Buñol

The last Wednesday of August starts like any other morning in Buñol. Shopkeepers hose down pavements, elderly men linger over coffee in Plaza del Pueblo, and the castle keep stands silent against a pale sky. By eleven o'clock, 22,000 people have squeezed into streets built for 9,500, the air smells of crushed tomatoes and sweat, and someone from Dundee is wearing swimming goggles next to a stag party from Dortmund. This is La Tomatina, the hour-long food fight that turned a quiet market town 38 km west of Valencia into a global byword for organised mess. The rest of the year, Buñol reverts to its older personality: a hillside farming centre buffered by pine-covered ravines where you can still hear your boots on the path.

The morning after the fight

Visit in September and tomato seeds still glint in the drains, but the town feels half-asleep. The medieval grid, ringed by a ribbon of citrus groves, climbs from the river Buñol to the Moorish castle at 441 m. Whitewashed walls reflect heat; balconies trail geraniums. Nothing is "nestled" or "hidden" here—the A-3 motorway is ten minutes away—yet the place keeps a workaday dignity. Farmers unload persimmons at the co-op, teenagers kick a ball against the Renaissance arch of Los Cortes, and the only queue is for the bakery's almond-and-carob pastries, wrapped in white paper and sold by weight.

The castle itself is part ruin, part cultural venue. Reconquered by Jaime I in the thirteenth century, later fitted out as a stately home, it now hosts summer concerts in the old parade ground. Climb the keep for a 360-degree sweep over orange terraces to the sierra. Check opening hours first; the ticket booth still follows the relaxed siesta timetable and more than one British visitor has waited until 11:00 before giving up. Adult entry is €3, cash only.

Back in the centre, the Iglesia de San Pedro Apóstol anchors the main square. Neoclassical, lemon-yellow, and locked except for mass, it is best admired from the terrace of La Esquina café while drinking a café bombón (espresso with condensed milk, €1.80). Inside, if the sacristan is around, you'll find gilded altarpieces rescued from civil-war fires and a side chapel devoted to San Luis Beltrán, patron of the town's October fiestas.

Green corridors above the town

Buñol sits on the edge of the Serranía de Buñol, a broken limestone plateau scored by seasonal rivers. The result is a network of walking routes that start literally at the top of the high street. Follow the yellow-and-white waymarks of the Ruta del Castillo and within twenty minutes you are under Aleppo pines, looking down on red-tiled roofs and the railway line to Valencia. Continue another hour to the Barranco del Turche and you reach a waterfall that drops 15 m into a plunge pool. After heavy rain the spray drifts like smoke; in July the pool shrinks to a green mirror ringed by dragonflies. Trainers are fine, but flip-flops will end in tears.

Mountain-bikers use the same web of tracks. A popular loop threads north to the hamlet of Chiva, crossing fields of artichokes and the odd plantation of kiwi fruit—an experimental crop that likes the altitude. Bike hire is not available in town; bring your own or take the train to Valencia and rent there.

What to eat when the tomatoes are gone

Forget the festival brochures promising unlimited paella; British visitors regularly report that the pans never materialise. Eat instead where the council workers queue. Bar Sergio serves a three-course menú del día for €12 that might start with olleta, a hearty bean-and-pork stew, followed by bacalao a la valenciana and a slab of almond cake. Vegetarians can ask for pencas—chard stalks stuffed with pine nuts and raisins—or go full carb with oven-baked rice capped with garbanzos and black pudding. House wine comes in 500 ml glass bottles; pace yourself if you plan to catch the 18:08 train back to Valencia—there isn't another until after 21:00.

Thursday is market day. Stalls sprout around the Ayuntamiento selling peppers the size of cricket balls, dried ñora chillies and strings of garlic. Look for jars of local honey flavoured with rosemary; it sets rock-hard in winter and tastes of the mountains.

A calendar that swings between whisper and roar

La Tomatina may pull the headlines, but Buñol's other fiestas are cheaper, safer and arguably more revealing. During Semana Santa, hooded cofradías march to a lone drum, the only sound in streets too narrow for crowds. Mid-October brings the Fiestas de San Luis Beltrán: open-air concerts, a paella contest, and midnight fireworks that echo off the castle walls. In January, bonfires of San Antón smoulder on waste ground outside the old gate; locals roast sausages over the embers and the mayor hands out sweet muscat wine. None of these events charges admission; you simply turn up.

Getting here, getting out

Renfe's regional train leaves Valencia's Estació Nord hourly and reaches Buñol in 47 minutes (€4.20 return). The station is a 15-minute downhill walk from the centre; allow 25 minutes back uphill after lunch. Drivers exit the A-3 at junction 322, follow the CV-415 and park free behind the Policía Local. The town's altitude knocks three or four degrees off Valencia's coastal heat—welcome in August, chilly in January when night frost is common.

The honest verdict

Come for La Tomatina if you must, but arrive with goggles, a disposable T-shirt and modest expectations of organisation. The real surprise is how quickly the place sheds the circus and returns to bread-and-butter rural life. Stay overnight, climb to the castle at dusk when swifts screech round the battlements, and you'll see why the tomato-throwing season lasts one hour while the other 8,759 hours feel like a village that just happens to have excellent rail links and a sense of humour.