Calles

The Road Upwards

The A-23 drops you at Sagunto, then the real journey begins. Forty minutes of winding secondary roads through terraced hillsides where almonds and olives cling to limestone slopes. At 348 metres above sea level, Calles materialises like a ships anchor point, its stone houses gripping the mountainside with the tenacity of centuries.

This isn't coastal Valencia. The Mediterranean lies 70 kilometres east, and with it the humidity, the package tours, the paella restaurants charging €25 for frozen seafood. Up here, the air carries pine resin and wood smoke. Winter mornings bite. Summer afternoons shimmer with heat that sends lizards scuttling for shade. The village's 400 inhabitants understand altitude. They plant vegetables later, harvest earlier, and keep their coats handy for evenings that drop ten degrees without ceremony.

Stone, Tile and Silence

The parish church squats at Calles' highest point, its modest bell tower the only thing breaking the horizontal line of terracotta roofs. Built from local limestone, the structure embodies the pragmatic spirituality of inland Valencia – no baroque excess here, just thick walls that have weathered raids, reforms and revolution. The interior holds the cool darkness of ancient stone, punctuated by fragments of medieval fresco that survived the civil war's iconoclasm.

Wander downhill and the village reveals its architectural DNA. Houses grow from the rock itself, their lower courses of massive masonry supporting upper levels rendered in lime wash the colour of pale honey. Iron balconies sag under the weight of geraniums. Doorways narrow to human width – built for people, not vehicles. The streets follow topography rather than geometry, bending around outcrops, climbing steps carved when hooves outnumbered tyres.

Between houses, alleyways open suddenly onto voids where the mountain drops away. These miradores aren't ornamental. Generations used them to spot approaching weather, check on distant fields, watch for smoke from neighbouring villages. On clear days, the view stretches across Los Serranos to the plateau of La Mancha. Spain's central plain lies spread like a map, its villages reduced to white punctuation marks against brown earth.

Walking the Karst

The municipal boundary encompasses some of Valencia's most dramatic limestone country. Dry riverbeds, called barrancos, cut deep gashes through white rock. Mediterranean scrub – rosemary, thyme, dwarf fan palm – fills the spaces between massive carob trees. Wild boar root here at night; their tracks crisscross the paths next to those of mountain bikers who've discovered the gradients.

Walking routes radiate from the village like spokes, though spoke would imply order. These trails follow ancient connections – to water sources, to higher pastures, to neighbouring settlements that provided marriage partners and market days. The GR-36 long-distance path passes nearby, but local routes offer better insight. A ninety-minute circuit leads to the abandoned terraces of La Muela, where stone walls once held soil for wheat and almonds. Now rosemary rules, its blue flowers attracting butterflies in April when the mountain briefly explodes into colour.

Serious hikers head for El Remedio, a 750-metre summit two hours south. The path climbs through pine plantation before emerging onto bare rock where griffon vultures ride thermals. Take water. Summer temperatures reach 35°C, and shade exists only in theory. Winter walking brings different challenges – north-facing slopes hold snow, and the wind carries enough ice to make exposed sections treacherous.

Food from Fire

Calles' gastronomy reflects altitude and effort. This isn't delicate coastal cooking. Dishes arrive heavy with pork fat, designed to fuel bodies that spent daylight hauling water up hillsides. Gazpacho manchego arrives as a stew, not a cold soup – game bird or rabbit simmered with flatbread that absorbs liquid until it resembles savoury porridge. Migas, fried breadcrumbs dressed with grapes and bacon, started as a way to use stale bread. Now it appears on menus year-round, though locals still prefer it after mornings spent harvesting olives.

The village's single restaurant, Casa Blanco, opens weekends only unless you phone ahead. Inside, the dining room holds six tables and photographs of agricultural machinery from the 1950s. The menu changes with what's available – partridge in autumn, wild mushrooms after October rains, garden vegetables through spring. Prices hover around €12-15 for main courses. Wine comes from Utiel-Requena, 40 kilometres west, where high-altitude vineyards produce robust reds that stand up to the food.

Thursday mornings bring the mobile market – a white van that parks by the church selling cheese from Albarracín, sausages from Teruel, and fish that's travelled further than most villagers ever will. Queues form early. By eleven, the hake has gone and conversation turns to tomorrow's weather.

When the Lights Go Out

Night arrives suddenly. One moment the village glows golden in sunset light; twenty minutes later, darkness absolute. Street lighting exists but minimal – three lamps on the main street, nothing more. The Milky Way appears with embarrassing clarity, a river of light that makes visitors realise how much they've forgotten about real darkness.

Summer fiestas in late July provide controlled chaos. The population swells to perhaps 800 as emigrants return from Valencia, Barcelona, even London. Brass bands parade at volumes that would violate urban noise ordinances. Paella cooks in pans three metres wide. The church bell rings all night, not from religious fervour but because teenagers compete to see who can keep swinging longest. For three days, Calles remembers what noise feels like. Then August arrives, and silence returns like tide.

Practicalities

Getting here requires commitment. No public transport serves Calles. From Valencia, hire cars negotiate roads that narrow alarmingly after Losa del Obispo. The final approach involves a series of hairpins where meeting oncoming traffic requires reversing skills and strong nerves. Winter visitors should carry snow chains – the road ices quickly at altitude, and the village has no garage.

Accommodation means self-catering. Three village houses rent to visitors, booked through the municipal website. Expect stone floors, wood-burning stoves, and WiFi that works when conditions align. Bring groceries – the nearest supermarket lies 25 minutes away in Marines. The village shop opens mornings only, stocking basics plus excellent local honey.

Come prepared for weather that ignores coastal forecasts. Even in May, nights drop to 8°C. October can reach 25°C at midday then frost by dawn. The mountain creates its own climate, and Calles sits high enough to catch it all. Pack layers. Bring walking boots with ankle support – the limestone eats trainers for breakfast.

The village offers no souvenir shops, no guided tours, no interpretive centres. What it provides instead is harder to package: the sound of wind through Aleppo pines, the smell of wood smoke on cold mornings, the realisation that Spain contains multitudes beyond the costas. Calles doesn't need visitors. It tolerates them, sometimes welcomes them, always sends them away changed.