Requena

The morning train from Valencia pulls in at 692 metres above sea level, and the air carries a nip that shouldn't surprise you this close to the Meseta. Requena's medieval walls appear first—sandstone ramparts thrown up by the Moors a millennium ago—then the maze of cobbled lanes that British visitors keep comparing to a Tuscan hill town, except nobody here speaks English and a glass of Bobal still costs under three quid.

The Town Beneath the Town

Start at the Barrio de la Villa, the fortified hill where everything began. The streets tilt at angles that would shame San Francisco, so sensible shoes are non-negotiable. At the summit, the fourteenth-century Iglesia de Santa María squats solidly, its Gothic portal carved with grapes and barely decipherable coats of arms. Climb the attached Torre del Homenaje (€2, cash only) and the plateau stretches out like a vintage map: serried vineyards running to a horizon blurred by winter mist or summer heat shimmer, depending on season.

Below your feet lies the real attraction. Requena's residents spent centuries tunnelling into the soft limestone, creating the Cuevas de la Villa—a subterranean neighbourhood of storage rooms, refuges and, above all, wineries. Guided tours leave on the hour from the tourist office; the Spanish-only leaflet is no great loss, because the guide pantomimes everything from Roman presses to Civil-war hiding spots. Temperature underground holds steady at 16 °C, making the caves a retreat in August and a refrigerator in February. Bring a jumper either way.

Back on street level, the Palacio del Cid (no relation to El Cid—local branding borrowed the name) hosts rotating art exhibitions that rarely trouble the crowds. More interesting is the Torreón de los Aljibes, a tenth-century water tower whose interior still smells faintly of damp stone and smoke. The adjacent Puerta de Madrid once funnelled trans-plateau traffic; today it funnels weekenders towards the modern lower town where Requena actually lives, shops and argues about football.

What to Drink and Where

Wine tourism here predates the phrase. The Utiel-Requena D.O. centres on Bobal, a thick-skinned grape that produces deep, peppery reds capable of ageing but usually drunk young. British tasters tend to compare the entry-level bottles to good Côtes du Rhône village, minus the airfare. Chozas Carrascal—ten minutes by taxi from the centre—runs English-language visits weekdays at noon (€12 including three wines and local cheese). Murviedro, closer to the station, offers shorter sessions in a nineteenth-century cellars that once shipped bulk wine to Bordeaux after the phylloxera blight. Book ahead; both close Sunday afternoon and all Monday, a quirk that catches out many a weekender.

If red wine feels too heavy at midday, order a Bobal rosé. Locals drink it ice-cold with plates of sobresada on crusty bread, a combination that tastes like summer even in January. The town's cava producer, Pago de Tharsys, bottles a brut nature drier than most supermarket prosecco; at €9 a bottle in the factory shop it routinely converts British fizz snobs.

Eating Between Two Regions

Requena's cooking sits halfway between La Mancha and the Valencian coast. That means gazpacho manchego—nothing like the cold tomato soup—which arrives as a stew of game and flatbread, earthy and filling. Gachamiga, a shepherd's mash of flour, garlic and pork belly, sounds stodgy but works as winter ballast when the wind whips across the plateau. Portions are serious; consider sharing unless you've just hiked the Hoces del Cabriel.

For lighter grazing, the covered market (open till 2 p.m.) sells slivers of jamón serrano carved by women who've wielded the same knife for decades. A bocadillo and a caña of beer sets you back €4 at the bar inside. Requena morcilla, made with rice rather than onion, is mild enough to convert black-pudding sceptics; try it grilled with a drizzle of local honey.

Evening meals start late. Most restaurants open at 8.30 p.m. at the earliest, which can leave British stomachs growling. The workaround is to embrace merienda: tea-time tapas of cheese, olives and that robust Bobal. Casa Mariano on Calle San Nicolás will assemble a board for two at €15, and the owner enjoys explaining why the cheese rind smells of rosemary (the sheep graze on scrubby mountain herbs).

Getting Out and Back

Requena sits on the Valencia–Zaragoza railway line. Regionales trains leave Valencia Nord every two hours; the journey takes two hours precisely and costs €6.85 each way. Driving shaves forty minutes off the trip, but parking inside the walls is ferociously limited at weekends. Leave the car on Avenida Arrabal and walk ten minutes uphill; the gradient doubles as free cardio.

If you have wheels, the Hoces del Cabriel natural park lies forty minutes west. Deep limestone gorges, clear pools and griffon vultures make a dramatic contrast to vineyard monoculture. Bring a picnic—village shops shut from 2 p.m. to 5 p.m.—and check weather forecasts; flash floods turn trickling streams into torrents within minutes.

Closer to town, the Vía Verde del Ferrocarril Minero follows a disused mineral railway for 22 flat kilometres. Rent bikes from Requena BTT (€20 per day) and pedal through tunnels scented with wild rosemary; the gradient never rises above 2%, so even occasional cyclists return glowing rather than wrecked.

When to Come, When to Stay Away

Spring brings almond blossom and temperatures that hover around 20 °C—perfect for wandering the walls without the sweat factor. Autumn coincides with harvest: the Fiesta de la Vendimia (last weekend in August) sees grape-stomping, foam parties and all-night dancing in Plaza de la Villa. Accommodation triples in price and the town swells with Spanish visitors; book early or give it a miss.

Winter is crisp, often below freezing at night. British guests regularly under-pack; the plateau wind slices through denim. Still, hotel rates drop by half and the caves maintain their steady micro-climate. Summer, conversely, can hit 38 °C. Sightseeing is best finished by 11 a.m.; afterwards, retreat to a shaded terrace and switch from red to rosé.

Requena won't change your life. It will, however, serve you an honest lunch underground, pour wines you've never heard of at prices you thought disappeared in the nineties, and remind you that an hour from the Costa Blanca, Spain still answers to its own rhythms. Bring cash, bring layers, and bring an appetite—everything else is already here.