Montesa

The castle gate hangs open at a drunken angle, its iron latch long since surrendered to rust. Through the gap, a stone staircase climbs straight up the cliff face—no handrail, no mercy—until the thirteenth-century walls of Montesa appear overhead like broken teeth. From the car park below you can already see the view: a carpet of citrus groves rolling eastwards towards the Mediterranean, forty kilometres away but visible on clear days as a thin silver line.

This is not the Valencia of stag weekends and skyscraper hotels. Montesa sits 340 metres above the Xúquer valley in the forgotten interior, a village of 1,150 souls where the loudest sound is usually the clack-clack of dominoes outside the bar at noon. The Moors built the first fortress; the Knights Templar took it over; the Order of Montesa inherited their crumbling domain and gave the place its name. What remains is a handful of streets, a sunflower-yellow church tower and enough history to fill a dissertation—yet barely a coach tour in sight.

Climbing the Rock

The path to the castle starts between two houses on Calle Castillo. Locals will point wordlessly: straight on, then up. The gradient is brutal for the first five minutes, loose limestone scree sliding underfoot; proper footwear is non-negotiable and pushchairs are a non-starter. Halfway up you pass a stone bench donated by the 1993 fiesta committee—its inscription already eroded to ghost letters—then the track narrows to a single-file staircase carved into the bedrock. Suddenly you're through the outer wall and the whole valley drops away.

Inside, the fortress is less fairy-tale, more open-air museum with the roof missing. A single interpretive panel shows where the keep once stood; another explains how the Order of Montesa moved here after the Templars were disbanded, turning warrior monks into rural landlords. Swifts nest in the joist holes and the afternoon wind smells of rosemary and hot pine. Stay until six o'clock and you'll hear the church bells of a dozen villages ringing across the hills—an acoustic map of la Costera that no phone app can replicate.

What the Village Actually Offers

Back in the centre, the Plaza de la Constitución is barely the size of a tennis court. Orange trees provide the only shade; the fountain in the middle splashes green with algae. There is one bar—Casa Emilio—where the menú del día costs fourteen euros and arrives on mismatched crockery: gazpacho manchego (not the cold tomato soup Brits expect but a hearty game stew with flatbread), followed by roast chicken or squid rings depending on what the supplier brought from Gandía that morning. House wine is served in a glass that could double as a goldfish bowl; ask for tap water and they'll bring it, though you'll sense mild surprise.

The bakery opens at seven, shuts at two. Try a coca de ceba: thin as a pizza base, topped with slow-cooked onion and tuna, it travels well if you're planning a walk. There is no cash machine—none. The nearest ATMs are fifteen minutes away in Xàtiva or Canals, so fill your wallet before you arrive. Wednesday is market day: six stalls selling melons, socks and cheap T-shirts. Parking spaces evaporate by eleven o'clock; arrive earlier or be prepared to reverse uphill round tight corners while a grandmother in a Panda glares at you.

Walking Without Crowds

South of the village the GR-236 long-distance footpath threads through almond terraces and abandoned threshing floors. A circular route drops into the Barranco de Agres, climbs past an old ice-house and returns via the hermitage of Sant Cristòfol—three hours, negligible ascent, cactus and rockrose for company. Spring brings poppies thick as carpet; in October the air smells of fermenting grapes from cooperatives down in the valley. Summer walking is feasible only at dawn: by ten o'clock the thermometer kisses thirty-five degrees and the path reflects heat like a pizza oven.

Cyclists find quieter roads than anywhere on the coast. The CV-675 from Canals to Montesa is a gentle 6 % gradient with almost no traffic; from the top you can freewheel north through orange groves all the way to Xàtiva. Take two water bottles—villages are spaced ten kilometres apart and fountains aren't guaranteed.

When Things Go Quiet

Evenings centre on the plaza. Teenagers circle on scooters while grandparents occupy the bench beneath the streetlight that flickers like a bad fluorescent tube. By half past ten the bar has stacked its chairs; by eleven the only illumination comes from the church façade, floodlit amber against a velvet sky. If you need nightlife, Xàtiva's bars are twenty minutes away—Montesa itself rolls up the pavement.

Monday is dead day: Casa Emilio closes, the castle gate stays padlocked, the bakery shutters remain down. Visitors who haven't checked the calendar end up eating crisps in the car and wondering where everybody went. Equally, don't expect a beach vibe: the sea is a forty-minute drive and the altitude knocks five degrees off coastal temperatures—welcome in August, chilly in January when the Tramontana wind scuds across the plateau.

How to Get Here, How to Leave

Public transport exists in theory: two buses daily from Valencia's Estación de Autobuses, none on Sunday. The timetable is printed on laminated paper behind the driver's seat and hasn't changed since 2018. Hiring a car at the airport adds thirty-five minutes to the journey but gives you flexibility—and somewhere to charge your phone, because mobile signal inside the old stone houses is patchy at best. Sit by a window or head to the square if you need four bars.

Check-out time at the only guest house is ten sharp; the owner has to get to the bakery before the croissants sell out. As you load the boot the castle reappears in the rear-view mirror, its silhouette sharpened by morning sun. No souvenir shops, no fridge magnets, no ticket office—just a ruin on a rock that has watched empires come and go while the orange trees below keep flowering every March. Montesa doesn't sell itself, which is precisely why some travellers drive away already planning a return—preferably on any day except Monday.