultural cycles rather than tourist seasons. Winter brings the almond blossom spectacle—delicate pink and white petals that transform the surrounding slopes into a natural amphitheatre. By March, local women gather wild asparagus from the hillsides, later selling bunches for €2 from plastic buckets outside their front doors. Summer arrives abruptly in May, when temperatures soar to 30°C by midday, sending residents indoors until the evening breeze drifts up from the Almanzora valley.

This is working Spain, not postcard Spain. The man repairing a tractor tyre in the garage doubles as the village's unofficial historian. The woman sweeping her doorstep can direct you to the best walking trails, provided your Spanish stretches beyond ordering beer. Conversations happen in rapid Almerían dialect, though most locals will slow down for visitors attempting the language.

Trails Through Time and Stone

The signed walking routes radiating from Taberno follow ancient mule tracks that once connected scattered farmsteads. The PR-A 117 Picacho Trail ascends 200 metres over three kilometres, rewarding walkers with views across forty kilometres of semi-desert landscape. Stone markers appear every 500 metres, though the path itself is obvious—worn smooth by centuries of hoof and foot traffic.

The PR-A 325 Cerro Alto Trail presents a stiffer challenge, climbing 400 metres through abandoned terraces where fig trees still fruit despite decades of neglect. Along the route, stone huts called cortijos stand roofless against the elements, their walls incorporating Roman tiles looted from earlier settlements. These ruins aren't heritage sites—they're simply part of the landscape, accepted and ignored in equal measure.

Both trails demand proper footwear. The limestone scree shifts underfoot, and summer heat can be brutal despite altitude. Carry water—lots of it. The nearest spring sits two kilometres from the village centre, and the bars don't open until late morning. Spring walkers might encounter Juan Miguel and his herd of 300 goats, their bells clanking a medieval soundtrack across the hillsides. He'll sell you fresh cheese wrapped in waxed paper, €5 for half a kilo that beats anything available in British supermarkets.

Food Without Fanfare

Taberno's culinary scene consists of three bars, one restaurant, and a bakery. That's it. No tasting menus, no fusion experiments, just solid Almerían cooking that hasn't changed significantly since Franco's time. Bar Nuevo serves the best tortilla—thick, golden, still runny in the middle—accompanied by bread that arrives warm from the bakery next door. A slice costs €2.50, coffee an additional €1.20.

At Mesón El Cazador, the daily menu del día runs to three courses plus wine for €12. Monday might bring garbanzos con espinacas (chickpeas with spinach), Wednesday could feature conejo al ajillo (rabbit with garlic). The owner, Pepe, sources his vegetables from plots visible from the restaurant windows. His wife makes the desserts—flan that wobbles like a 1970s dinner party, arroz con leche thick enough to stand a spoon in.

The torta de chicharrones deserves special mention. This pork crackling pie, unique to the region, resembles a British pork pie that's been flattened and fried. Locals eat it cold, sliced thick, often with a beer at 11 am. The bakery makes twenty daily—they're usually gone by noon. For British palates, it's familiar enough to comfort, foreign enough to remind you you're definitely not in the Cotswolds anymore.

The Reality Check

Let's be clear: Taberno isn't for everyone. The nearest cash machine sits 12 kilometres away in Chirivel, and most establishments prefer cash. Mobile signal drops in and out depending on which side of the mountain you're on. Summer weekends bring Spanish families escaping coastal humidity, quadrupling the population and filling the single guesthouse months in advance.

Winter visits reveal a different village. January temperatures can dip to 2°C at night—houses lack central heating, relying instead on wood stoves and thick walls. The almond blossom brings photographers but little else; two bars close entirely, reopening only when agricultural work resumes in March. Rain, when it comes, transforms the dirt tracks into muddy slides that test even experienced walkers.

Access remains the biggest challenge. The drive from Almería airport takes ninety minutes along the A-92, followed by twenty minutes of winding mountain roads that would terrify nervous drivers. Car hire isn't optional—it's essential. Buses run twice daily except Sundays, when there's no service at all. Miss the 3 pm departure and you're spending another night, whether you'd planned to or not.

Yet for those seeking Spain unplugged, Taberno delivers. It's a village where restaurant owners remember your order from three days previous, where the bakery saves you the last chocolate croissant because they noticed you looking disappointed yesterday. It's where British expats who've lived here fifteen years still get invited to local weddings, where your stumbling Spanish generates patience rather than smirks.

Come in late September when the heat subsides but the light remains golden. Stay in one of the village's three rental houses—Sol de Taberno offers British-standard beds and a pool, though you'll pay €120 nightly for the privilege. Walk the trails at dawn when the only sounds are your footsteps and the occasional goat bell. Eat where locals eat, drink where they drink, and accept that nothing happens quickly here. That's precisely the point.