Caudete

The Tuesday morning market spreads across Plaza de la Constitución like a living map of Caudete's character. Leather belts hang next to pyramids of almonds, while an elderly woman haggles over the price of rabbit with a butcher who's known her family for sixty years. This is no tourist performance—it's simply how commerce has worked here since the Middle Ages, when this border town marked the frontier between Castile and Aragón.

At 557 metres above sea level, Caudete sits where the flat ochre plains of La Mancha begin their gentle descent towards Valencia's citrus groves. The transition shows in the details: the local accent softens Castilian consonants, paella appears alongside gazpacho manchego on restaurant menus, and even the stone buildings take on a warmer, terracotta hue as if acknowledging the Mediterranean influence just thirty kilometres east.

The Castle That Isn't Quite a Castle

Follow any upward street from the centre and you'll eventually reach what locals call the castillo, though "fortified hilltop" might be more honest. The 15th-century walls enclose little more than foundations and a sense of strategic importance—this was never a royal residence, always a military outpost guarding the pass between kingdoms. The climb rewards with views across a patchwork of vineyards and almond groves, the town's terracotta roofs tumbling down the hillside like dried autumn leaves.

What's left of the fortress won't feature in any epic films, but arrive at sunset and you'll understand why it mattered. The dying light turns the surrounding plain amber, and modern Caudete shrinks to toy-town proportions. You can walk the perimeter walls in ten minutes, then sit on warm stone that's watched over this frontier for eight centuries.

Back in the maze of streets below, the late-Gothic church of Santa Catalina serves as navigational beacon. Its tower rises above honey-coloured houses, useful given how the medieval layout ignores compass points. Inside, Baroque altarpieces gleam with gold leaf that's survived wars, confiscations and restoration attempts. Time your visit for late afternoon when sunlight streams through the rose window, painting the stone floor in fragments of coloured light.

Food That Knows Its Place

Caudete's cuisine refuses to choose sides between inland and coast. Yes, you'll find proper gazpacho manchego—rabbit stew with flatbread that soaks up the rich broth—but the local cooks add a splash of white wine and fewer spices than their Albacete neighbours. The result tastes familiar to British palates, more hearty stew than fiery Spanish stereotype.

Almonds dominate the sweet trolley, appearing in everything from ice cream to the local Tarta de Caudete. This dense tart crosses baklava with treacle pudding, sweet enough to make dentists wince but perfect with a small glass of muscatel. The almonds come from orchards you can see from your hotel window, harvested in September when the countryside smells of marzipan.

Wine lists favour nearby Jumilla over Rioja, and rightly so. The local rosé arrives properly chilled—not always guaranteed in inland Spain—and costs less than a London pint. Most restaurants will suggest a half-litre carafe rather than pushing expensive bottles; this is agricultural Spain where wine remains a daily staple, not luxury product.

Walking Through Three Landscapes

The countryside changes character within a two-hour walk. Head north and you're among wheat fields and windmills, Don Quixote territory where the horizon seems to curve with the earth's circumference. Walk south-east and vineyards give way to citrus groves, the air growing heavier with orange blossom. Spring brings the best conditions—wild flowers carpet the verges, temperatures hover around 20°C, and you'll meet more shepherds than hikers.

Serious walkers should tackle the circular route to the ruined ermita of San Sebastián. The path climbs through almond terraces before dropping into a small valley where abandoned farmhouses slowly crumble back into the soil. Take water—there's no café for miles—and start early. By midday the sun becomes relentless, even in October.

Cycling works too, though bring your own bike. The old railway line to Almansa has been converted into a greenway, flat and traffic-free for 15 kilometres. Rental bikes don't exist here; Caudete hasn't discovered cycling tourism yet, which depending on your viewpoint represents either opportunity or oversight.

When the Town Lets Its Hair Down

September's Moros y Cristianos festival transforms sensible Caudete into something altogether louder. For four days, the frontier history that shaped the town becomes living theatre. Men in chainmail march alongside others in fake turbans, muskets fire blanks at imaginary Moors, and every balcony displays the Virgin of Grace in her finest robes. It's deeply serious for participants, mildly perplexing for outsiders, and impossible to ignore—hotels book up a year ahead.

The January fiestas of San Antón offer gentler entertainment. Locals build bonfires in the streets, roast sausages over open flames, and bring pets for blessing outside the church. British visitors often stumble upon this by accident, charmed by the medieval practicality: bless the animals that provide your living, warm yourself by fire while January winds howl.

The Practical Bits That Matter

Getting here requires commitment. Alicante airport lies 71 kilometres away—nominally a 50-minute drive on the A-31, though Spanish motorway speeds demand nerves of steel. Public transport means train to Villena then taxi, costing €35 and requiring patience with irregular timetables. Valencia airport works too, slightly further but with emptier roads.

Stay central at Casa Emilio if you want hotel comforts—roof terrace, proper showers, staff who understand "vegetarian" doesn't mean "just ham then". Alternatively, rent a village house for £60-80 nightly. Many sit empty most of the year, owned by families who've moved to Valencia or Madrid but refuse to sell grandmother's home.

Shops shut 2-5pm without exception. Plan morning coffee after 10am—nothing opens earlier—and lunch at 2pm when locals eat. Evening meals start 9pm earliest; turn up at 7pm and you'll eat alone, if at all. Tuesday market day brings the town alive but also doubles parking difficulty—arrive before 10am or circle for spaces.

Summer hits 40°C regularly from mid-July to August. Spring and autumn offer the sweet spot: warm days, cool nights, tables spilling onto pavements without the furnace blast of high summer. Winter brings sharp frosts and blue skies—perfect for walking if you pack layers, though some restaurants close for the quiet months.

Caudete won't change your life. It offers something subtler: the Spain that existed before tourism, where waiters remember your coffee order on the second morning, where medieval streets serve modern lives rather than visitor expectations. Come for three days, stay for four, leave before the familiarity becomes routine. The town will still be here, guarding its frontier, when you need reminding that authenticity survives—even if it takes two trains and a taxi to reach it.