Tollos

The church bell tolls 21 times at 9 pm, not because anyone is counting but because the mechanism still runs on 19th-century patience. In Tollos, that passes for rush hour. Forty residents, four streets, one bar that opens Saturdays only—this is the arithmetic of Spain’s quietest corner of Comunidad Valenciana, 773 m above the Costa Blanca package tours.

Up the CV-700 and Back a Century

Leave Alicante airport at noon and you can be higher than Ben Nevis before the ice in your gin-and-tonic melts. The final 13 km from Benimarfull switchback through pine and limestone as phone signal dribbles away; a hire-car steering wheel becomes the only thing between you and a 400-m drop. First-timers should arrive in daylight—the road is perfectly asphalted but unforgiving if you meet a almond-laden tractor on a bend.

Fill the tank and stomach in Alcoy beforehand. Tollos has neither petrol station nor cash machine, and the municipal shop keeps eccentric hours: some Tuesdays, most Thursdays, never when you really need paracetamol. What you gain instead is air so clean that lichens drape every roof tile like green tinsel, and darkness so complete that Orion looks close enough to snag on a pine branch.

Stone, Snow and Almond Blossom

The village blueprint is medieval: houses shoulder-to-shoulder, narrow lanes calibrated for a mule, not a Mitsubishi. Masonry walls 60 cm thick keep interiors at an even 18 °C year-round—welcome in August when the valley below swelters at 35 °C and again in January when nearby peaks carry sporadic snow. Look for the date stones: 1694 on the far wall of the church, 1832 above the bread oven now filled with firewood. Nothing is ‘restored’ in the glossy-magazine sense; it is simply maintained by whoever owns the key that year.

Come late February and the surrounding terraces flare white with almond blossom. The sight is prettier in person than on Instagram because there is no café terrace to elbow through—just you, the hum of bees and the occasional goat bell. Photographers should head 1 km south-east at sunrise; the low light picks out each blossom and the Sierra de Mariola ridge behind turns mauve.

Walking Tracks without Way-marked Crowds

Tollos sits on a spider-web of old muleteer paths. The most straightforward route drops to the snow wells of nevera de Tollos, stone pits where 18th-century locals stored ice for summer sherbets. It is 5 km out-and-back, 250 m descent, and you will meet more black squirrels than humans. Carry water—fountains marked on Google Maps often run dry by July.

Serious boots can link to the 16-km Mariola traverse that finishes in Agres, passing an abandoned monastery and a cluster of 500-year-old yew trees. The tourist office in Alcoy will email a GPX file, but print a back-up: way-marking is sporadic and mobile data is fiction once you dip into the ravines. Expect to spend six hours, including the compulsory pear-and-cheese stop under a holm oak.

Saturday Lunch and Other Timetables

Food culture is hyper-local. The bar opens Saturdays only, 13:00–16:00, run by Concha on a rota that also covers school dinners in Benimarfull. Order olleta de blat, a thick wheat-and-bean stew that tastes like cassoulet on a budget, followed by chuletón—a single rib of village lamb grilled until the fat blisters. Price: €14 for the menu, cash only, wine from a plastic jug that never seems to empty. If the shutters are down, the nearest certain meal is 25 minutes away in Benasau; stock crisps and a loaf in the car boot as insurance.

For self-caterers, the bakery man drives up from Muro every Wednesday at 11:30 and sells loaves from a white van outside the church. Almonds, honey and olive oil appear on honour-system tables in front of houses; leave coins in the tin. Super-sweet moscatel grapes ripen along fences in September—help yourself, the owners have already taken what they need.

When Tollos Parties (and When It Doesn’t)

Fiestas happen 12–15 August, timed for the Perseid meteor shower and the return of emigrants who left for Valencia’s factories in the 1970s. Events revolve around the church square: mass at 20:00, procession at 21:00, communal paella at 22:00, then a playlist of 1980s Spanish rock until the generator runs out of diesel. Visitors are welcome but there are no wristbands, no tourist prices, and nowhere to buy a souvenir T-shirt. Book accommodation early—every cousin claims the family sofa.

Winter brings the matanza, the traditional pig slaughter. It is a private affair among neighbours, but the aroma of paprika and garlic drifts through the streets as sausages cure in open sheds. Ask politely and someone will demonstrate how to lace a chorizo string; they will also explain, with gentle regret, that EU rules now forbid sharing the fresh blood needed for authentic morcilla.

Beds, Stars and Practicalities

There is no hotel in Tollos. Closest options are in Confrides (Casa Serrella, 15 min drive, doubles €90 B&B) or the slightly swisher pool-equipped Casa La Vall in Beniali (20 min, €110). Both provide route maps and will vacuum almond blossom off your boots.

Night temperatures drop 10 °C below the coast even in July—pack a fleece for stargazing. The village elevation and zero light pollution give Andromeda a clarity rarely seen in southern Europe; amateur astronomers set up on the disused football pitch where the only obstruction is the occasional cat. Bring a red-filter torch and spare batteries; the village generator hums off at 01:00.

Leave nothing to spontaneity that you cannot download first. Google Maps works offline once you have cached the area; road signs are small and frequently peppered with bullet holes from local hunting practice. Petrol, cash and groceries must be secured before the climb; think of it as a mini-expedition rather than a casual detour.

The Honest Verdict

Tollos will not change your life, but it might recalibrate your sense of scale. One evening here and a city timetable feels optional; after two you start recognising every dog by bark. The downside is the flip-side of the charm—when the bar is shut, it is really shut, and when the generator fails the village simply goes to bed. Come prepared, tread lightly, and the reward is an unfiltered slice of Mediterranean mountain life shared with exactly 40 permanent experts in living small.