Biar

The morning mist clings to the almond groves below as you climb the final stretch of stone steps. At 700 metres above sea level, Biar's twelfth-century castle looms overhead, its sandstone walls glowing amber in the early light. This isn't the Costa Blanca you've heard about—no beach umbrellas, no English breakfast cafés, just the sound of your own breathing and the occasional goat bell echoing across the Sierra de Onil.

Biar sits where the coastal plains of Alicante province slam into the first proper mountains of inland Valencia. The transition is abrupt and refreshing. Thirty kilometres from the nearest beach, the air carries pine resin rather than salt spray, and the local wine lists favour robust reds over the crisp whites that dominate coastal menus. It's Spain's Mediterranean region behaving rather badly—refusing to play the holiday brochure game.

The castle, an Almohad fortress that somehow survived centuries of border warfare between Christian kingdoms and Moorish taifas, still calls the shots. Every street in the old town bends to accommodate its gaze. Climb the tower—€3 entry when it's open, which isn't always—and you'll understand why this spot mattered. The view stretches across the Vinalopó valley, a patchwork of olive groves, almond orchards and vineyards that hasn't changed much since the caliphate collected taxes here. On clear winter days, you can spot the cranes at Alicante's port, 55 kilometres distant.

Stone, Ceramics and the Art of Keeping Going

Inside the walls, Biar's medieval street plan remains gloriously intact, though mercifully free of souvenir shops. The stone houses lean together like old friends sharing gossip, their doorways decorated with the blue and yellow ceramic numbers that mark Valencian craftsmanship. Washing hangs between balconies. An elderly woman waters geraniums while discussing her neighbour's tomatoes with someone three floors up. It's life, not theatre.

The Church of the Assumption squats at the centre, a architectural palimpsest of Renaissance bones dressed up with Baroque excess. Inside, the chapel of Communion hides some genuinely beautiful woodwork—carved by craftsmen who understood that faith needs a touch of earthly beauty. Don't expect audio guides or gift shops. The church opens when someone's around, usually morning and evening. Drop a euro in the box and stay as long as you like.

Biar's grand houses tell their own story. Look for the coat of arms above the doorway at number 7 Calle Mayor—five centuries of merchant families who made their money trading almonds and olives, then spent it on stone-carved status symbols. The economic boom ended long ago, but the houses remain, now home to families who commute to Villena or Alicante for work while keeping their village identity intact.

Walking, Eating and the Friday Market

The mountains that shelter Biar also provide its best entertainment. The PR-CV 82 trail loops from the castle through pine forests to the Ermita de Gracia, a tiny chapel that hosts the September fiestas. It's only six kilometres but includes 300 metres of climbing—enough to justify the second helping of coca de miel you'll want later. Spring brings wild rosemary and thyme underfoot, plus almond blossom that turns whole slopes white. Summer walking starts early or finishes late; at this altitude, midday heat feels personal.

Friday mornings, the market spreads across Plaza de la Constitución. Local almonds—Marcona variety, naturally sweet—sell for €6 a kilo, half supermarket prices. The honey stall offers tastings: orange blossom for the timid, rosemary for the brave. Ceramic bowls, thrown in nearby Agost, cost less than a London coffee. The market packs up by 2 pm sharp; Spanish timekeeping applies even to commerce.

Food here means interior Spain, not coastal. Gazpachos manchegos arrive as a hearty stew, nothing like the cold tomato soup Brits expect. Local restaurants—try Mesón del Rey on the main square—serve it with game birds when in season. The coca de miel, a pizza-shaped sweet bread dripping with local honey, pairs perfectly with the strong coffee that keeps villagers awake through siesta. Vegetarians survive on potaje de alubias con berza, a bean and cabbage stew that tastes better than it sounds, especially when the mountain fog rolls in.

When to Come, How to Cope

Biar's altitude delivers surprises. Winter mornings can start at freezing, with occasional snow dusting the castle walls. Summer nights stay pleasantly cool, but days hit 35°C—visit in spring or autumn if possible. The town closes down completely from 2 pm to 5 pm; plan lunch accordingly. No ATMs operate within the historic core—withdraw cash at the Santander on Avenida de la Constitución before you climb.

Parking requires strategy. The free motorhome bay on Avenida Castalla includes water and waste disposal, perfect if you're touring in a van. Car drivers should leave vehicles here too—the old town's streets narrow to shoulder-width in places, and reversing down medieval alleys loses its charm quickly. The castle sometimes closes for restoration work without notice; the exterior viewpoint remains accessible regardless.

Evening entertainment remains resolutely Spanish. Expect dominoes in the bar, not karaoke. The nearest nightclub sits 25 kilometres away in Villena, along with the high-speed rail link that connects to Madrid and Alicante airport. Biar doesn't do late nights, and that's rather the point.

The village works because it refuses to become what visitors expect. No one's recreated a medieval tavern or installed a zip-line from the castle walls. Instead, Biar carries on being itself—a mountain village that happens to have extraordinary views, exceptional food and a talent for survival. Come for the castle, stay for the coffee, leave before you start thinking 5 pm closing times make perfect sense.