Alcaraz

The Plaza Mayor appears suddenly, triangular and porticoed, flanked by twin Renaissance towers that seem too grand for a town of 1,300 souls. At nearly 1,000 metres above sea level, Alcaraz floats above the Castilian plain like a stone ship anchored to the Sierra de Alcaraz, its golden masonry absorbing and reflecting the harsh high-altitude light in ways that make photographers miss lunch.

Stone Memory, Mountain Time

This is castle country, though the fortress itself survives only as strategic rubble atop the highest point. What remains commands views across a rolling carpet of pine and oak that stretches towards the protected Calares del Río Mundo, where vultures ride thermals above limestone gorges. The altitude matters here: mornings arrive cool even in July, when the plain below simmers at 38°C, and winter brings proper frost that can trap elderly residents indoors for days.

The town's stone mansions testify to administrative power long since evaporated. Walk Calle San Pedro and you pass the Palacio del Marqués de Camarena, its façade a textbook of Spanish Renaissance proportion, now subdivided into flats with satellite dishes clinging like limpets to historic walls. Further along, Casa de los Moreno displays a portal carved with such exuberant detail that the mason must have been paid by the chisel mark. These houses once belonged to judges and tax collectors who controlled the transhumance routes between Castilla and Andalucía; today their descendants sell insurance or commute to Albacete's factories forty minutes away.

The Plaza that Humbled Architects

Spanish art historians call this Plaza Mayor one of the finest Renaissance squares in the country, and they have a point. The triangular shape shouldn't work, yet the double arcade creates forced perspective that makes the space feel larger than it is. The Torre del Tardón and Torre del Reloj frame the whole like mismatched bookends – one square, one octagonal, both assertively 16th-century. Under the arcades, stone tables bear the scars of centuries of market days; the metal rings set into walls once tethered mules now replaced by delivery vans that clog the narrow entrance streets.

Morning coffee here costs €1.20 if you stand at the bar, €1.80 at an outside table. The café owner will understand "coffee with milk" but expects you to specify "café con leche" – attempts at English draw polite blank stares. By 11am the sun clears the towers and locals shuffle inside; only tourists remain to fry in ultraviolet that feels stronger thanks to the altitude.

Walking Through Four Seasons in One Day

The sierra starts where the cobbles end. Marked paths head north towards the Batanes, a series of restored water mills where the river drops through a narrow gorge. The three-kilometre walk takes forty minutes downhill, longer uphill after you've discovered the mills are locked and the promised information board vanished years ago. Spring brings wild asparagus along the path edges; autumn colours the oak woods copper; summer demands water and a hat; winter can deliver horizontal sleet that makes the stone houses glow amber against leaden skies.

More serious hikers continue into the Calares proper, where griffon vultures nest on limestone cliffs and the Río Mundo emerges spectacularly from a cave system. The full circuit requires six hours and proper boots – the limestone eats trainers for breakfast. Mountain rescue remains voluntary and Spanish; mobile signal disappears in the first ravine.

What Arrives on Every Plate

Altitude agriculture tastes different. The local gazpacho manchego bears no relation to its Andalusian cousin – this is a hearty game stew thickened with flatbread, designed for shepherds who spent weeks above the tree line. Miguelitos, feather-light pastries filled with custard, originated in the nearby convent of San Blas and travel badly; eat them within two hours of purchase or face disappointment. The cheese, semi-cured from Manchega sheep, arrives on every tapas counter whether you order it or not.

Wine lists favour regional cooperatives over boutique bodegas, which keeps prices civil – €12 buys a bottle that would cost £25 in London. Red dominates; the altitude gives Tempranillo grapes thicker skins and deeper colour. Whites remain an afterthought, though the local verdejo improves each year as temperatures rise.

When the Town Turns Inward

Alcaraz hosts two festivals that transform the place utterly. The Feria de la Virgen de Cortes in early May fills every guest bed within 30 kilometres; book months ahead or sleep in your hire car. Processions squeeze through streets designed for medieval traffic, brass bands compete for acoustic space, and the plaza becomes an outdoor ballroom where teenagers learn to dance properly, not just sway.

August brings the medieval market, theoretically charming but in practice a crush of sweating bodies buying overpriced pottery. The town's 1,300 residents swell to 5,000; parking requires saintly patience and a small car. Those seeking the quiet dignity of empty streets should avoid these weeks entirely – or arrive at 6am when cleaners wash away the previous night's evidence.

Getting Here, Getting Lost

Public transport exists on paper. One daily bus connects Albacete with Alcaraz at inconvenient times; miss it and you're stranded. A car becomes essential, preferably something that handles mountain roads with grace. The A-31 from Valencia offers spectacular views but demands concentration – Spanish lorry drivers treat the descent like a racetrack.

Winter access can prove entertaining. At 1,000 metres, snow arrives several times each winter, and the town lacks the budget for comprehensive gritting. Chains become mandatory, though locals simply don't venture out until thaw. Spring brings the opposite problem: sudden thunderstorms turn mountain tracks into rivers that wash away the path markings you were relying on for navigation.

The tourist office keeps eccentric hours – theoretically 10am-2pm and 4pm-7pm, but the staff member might be helping her sister harvest almonds. Pick up the English leaflet if available; supplies last roughly three weeks per year. Better to download the town's walking routes before leaving home, and accept that getting slightly lost forms part of the experience.