Riópar

The river doesn't just appear—it bursts. From a cavern mouth 80 metres up a limestone cliff, the Mundo erupts in a silver arc that catches the high-altitude light before shattering into the pool below. One moment there's rock; the next, a fully formed river that will wind 150 kilometres through Albacete and Murcia. British drivers coming from Alicante airport see nothing like it on the two-hour approach across the tawny plateau, which is precisely why coach parties from Madrid arrive before 9 a.m. to bag the dozen parking spaces.

Ríopar sits at 920 metres, high enough for the air to carry the scent of pine rather than sun-baked thyme. The village of 1,300 souls is the last place you expect to find an eighteenth-century cannon foundry, yet the Reales Fábricas de San Juan de Alcaraz stretch along the riverbank like a fragment of Ironbridge transplanted to Spain. Carlos III commissioned the complex in 1773 to cast brass cannon for the Caribbean fleet; water from the Mundo powered tilt hammers and kept the metal cool. Today the stone warehouses house a modest museum where you can still smell machine oil on the surviving lathes. Entry is €3, and the curator will demonstrate how charcoal and copper ore arrived on mule-back from the sierra. When it rains—which it does in April and again in October—water still sluices through the original channels, proof that industrial heritage can be more than a static display.

Walk uphill from the foundry and you pass from Enlightenment Spain straight into medieval uncertainty. Ríopar Viejo, the original settlement, clings to a ridge above the modern village. Cobbles polished by six centuries of hooves climb past roofless stone houses and the skeletal bell tower of the abandoned church. The reason for the move downhill is obvious once you feel the wind that funnels between the crags: winters here start in October and hang on until the almond blossom in March. Even in May, night temperatures can dip to 5 °C, so pack a fleece alongside the suncream.

Down in the new village, life centres on the Plaza de la Constitución where the bar under the town hall flies a Yorkshire flag alongside the Spanish. The owner spent a season in Leeds and has kept the habit of serving Tetley’s alongside Estrella. Breakfast—thick toast drizzled with local honey and a cortado—costs €2.80, less than a London newspaper. By 11 a.m. the square fills with farmers in olive-green overalls discussing the price of almonds over carajillos (coffee laced with brandy). Tourism is noticeable but not dominant; you are more likely to hear Valencian weekenders than Home-Counties accents.

The river source walk starts three kilometres out of town on the CM-3202. A gated track leads into the Calares del Mundo y de la Sima Natural Park, 19,000 hectares of limestone gorge and pine-clad escarpment. The standard circuit is 4.5 km with 200 metres of ascent—moderate by UK standards—but the rock is slick with spray and the final viewpoint requires a short scramble. Bring shoes with grip; the rescue team from Albacete charges for call-outs. If you arrive after 10:30 a.m. at weekends you will queue to pass families carrying inflatable unicorns for the plunge pool. Early birds share the path only with Spanish ibex that stare from ledges like disapproving headteachers.

Longer routes penetrate the Calares proper. The PR-A 252 follows the Mundo upstream through a succession of waterfalls known as Los Chorros, then climbs to an upland prairie dotted with sinkholes. The full circuit is 14 km and takes five hours; in high summer the exposed plateau is a natural griddle, so start before 7 a.m. or wait for October’s golden light. Maps are free from the tourist office but the markings fade where winter avalanches scour the rock—GPS is wise.

Back in the village, the afternoon siesta is non-negotiable. Shutters clatter closed at 14:00 and reopen at 17:00; if you need groceries do it before lunch or you will be foraging like the wild boar that root behind the football pitch. The single supermarket stocks UHT milk, tinned chickpeas and a surprisingly good Manchego at €14 a kilo—half the price of Waitrose. Fresh trout appears on Fridays when local anglers sell their catch from cool-boxes outside the bakery.

Eating out is straightforward and resolutely mountain style. Mesón del Segura does a chuletón for two—a 900 g beef rib cooked over holm-oak embers—that could silence a table of Yorkshire carnivores. Lamb comes as pierna de cordero segureño, slow-roasted with garlic and bay until it collapses at the touch of a fork. Vegetarians are limited to migas: breadcrumbs fried with grapes and peppers, stodgy but excellent after a long walk. House wine from Villamalea arrives in a plain glass jug and tastes like Ribena’s sophisticated Spanish cousin; a litre sets you back €6.

Accommodation ranges. The converted mill of Hotel Ríopar has riverside rooms with wi-fi that actually works, doubles from €65 including a breakfast of cold cuts and sponge cake. Up the lane, Casa Pajarón offers four attic rooms under terracotta tiles; the English owner bakes Victoria sponge on Sundays and will lend OS-style walking notes. Campers can pitch at the municipal site 500 metres south of town—clean showers, no reservation, €8 a night—and wake to the sound of the Mundo sliding past.

Weather is the wildcard. At altitude, Atlantic storms crash into the sierra and dump sudden rain even in July. Carry a lightweight jacket year-round; hypothermia cases are not unknown when 30 °C valley afternoons flip to 10 °C evenings. Snow closes the higher footpaths from December to February but turns the village into a bargain alternative to the Pyrenees. The foundry chimney looks Dickensian in frost, and the local council clears the main road promptly—though you will need chains for the track up to Ríopar Viejo.

Leave time for the small things: the scent of pine resin on the hot afternoon breeze; the way swallows stitch the sky above the church tower; the bronze founder’s mark still visible on cannon barrels that once defended Havana. Ríopar will not hand you an itinerary; it expects you to slow down, walk uphill, and be pleasantly surprised when the river simply starts.