Les Coves de Vinromà

The first thing you notice is the scent. From late March the orange groves that wrap around Les Coves de Vinromà give off a perfume strong enough to mask the diesel of the passing tractor. It drifts right into the single-lane ring-road, past the bakery that still closes at 14:00 sharp and the community pool where British holidaymakers rinse mountain dust off their shins. No sea view, no souvenir stalls—just 1,831 villagers, a baroque church tower and a landscape that changes colour every fortnight.

A town that takes its name literally

“Les Coves” refers to the sandstone hollows that dot the surrounding sierras. One of the easiest to reach, Cova de la Morería, sits twenty minutes’ walk uphill from the church square; swallows nest in the roof and someone has chalked “Ana + Miguel 1987” inside. Serious rock-art fans head instead to the Valltora Gorge, ten minutes by car. Unesco-listed shelters here carry red-painted archers thought to be 8,000 years old. Tours start at the small museum in Tírig—phone the day before if you want the English guide, otherwise you’ll get rapid-fire Valencian.

Back in the village itself the architecture is modest rather than monumental. Cal-plastered houses lean inward along streets barely two metres wide, their rooflines sagging like old books on a shelf. The 18th-century Purísima Concepción church is the exception: a neat rectangle of golden stone with a tower you can spot from any surrounding lane. Inside, the gilt altarpiece gleams thanks to a €90,000 restoration paid for by the EU and countless Saturday bingo sessions.

Walking boots, not flip-flops

The coast is 35 km away as the crow flies, but Les Coves sits at 202 m and the air is clearer. Spring mornings start crisp; by noon you’ll peel off a layer. A signed 6-km loop climbs to La Pisota viewpoint where, on a transparent day, you can pick out the thin silver line of the Mediterranean. Continue further and the trail links a necklace of farmsteads—some still inhabited, others roofless, their stone threshing circles overrun by poppies. Expect to meet more goats than people.

Mountain-bike tyres hiss along the same dirt tracks. There are no bike-hire shops in the village, so bring your own or arrange delivery through the tourist office in Sant Mateu, 12 km north. If you prefer pedals to petrol, note that the CV-10 from Castellón has a hard shoulder wide enough for confident cyclists; traffic thins dramatically after Albocàsser.

Market-day calories

Thursday is shopping day. A single white awning stretches across Plaza España: two greengrocers, a van selling razor-sharp knives and a woman from Segorbe who brings fresh goat cheese wrapped in waxed paper. The cheese is mild—closer to Wensleydale than farmyard—yet it disappears by 11:30. Arrive early.

Local menus favour whatever the huerta is dumping. In April that means artichokes braised with almonds; by October it’s giant butter beans stewed with pork belly and a sprig of mountain rosemary. Bar Central plates the best coca de recapte, a sort of oval pizza smeared with roast aubergine and a whisper of garlic. Ask for it “sense tonyina” if you’re meat-free. A slice and a caña set you back €3.20—card payments accepted, unlike the bakery opposite.

When the village lets its hair down

August turns the volume up. The fiestas patronales kick off on the first weekend with a foam party in the polideportivo and fireworks that rattle greenhouse roofs. Visitors either love the chaos or flee to the coast; accommodation prices don’t budge either way, because there are only two rental flats and a clutch of rural houses. January brings the gentler feast of Sant Antonio. Locals lead decorated donkeys to the church for a sprinkle of holy water; even the vet brings her Labrador. Night-time temperatures flirt with freezing—pack a fleece.

Spring is the sweet spot. Almond blossom arrives in late February, followed by the heady orange bloom already mentioned. Daytime highs hover around 20 °C; the lanes smell of damp thyme and woodsmoke from farmhouse chimneys. Rain is possible, usually an hour-long cloudburst that leaves the soil the colour of dark chocolate.

Getting here, staying here

Car hire is almost compulsory. Castellón airport is 28 minutes west on the CV-10; Valencia’s manicured terminal adds another 45. From London, Ryanair flies into Castellón three times a week outside summer—prices dip below £30 return if you avoid Fridays. Trains reach Vinaròs on the coast, but the connecting bus to Les Coves runs twice daily and not at all on Sunday.

Accommodation is limited to a handful of cottages on the outskirts. Expect stone walls, thick Wi-Fi blind spots and a swimming pool that feels brave until May. Double rooms start at €70 a night; most owners live in Castellón and meet you with a key and a bottle of home-pressed olive oil. If you need a hotel minibar, stay in Sant Mateu and drive in for dinner.

The honest verdict

Les Coves de Vinromà will never compete with coastal Valencia’s bronzed marketing budgets. That is precisely why some travellers end up extending their booking. Come for the rock art, the blossom and the €1.20 cortado that still comes with a free nip of brandy. Don’t expect artisan ice-cream, nightclubs or anyone to speak fluent English—Google Translate and a smile suffice. Bring boots, a car and a tolerance for church bells every half-hour. Leave with your lungs full of orange blossom and the realisation that “nothing to do” can be a legitimate itinerary.