Tomelloso

The chimney rises 30 metres above the flat vineyards, its brickwork painted crimson and yellow like a beacon against the La Mancha sky. From a distance, it looks almost cheerful—until you realise it once belonged to an alcohol distillery, processing the excess grapes that didn't make it into the region's wine bottles. This is Tomelloso's peculiar charm: industrial heritage dressed in bright colours, serious wine culture served with zero pretension, and a town that's been making Europe tipsy for over a century without bothering to tell anyone about it.

The Town That Dug Downwards

At 662 metres above sea level, Tomelloso sits high enough to catch the breeze that sweeps across Spain's central plateau. The altitude matters—it means the difference between grape-growing weather and grape-roasting weather, keeping the vines cool during scorching summers when temperatures regularly hit 35°C. But the real engineering happens underground.

Beneath the wide, grid-pattern streets lie hundreds of cuevas-bodega: wine caves hand-carved through generations of families. These subterranean tunnels maintain a steady 14-16°C year-round, perfect for ageing wine in oak barrels that would cost thousands to store in temperature-controlled facilities elsewhere. Some stretch 40 metres long, branching into side chambers where locals still store their personal wine collections. Walking through one feels like entering a cathedral built entirely for alcohol—brick arches, clay floors, and the sweet, sharp scent of fermentation that clings to your clothes hours later.

The tourist office on Calle San José keeps a list of which caves offer tours, but it's worth asking in bars too. Many families open their cellars informally for a few euros, pouring wine straight from the barrel while explaining how their grandfather dug the first section with a pickaxe in 1923. Vinícola de Tomelloso, the town's largest cooperative, runs more structured tastings—book ahead, especially during September's harvest when the place buzzes with activity and the smell of crushed grapes drifts through the streets.

Smokestacks and Shepherd Huts

Tomelloso won't win Spain's prettiest town competition. The centre consists of solid, utilitarian buildings from the early 20th century, evidence of proper wine money rather than architectural flourishes. What catches the eye instead are the industrial remnants scattered throughout: brick chimneys marking former distilleries, some painted in primary colours by local artists, others left in raw brick like exclamation points to the town's working past.

Drive ten minutes out of town and you'll spot bombos: circular stone huts that look like giant beehives dropped in the middle of vineyards. Shepherds and vineyard workers used these for shelter, building them from loose stones without mortar. Most have collapsed, but a few intact examples remain—ask at Bar California on Plaza de España, where the owner keeps a hand-drawn map showing their locations. Finding one involves driving down dirt tracks between rows of vines, then walking the final hundred metres. The reward is discovering a structure that's survived 150 years of weather with nothing holding it together but gravity and good positioning.

The Museum That Explains Everything

The Antonio López Torres Museum occupies a former mansion on Calle Virgen de las Viñas, its rooms filled with paintings that make sense only after you've spent time here. López Torres, born in 1913, painted what he saw: endless vineyards under enormous skies, workers bent over vines, the particular quality of light that makes everything look sharper, more defined. His canvases capture the moment when afternoon sun hits chalky soil, creating a glare so intense it makes your eyes water—something you'll experience firsthand if you visit between May and August.

Upstairs, photographs by his contemporary Antonio López (no relation) document the town's transformation from agricultural backwater to wine powerhouse. Black-and-white images show horse-drawn carts loaded with grapes, women sorting leaves from fruit, children playing among fermentation tanks. The modern visitor recognises the same processes happening today, just with tractors instead of horses and stainless steel replacing wood.

Eating Through the Afternoon

Lunch starts late and finishes later. By 2pm, restaurants fill with locals ordering pisto manchego—Spain's superior answer to ratatouille—followed by gachas, a thick porridge that sustained workers through winter vineyard pruning. Portions assume you've spent the morning doing physical labour; even the tostada at breakfast arrives piled high with crushed tomato and jamón that hangs over the plate edges.

Bar El Parque, opposite the town park on Avenida Castilla-La Mancha, serves the best atascaburras in town: salt cod and potato whipped with garlic and olive oil into a fluffy mountain, topped with hard-boiled egg. It's essentially fishy mash that's been to finishing school, and it pairs surprisingly well with the local macabeo white wine. Don't expect English menus or quick service—meals unfold at Spanish speed, which means your table is yours for the afternoon.

For wine shopping, head to Bodegas Verum on the town's outskirts. Their mistela—a sweet dessert wine made from partially fermented grapes—costs €8 a bottle and tastes like liquid raisins with a alcoholic kick. The shop ships to the UK for reasonable rates, though you'll need to order at least six bottles to make it worthwhile.

When the Vines Turn Red

October transforms the surrounding countryside into a patchwork of burgundy, gold and rust. This is when Tomelloso looks most like the Spain of travel brochures, except you'll have the views largely to yourself. The town receives minimal foreign tourism—even in harvest season, you're more likely to share a winery tour with weekend visitors from Madrid than British holidaymakers.

The harvest brings fiestas de la vendimia: grape-stomping competitions in wooden vats, parades of tractors decorated with vine cuttings, and free wine tastings in the main square. It's authentic in the way that makes some visitors uncomfortable—events start hours late, speeches happen entirely in rapid-fire Spanish, and nobody explains what's happening because everyone already knows. Bring a phrasebook and a relaxed attitude; questions are welcomed, but answers assume deep local knowledge.

Getting There, Getting Round

Tomelloso sits two and a half hours south of Madrid by car, mostly on the A-4 motorway. The journey itself provides a masterclass in Spain's geography—leaving behind Madrid's granite grandeur, crossing the plains where Don Quixote tilted at windmills, watching the landscape flatten until horizon meets sky in a straight line. Public transport exists but requires patience: trains run hourly from Madrid to Ciudad Real, followed by a bus that makes the 45-minute journey three times daily. Missing the last connection means an expensive taxi or an overnight stay in Ciudad Real's functional but uninspiring centre.

A car transforms the experience. Country roads between vineyards invite exploration, stopping wherever a dirt track looks promising. Parking is free everywhere except the pedestrianised centre, and even there you'll find spaces within a block of your destination. The town works as a base for visiting Cuenca's hanging houses or Consuegra's windmills, though both require 90-minute drives through scenery that makes the journey part of the attraction.

Summer visits demand strategy. Temperatures regularly exceed 38°C in July and August, making midday exploration unpleasant and wine tasting hazardous. Early mornings and late afternoons work best—exactly when locals are active, meaning bars serve breakfast at 7am and dinner at 10pm. Spring brings wildflowers between vine rows and comfortable 20°C days. Winter sees temperatures drop to freezing, but bright sunshine and empty cellars make for peaceful exploration—just pack layers, as the caves maintain their cool temperatures regardless of surface weather.

Tomelloso doesn't seduce immediately. It reveals itself slowly, over glasses of wine poured by people whose families have made it for generations, through museums that explain why the landscape looks the way it does, in restaurants serving food that hasn't changed because it never needed to. It's a working town that happens to make something delicious, rather than a tourist destination that happens to have wineries. That distinction matters—and it's why visitors who arrive for the wine often find themselves staying for everything else that flows beneath the surface.