Alpuente

The castle walls catch the late afternoon sun like burnished copper, and suddenly you understand why this ridge matters. At 1,000 metres above sea level, Alpuente's ruined fortress doesn't just overlook the valley—it commands it. The Moors knew what they were doing when they planted their defensive stronghold here in the 11th century, and the Castilians who reinforced it two hundred years later weren't about to argue with geography.

Walking Through Layers of Stone

The village tumbles down the hillside in a cascade of ochre stone, each house seemingly propped against its neighbour for support. Cobbled lanes switchback between medieval walls, their gradients steep enough to make even fit walkers pause for breath. This isn't a place for flimsy footwear—those polished limestone pavers have been polished smooth by centuries of foot traffic, and they can be treacherous when morning dew lingers.

Start at Plaza Mayor, where stone arcades shelter a handful of cafés and the occasional produce van. The Thursday market brings locals down from surrounding farmsteads, but even then you're looking at perhaps two dozen stalls selling everything from rope-soled espadrilles to honey gathered from mountain hives. The church tower rises from one corner, its Gothic bones dressed in Baroque finery inside, though you'll need to time your visit carefully—the building stays locked outside service times and the Saturday morning tour slot.

Wander uphill and the houses grow older, their wooden balconies sagging under the weight of geraniums. Sixteenth-century mansions sport carved coats of arms above doorways, the stone weathered to illegibility in places but still asserting their owners' former importance. These were the homes of Alpuente's ruling families, merchants who grew wealthy on wool and grain, their prosperity written in the thickness of their walls and the height of their ceilings.

The Castle and What Lies Beyond

The climb to the castle takes fifteen minutes if you're determined, twenty-five if you stop to admire the views that open up with every bend. What remains is skeletal—curtain walls punctuated by square towers, a rebuilt section of keep, foundations where the governor's quarters once stood. But the panorama compensates for any disappointment about ruined masonry. To the east, the Sierra de Javalambre fades into blue haze; westward, the Rio Turia carves its limestone gorge through terrain that looks more Pyrenean than Valencian.

That gorge, incidentally, is where locals escape summer heat. The Hoz del Turia walking trail follows the river for ten kilometres through karst landscape where griffon vultures ride thermals overhead and the water runs clear over limestone beds. It's properly mountainous country—think thyme-scented scrub, sudden cliffs, and the kind of silence broken only by goat bells and your own footsteps. The full circuit takes four hours, but you can shorten it by arranging pickup at the downstream bridge.

Mountain Time, Mountain Food

Altitude changes everything here. Summer days might hit thirty degrees, but evenings drop to eighteen—bring a jumper even in August. Winter brings occasional snow, and when it does the village becomes temporarily inaccessible to anyone without chains or a 4x4. Spring and autumn deliver the sweet spot: warm days, cool nights, and light that painters would kill for.

The mountain climate shapes the kitchen as much as the calendar. This isn't paella territory—Alpuente's cuisine speaks of shepherds and long winters, of preserving and making-do elevated to art. Olla de Alpuente arrives at table like a challenge: a clay pot brimming with beans, pork belly, morcilla sausage and vegetables that have simmered for hours. Gazpacho pastor bears no relation to its chilled Andalusian cousin—this is a thick, hot soup of bread, garlic and paprika topped with egg, designed to fuel workers through cold mornings on the high pastures.

Local lamb, cooked over fires of thistle wood, carries the faint sweetness of the plants the animals graze on. The meat arrives simply grilled, its flavour concentrated by mountain air and exercise. Vegetarians can console themselves with tortas de almendra—crumbly almond biscuits that dissolve to sweetness on the tongue—and the knowledge that they're drinking better wine than most coastal restaurants serve at twice the price. Utiel-Requena reds, grown just over the ridge, cost little more than bottled water and deliver smooth, uncomplicated pleasure.

The Practical Mountain

Getting here requires commitment. From Valencia, the A-3 motorway heads inland past endless orange groves before turning into proper mountain country. The final twenty kilometres wind through pine forests and past the occasional isolated farmstead; allow ninety minutes door-to-door, more if you're behind a truck on the climb. Public transport exists in theory—a Thursday-only bus that deposits you at 11am and leaves at 4pm—but in practice you'll need wheels.

Once arrived, park at the entrance roundabout and walk. The village centre is pedestrian-friendly, though "friendly" might be overstating the relationship between calf muscles and those gradients. Bring cash—there's no ATM, and the nearest bank machine sits twenty-five kilometres away in Utiel. Shops observe the traditional siesta, closing at 2pm and reopening around 5pm; plan accordingly if you want picnic supplies for walking.

The weekend guided tour, departing Plaza Mayor at noon on Saturdays, costs five euros and includes access to castle areas normally roped off. English-speaking guides need booking in advance through the tourist office, but even Spanish-only tours reward the effort—the views need no translation. Dinosaur footprint sites exist in the surrounding hills, but you'll need the guide to find them; the markings are subtle enough that most walkers march straight past.

Alpuente isn't trying to be anything other than what it is: a mountain village where people still live by agricultural rhythms, where the bar fills with farmers discussing rainfall at 8am, where medieval walls shelter modern lives. Come expecting theme-park medieval and you'll leave disappointed. Come prepared for genuine mountain village life—complete with early closing, steep climbs and the occasional goat wandering across the road—and you'll understand why those castle walls still matter, a thousand years on.