Villena

The castle ticket costs €3 and comes with a scrap of paper bearing a four-digit code. At the allotted hour you punch it into a metal box, the gate buzzes open, and you’re left alone to climb the twelfth-century keep of Villena. No turnstiles, no headsets, just wind and the smell of hot stone. From the roof the view stretches west to the plateau of La Mancha and east to the citrus groves of Alicante—precisely the frontier the fortress was built to police.

Most motorway traffic shoots straight past the turning on the A-31, eager for beach towels on the Costa Blanca an hour away. Those who peel off discover a working town of 34,000 whose medieval quarter sits comfortably beside tile factories and shoe warehouses. The result is refreshingly unslick: bars where builders share tables with weekend historians, and a Saturday market that sells screwdrivers alongside saffron.

A castle, a hoard and two churches

The Castillo de la Atalaya is Villena’s postcard, a sand-coloured Almohad stronghold re-engineered after the Reconquista. Interior panels explain the engineering—keep an eye out for the “aljibe”, a cistern still fed by an underground channel—but the real draw is the 360-degree platform above. On clear winter mornings you can pick out the snow-topped ridges of the Sierra de Aitana thirty kilometres away. The stairs are narrow and spiral; anyone with vertigo should admire the view from the lower parapet instead.

Back in the centre, the Museo Arqueológico José María Soler guards Europe’s second-largest Bronze-Age gold hoard. The Treasure of Villena—sixty-odd pieces weighing almost ten kilos—was uncovered by chance in 1963 when a workman was planting trees in a nearby suburb. Displayed in a darkened side-room, the bracelets and bowls glow like coals. Labels are in Spanish only, but the ticket desk will lend an English crib sheet if you ask.

Five minutes away, the Gothic Iglesia de Santiago hides a Renaissance façade behind scaffolding more often than not. Inside, twisted Solomonic columns frame a sixteenth-century altarpiece whose blues still look wet. Across Plaza de Santiago, the smaller Iglesia de Santa María keeps simpler lines but has the better acoustics—drop in during an evening rehearsal and the sound seems to bounce off the stone for seconds.

Vineyards, windmills and Monday pitfalls

Villena sits at 400 m, high enough for cool nights to soften the Valencian heat. The surrounding “Alt Vinalopó” is planted mainly with Monastrell, a thick-skinned grape that gives inky, peppery reds. Three family bodegas—Finca Collado, Bodegas Francisco Gómez and Casa Balaguer—accept visitors for €10 tastings if booked ahead. The tourist office keeps an updated list; phone the day before rather than hope for a walk-in slot.

If wine isn’t on the agenda, the signed “Ruta de los Molinos” loops four kilometres past ruined windmills and thyme-scented scrub. Start from the Ermita de San Francisco on the south-west edge of town; trainers are adequate, but the path is stony and there is no shade. Allow ninety minutes and carry water even in April—the plateau wind is deceptive.

One consistent gripe from British day-trippers is Monday. The castle, museums and half the restaurants lock their doors, and the quiet is eerie rather than restful. Plan to arrive Tuesday to Sunday, and remember that lunch service finishes around 15:30; kitchens reopen for supper at 20:30 at the earliest.

Eating between two regions

The local cooking reads like a border treaty: Valencian rice meets Manchegan game. “Arroz con gazpachos manchegos” is nothing like the chilled Andalusian soup—here it’s a hearty rabbit-and-snail stew poured over rice and flavoured with mint. For lighter appetites, most bars will plate a “torta de la paz”, a paper-thin wafer scented with sesame and anise that dissolves on the tongue.

Titas Gastrobar on Calle Marcos Redondo does modern tapas—think grilled squid with black garlic—while Restaurante Los Balcones on the main drag will swap out breadcrumbs for gluten-free diners if you warn them the previous day. Both have English menus; elsewhere, Google Translate is your friend and cash is king. Only two ATMs sit inside the old quarter, and neither gives more than €150 per withdrawal.

Fireworks and front-row seats

For six days each September the town hands itself over to Moros y Cristianos, one of Spain’s largest festivals. Comparsas in silk and faux-mail march to brass-band music, muskets are fired before breakfast, and the castle becomes a backdrop for a scripted “embassy” in which the Moorish ambassador demands surrender. Ear-plugs are not optional: decibel readings rival an AC/DC gig. Hotels within the walls triple their rates and still sell out by Easter—book early or stay in nearby Sax and drive in for the daytime parades.

If crowds feel daunting, the Semana Santa processions in March are more contained. Hooded “nazarenos” carry baroque statues through lantern-lit streets at a pace that makes British Remembrance parades look brisk. Spectators squeeze into doorways; arrive thirty minutes early or you’ll see nothing but the tops of crosses.

Getting there and away

Villena has two railway stations. The high-speed AVE halt lies 6 km south-west among almond groves; a free minibus meets trains, but the timetable is relaxed and taxis can be thin on the ground. The old Renfe station is central—ten minutes’ walk to the castle—but only slower trains from Alicante and Valencia stop here. By car, leave the motorway at junction 331 and follow signs for “Castillo”; parking on Avenida Constitución is free and usually has spaces outside fiesta week.

Allow half a day for castle-plus-museum, longer if you fancy churches and tapas. Stay overnight and you’ll see the town exhale once the tour buses leave: shop shutters rattle down, grandparents claim the benches in Plaza de Santiago, and the evening breeze carries the smell of grapes drifting in from the cooperatives on the edge of town. It’s not picture-postcard Spain—it’s better.