Rotglà i Corberà

The church bell in Rotglà strikes eleven, and the only other sound is a tractor shifting gears somewhere beyond the orange groves. This is the Costa Blanca's antidote to beach bars and British breakfast cafés—a place where tourism happens by accident, not design.

Two Villages, One Parish Noticeboard

Rotglà i Corberà sits forty minutes inland from Valencia Airport, formed in 1970 when two medieval settlements merged administrative functions while keeping their distinct identities. Rotglà clusters around the tower of San Miguel; Corberà's heartbeat is the plaza outside Santa Bárbara. Between them runs the CV-680, a road that delivers you from motorway monotony into proper working countryside.

The division remains visible. Rotglà's streets narrow to single-file width, designed for mules not Minis. Corberà spreads wider, its houses set back behind proper pavements. Both share the same agricultural rhythm—citrus dominates the lower terraces, olives the upper slopes, and the scent depends entirely on season. March brings orange blossom that drifts through open windows like cheap perfume. October means diesel and dust as pickers shake olives onto tarpaulins.

What Passes for Sights

San Miguel's tower deserves ten minutes of anyone's time. Built in stages between the 16th and 18th centuries, it leans slightly westward—not enough for disaster tourism, just sufficient to notice when you're photographing it. The doorway shows Moorish influence in its arch, while the bell chamber displays Baroque excess that someone clearly regretted funding. Inside, the paintwork dates from 1997 when the village raised €30,000 through raffle tickets and a three-day paella marathon.

Santa Bárbara across the way presents cleaner lines—Gothic revival done on a budget. The priest arrives from neighbouring Xàtiva twice weekly; Mass times are handwritten on a card Sellotaped to the door. Both churches stay locked outside service times, which frustrates heritage enthusiasts until they realise the buildings remain integral to actual living communities, not museum displays.

The old washhouse in Corberà still functions, though nowadays it's pensioners rinsing lettuce rather than entire families scrubbing shirts. Water flows constantly, channelled from springs higher up the valley. Temperature stays at sixteen degrees year-round—stick your hand in during August and understand why pre-washing-machine housewives had such robust constitutions.

Eating Without the Hard Sell

Restaurant options total two. La Caseta occupies a converted farmhouse on the village edge, serving rice dishes that require forty minutes notice and cost €14-18 per person. They'll do arroz al horno (baked rice with pork and chickpeas) for two hungry cyclists, but only if Señora Carmen feels like it. Closed Tuesdays and most of January.

Bar Central opens at 6am for agricultural workers, serves coffee that could restart a stopped heart, and does a fixed-price lunch for €11 including wine. Today's menu might be lentil stew followed by rabbit with garlic—tomorrow depends what someone's nephew shot at the weekend. Vegetarians should probably drive to Xàtiva.

The Saturday morning market occupies precisely twelve stalls: two fruit sellers, one butcher, a fish van from Gandía, underwear, batteries, and four women gossiping while ostensibly selling herbs. Buy oranges here rather than supermarkets—they'll be yesterday's pick, not last month's cold storage. Price hovers around €2 for five kilos, dropping to €1.50 as packing-up time approaches.

Walking Off the Rice

A agricultural track connects both villages—flat, tarmacked, suitable for the sort of gentle cycling British GPs recommend to cardiac patients. Takes twenty minutes at Dutch pace, ten if you're being chased by an enthusiastic dog. The route passes through actual working fields; don't pick oranges however tempting—they belong to agricultural cooperatives who've perfected the art of polite but firm signage.

Serious walkers should head north on the PR-CV 351, which climbs 400 metres through olive terraces to a ridge offering views across to the Benicadell massif. The path is waymarked but rough—proper boots recommended, particularly after rain when clay soil turns skating-rink slippery. Allow three hours return, longer if you stop to photograph the abandoned farmhouse whose roof collapsed during Storm Gloria.

Spring brings wild asparagus sprouting beside paths—locals carry knives specifically for harvesting. Joining in requires confidence in plant identification; confusing it with the similar-looking but toxic Mediterranean smilax leads to conversations you'd rather avoid with Spanish A&E staff.

When to Bother Coming

March through May delivers pleasant walking temperatures and orange blossom saturation. The village hosts its main fiesta in mid-September—San Miguel involves processions, brass bands playing at unfeasible volume, and teenagers setting off fireworks because they can. Accommodation within the village doesn't exist; nearest beds are at Hotel Belcaire in neighbouring Canals, where £55 buys a junior suite that British reviewers consistently describe as "larger than expected."

November means olive harvest—tractors towing combs that shake fruit from branches create traffic jams consisting entirely of two vehicles and a pedestrian. January brings cold that surprises people who associate Spain with permanent warmth; temperatures drop to 2°C overnight, and houses built for summer heat feel distinctly parky. August is simply mad—40°C in the shade at 11am, everything closed between 2pm and 5pm, and agricultural workers starting their day at 5am to avoid heatstroke.

Getting Here, Getting Away

Car essential. Public transport involves a train to Xàtiva followed by a bus that runs thrice daily, except Sundays when it doesn't. Hire cars from Valencia Airport cost £25-40 daily depending on season; the drive takes 75 minutes via the A-7 toll road (€6.45) or 90 minutes avoiding tolls on the N-340. Petrol stations close at 10pm—run low on fuel and you're sleeping in the car.

The village makes no attempt to accommodate non-Spanish speakers—menu translations don't exist, and pointing works until you accidentally order half a kilo of raw anchovies. Mobile signal varies between adequate and imaginary depending on network and cloud cover. Vodafone users report better coverage than O2; EE customers should prepare for enforced digital detox.

Rotglà i Corberà rewards those seeking Spain as lived by Spaniards, not the Costas' interpretation of British expectations abroad. Bring walking shoes, phrasebook Spanish, and realistic expectations of both cuisine and entertainment. Leave with orange-scented luggage and the gradual realisation that "nothing to do" can constitute a properly productive afternoon.