Casas-Ibáñez

The bell tower of San Juan Bautista strikes eleven and the only other sound is the clink of a coffee cup in Plaza Mayor. At 707 m above sea level, the air in Casas Ibáñez is already warm by mid-morning, but it carries the faint scent of almond blossom rather than diesel. This is Albacete province’s quiet corner, 60 km east of the regional capital, where the great cereal plateau begins to crumple into the low sierras that lead towards Cuenca. Vineyards outnumber people by a comfortable margin; the town’s 5,000 inhabitants are matched by twice as many hectares of bobal and tempranillo vines.

Wine first, monuments later

Casas Ibáñez has no fairy-tale castle, no cathedral, no souvenir gauntlet. What it does have is wine that tastes of the dry wind that rattles the vines at night. Start at Bodegas Gratias, five minutes’ walk from the church. The staff switch effortlessly between Spanish and English, and they pour with the enthusiasm of chemistry teachers who have just discovered a new element. A basic tasting runs to four wines and costs €10; you’ll leave knowing why the local bobal grape produces deeper colour than tempranillo yet feels lighter on its feet. Mid-week visits are relaxed; Saturdays fill up with day-trippers from Valencia, so book ahead.

If you prefer your introduction on a plate, the Hospedium Hotel Cañitas Maite on Calle San Roque offers a six-course “gastronomic tapas” menu (€24, wine extra) that folds the same wines into the cooking: think confit cod with roasted piquillo peppers, followed by a glass of bobal that has never seen the inside of an American-oak barrel. Kitchens close sharp at 4 pm; arrive by 2 pm or you’ll be staring at a locked door until 9 pm.

A town that lives at street level

The historic centre is three streets wide and two deep. Houses are painted the colour of thick cream, their wooden doors tall enough to admit a mule. Peer through the iron grilles and you may catch a glimpse of an interior patio paved with river pebbles from the Júcar gorge. The 16th-century Iglesia Parroquial de San Juan Bautista is the obligatory landmark: a Renaissance boneset patched up after the Spanish Civil War. Climb the tower (€2, keys from the sacristan) and the view stretches south across a chessboard of vineyards and north to the first limestone ridges of the Cuenca uplands.

Below the tower, the Plaza Mayor is a rectangle of granite slabs warm enough to sit on even in February. The cafés charge €1.20 for a café con leche and will let you linger over the papers no one has bothered to remove since 2019. There is no rush. This is a place that measures time by the agricultural calendar: pruning in January, bud-break in April, harvest trucks rumbling through town at 3 am every September.

Using the town as a base

Casas Ibáñez works best as a place to sleep while you explore the lesser-known half of La Mancha. A 25-minute drive north on the CM-321 drops you into Alcalá del Júcar, a village stacked on top of itself inside a limestone gorge. Hire a kayak (€12 an hour) and paddle under the Arab bridge, or simply sit on the river beach and watch Spanish families argue over disposable barbecues.

Twenty minutes east, Jorquera clings to a rocky spur above the river. Its ruined castle is free to enter and requires nothing more demanding than walking uphill. The loop road between the three villages is 45 km of empty tarmac that smells of thyme when the sun hits it.

Back in Casas Ibáñez, the tourist office (open Tuesday to Friday, 10 am–2 pm) will lend you a leaflet of farm tracks that link the town with Chinchilla de Monte-Aragón, 12 km south. The route is unsigned but obvious: keep the vines on your left and the almond trees on your right. Allow three hours on foot, one hour on a bike. Take water; there is no bar until the outskirts of Chinchilla.

When to come, what to expect

Spring brings green fur to the vineyards and daytime temperatures in the low 20 °C – ideal for walking before the flies wake up. Autumn glows ochre and smells of crushed grapes; the Fiestas de la Vendimia (third weekend in September) involve a free tasting in the square and a grape-stomping competition that no local child can resist. August is hot, regularly 36 °C by noon; the town empties after breakfast and reappears at 10 pm for churros and chocolate. If you visit then, plan like the locals: sightsee at 8 am, siesta until 6 pm, eat at 10 pm, repeat.

Winter is crisp, often sunny, occasionally snowy. Hotels drop their prices by 30 % and restaurants will serve gazpacho manchego (a hearty game-and-bread stew, nothing to do with the cold tomato soup of Andalucía) without asking if you can handle it. The N-322 from Albacete can ice over; carry chains if you’re driving a small hire car.

Practicalities without the bullet points

Flying in: Ryanair, easyJet and Jet2 serve Alicante and Valencia from most UK regional airports. The drive to Casas Ibáñez is 115 km from Alicante, 100 km from Valencia; allow 75 minutes on the AP-36 and CM-322 toll roads (total €12) or 90 minutes on the free but slower A-31. Car hire desks are in the terminal; pre-book automatics—they disappear fast.

Sleeping: The three-star Hotel Chalet de Casas on Avenida de la Constitución has 24 plain, spotless rooms from €55 including garage parking. The Hospedium Cañitas Maite mentioned above doubles as a hotel with smaller rooms at €45; breakfast is an extra €6 and worth it for the freshly fried churros. Both places sit within two minutes of the plaza; you can forget the car until you leave.

Money: Most bars accept cards, but the cooperative petrol station on the edge of town does not, and neither does the Saturday morning market stall selling local cheese. Bring cash for anything under €10.

Language: Staff in hotels and wineries speak serviceable English. In the bakery and the butcher’s, a smile and “buenos días” oil the wheels. Attempting Spanish is appreciated; expecting it is not.

The honest verdict

Casas Ibáñez will never make the cover of a glossy Spain supplement. It has no beach, no Michelin stars, no Moorish palace. What it offers instead is a working template of rural Spain that has not yet been polished into a theme park. You will drink wine that never leaves the province, eat stews designed for harvest labourers, and hear the town band practising on a Tuesday night because that is simply what they do. Stay two nights, use it as a base, talk to the people who make the wine, and you will remember the place long after you have forgotten the Alhambra’s opening hours.