Montealegre del Castillo

The castle gate hangs open, but you'll need a euro coin and directions to Bar Central to get the key. This is Montealegre del Castillo's first lesson: nothing comes handed on a plate here, 811 metres above sea level on the southern edge of Castilla-La Mancha.

The Castle that Refuses to be Photogenic

What remains of the Castillo de Montealegre won't grace postcards. Islamic foundations meet Christian rebuilds in a state of gentle collapse; walls taper into rubble, and the keep stands truncated against the sky. Yet climb the short, thigh-burning path at dusk and the province reveals itself in layers. Vineyards checker the plain southwards towards Almansa. Northwards, the Sierra de Alcaraz floats blue-grey on clear days. The wind carries pine resin from Monte Arabí and, occasionally, the clink of goat bells from invisible herds.

British visitors expecting explanatory boards or safety rails should adjust expectations. The site is technically closed to random access, hence the key arrangement. Drop your coin into the tin by the bar counter, accept the scrap of paper with gate code, and remember to lock up afterwards. It's refreshingly trusting, if slightly unnerving for those accustomed to risk assessments.

The village below tumbles down the hillside in white cubes. Houses grow from bedrock; some incorporate boulders into living-room walls. Streets narrow to shoulder-width, then widen into small plazas where elderly residents manoeuvre fold-up chairs to catch winter sun. At 14:00 sharp the place empties. Shutters clatter closed, dogs stretch across doorways, and the only sound becomes the fountain in Plaza de España—which, admittedly, runs dry most summers.

Pre-history on the Doorstep

Three kilometres north, Monte Arabí rises like a broken incisor. This limestone outcrop holds one of Iberia's richest collections of Bronze Age rock art, protected under UNESCO's Mediterranean rock-art umbrella. The painted shelters aren't fenced off; instead, a simple ring path threads past them. Look for the Cueva del Mediodía first: inside, schematic human figures dance beside goats and what might be harvest symbols. Pigments have lasted four millennia thanks to the overhang's micro-climate, though vandals and weather are taking their toll.

Guided tours run most Sundays from the village ayuntamiento, but there's no booking system. Turn up at 10:30 and hope enough people materialise to make it worthwhile. English is hit-and-miss; bring Spanish phrases or a translation app. If the guide fails to appear, the walk itself still justifies the petrol. Carrasco pines give way to holm oak as altitude increases. Griffon vultures circle on thermals, and the rock formations become increasingly surreal—one resembles a ship's prow, another a monk's hood. Allow two hours for the full circuit; trainers suffice unless recent rain has turned dust to slick clay.

Wine, Biscuits and Early Closures

Montealegre's culinary scene won't trouble the Michelin inspectors. Two bars serve food, both kitchens shut at 16:00 precisely. Bar Central remains the safer bet: try the tosta con tomate y jamón, essentially posh tomatoes on toast draped with cured ham. Pair it with a glass of local La Mancha red—expect change from three euros. The almond biscuits sold at the bakery opposite disappear fast; buy before 11:00 or resign yourself to plain Magdalenas.

For something more substantial, drive twenty-five minutes to Caudete where Hotel Venta la Vega offers proper restaurant hours and a pool for overheated children. Alternatively, self-cater. The village shop stocks tinned beans, local cheese and suspicious-looking chorizo that tastes better than it looks. Opening hours obey the siesta strictly: 09:00–14:00, 17:30–20:30. Run out of milk after eight and you'll be drinking black tea until tomorrow.

Wine buffs should contact Bodegas Ponce in nearby Iniesta for weekday tastings. Their Bobal grape variety produces deep, peppery reds unfamiliar to British palates weaned on Rioja. Email ahead; staff speak enough English to explain stainless-steel versus oak ageing. Bottles start at six euros, postage to the UK doubles the price—cheaper to pack carefully in hold luggage.

When Silence Gets Noisy

Fiesta calendar punctuates the quiet. September's Feria de la Virgen de Consolación brings brass bands, fairground rides and released heifers charging through makeshift barriers. British sensibilities may baulk at the bull element; locals treat it as village bonding rather than blood sport. Accommodation within Montealegre doesn't exist anyway, so day-trip from Alcalá del Júcar where cave houses perch above the gorge. Expect inflated taxi prices after midnight; pre-book or prepare for a long, dark walk.

Easter processions feel more familiar: hooded penitents, incense clouds, women clutching rosaries. The difference lies in proximity. Processions squeeze through alleys barely wider than the shoulder-borne floats. Spectators lean from balconies; drums reverberate off stone. photography is discouraged during actual ceremonies—put the phone away and experience medieval Christianity raw.

Winter transforms the place. At 811 metres, night temperatures dip below freezing from December through February. The castle track becomes an ice slide; castle keys stay in the drawer. What looks romantic in photographs translates to burst pipes and closed bars when the owner decamps to coastal relatives. Visit between March and June instead, when wild orchids pepper Monte Arabí and day-time temperatures hover around 22 °C.

Getting Lost Properly

Public transport won't help. The nearest railway station is Almansa, thirty minutes by taxi on a good day. Car hire from Alicante or Valencia airports is essential; the A-31 autopista makes it a painless two-hour drive unless Easter weekend traffic snarls around Villena. Petrol stations thin out after Almansa—fill the tank.

Mobile coverage mirrors the terrain. Vodafone and O2 drop to 3G on the castle hill; EE fares slightly better. Download offline maps before leaving the hotel. Road signage assumes local knowledge; trust the sat-nav but keep eyes open for sudden goat herds around bends.

Leave expectations of gift shops and multilingual guided tours at the motorway exit. Montealegre del Castillo offers instead a lesson in slow Castilian time: siesta hours that refuse to bend for tourism, castle keys exchanged over bar counters, rock art that predates Stonehenge by a millennium. Come for the silence, stay for the biscuits, and remember to lock the castle gate on your way down.