Zarra

The church bell rings by hand at noon, echoing across slopes that drop 600 metres to the valley floor. In Zarra's single bar, three locals glance at their watches, nod, and return to their cañas. Timekeeping here remains refreshingly analogue.

This mountainside village of 380 souls clings to the southern rim of Valencia province like an afterthought. The CV-425 switchbacks up from the Ayora valley in a series of hairpins so tight that meeting a tractor means one of you reversing to the nearest passing place. It's the kind of drive that makes passengers clutch the door handles and drivers feel oddly accomplished when they finally park.

The Vertical Village

Zarra's streets follow the topography, not town planners. What looks like a gentle stroll on Google Maps becomes a thigh-burning climb up medieval lanes barely two metres wide. Stone houses shoulder together, their wooden balconies overflowing with geraniums that somehow survive the altitude. The altitude matters more than you'd expect for inland Valencia – mornings can be 8°C cooler than the coast, and winter frosts aren't unknown.

The 18th-century Santa Ana church dominates the skyline, its modest baroque façade hiding an interior that locals proudly maintain. Inside, the retablo gleams with fresh gilt paint applied by volunteers during last year's fiesta. It's hardly the Sagrada Família, but that's rather the point. This is a working church for a working village, where Mass attendance still dictates Sunday morning parking patterns.

Cherries and Silence

Visit in late May and you'll wonder if the entire village has been painted red. Cherry season transforms Zarra from sleepy hamlet to agricultural hub. Orchard gates stand open, ladders lean against trees heavy with fruit, and the air smells faintly of fermentation where overripe cherries drop onto warm earth. Locals sell paper cones of the sweetest specimens from front doors – £3 buys a kilogram that would cost triple in Borough Market.

The rest of the year belongs to silence and space. Walk five minutes from the church plaza and you're on dirt tracks threading through Aleppo pine and rosemary-scented scrub. The GR-7 long-distance path passes nearby, but most visitors prefer the circular route that drops into the Barranco de Zarra before climbing back past abandoned terraces. It's a two-hour loop that feels like proper wilderness despite never straying more than 3 kilometres from the village centre.

What Passes for Entertainment

Zarra's street art collection won't rival Banksy's Bristol. Twenty minutes suffices to photograph every mural – reproductions of Las Meninas and the Mona Lisa painted on otherwise blank gable ends. The project arrived during 2020's lockdowns when bored residents decided their village needed culture. It's oddly touching rather than impressive.

Rock climbers rate La Presa crag, three kilometres south on the road to Jarafuel. Twenty-four bolted routes range from British 4c to 7b, all south-facing for winter sun. Take everything – the nearest gear shop is 40 kilometres away in Requena. The limestone offers excellent friction when dry, but holds become glassy after rain. Local climbers have painted route names at the base; "Tercer Grado" makes a confidence-boosting warm-up at 5a.

Eating and Drinking (or Not)

The village bar opens when the owner feels like it. Seriously. Morning coffee runs from 7 am until the regulars drift off to their fields, then it's anyone's guess whether afternoon service happens. When it does, expect plastic chairs, a television showing horse racing on mute, and coffee that costs €1.20. They don't serve food beyond crisps and olives.

For proper meals, drive ten minutes to Jarafuel's Bar-Restaurante El Molino. Weekend lunch only, booking essential – if only two tables reserve, they'll close and you'll be eating crisps for dinner. Their gazpacho manchego bears no relation to Andalucían cold soup. This is game stew with flatbread, hearty enough to fuel agricultural labourers. Ask a day ahead if you want to try it; they need notice to source rabbit or partridge.

Self-catering proves more reliable. The tiny shop on Calle Mayor stocks basics: tinned tomatoes, pasta, local honey thick enough to stand a spoon in. Opening hours run 9 am-2 pm, after which you're driving to Ayora's supermarket. The honey, labelled Valle de Ayora-Cofrentes, makes decent souvenirs. Dark and herbal from mountain flora, it's nothing like supermarket versions.

When to Bother

Spring brings wildflowers and temperatures perfect for walking – 18°C at midday, cool enough for strenuous hikes. Autumn offers similar conditions plus mushroom foraging, though you'll need local knowledge to avoid poisonous varieties. Summer turns brutal; the village bakes under intense sun and most residents siesta through afternoon heat. Winter brings crisp days and occasional snow, beautiful but requiring proper mountain gear.

Cherry season creates the only real crowds. Accommodation books solid during late May's picking fortnight, when agricultural workers descend and property owners rent spare rooms. The rest of year, you'll have Zarra largely to yourself – both blessing and curse when the bar's shut.

Getting There, Getting Cash, Getting Real

Valencia city to Zarra takes ninety minutes via the A-7 and N-330, then those final twisty kilometres. The journey feels longer than it is, particularly after dark when headlights reveal only cliff edges and pine trees. Fill up with fuel and cash before leaving the main road – Zarra has neither petrol station nor cash machine. The nearest ATM lurks in Ayora's solitary bank, 25 minutes back down the mountain.

Mobile reception proves patchy. Vodafone works on the main plaza if you stand near the church wall; other networks require walking to the cemetery for three bars of 3G. This isn't necessarily problematic. Zarra works best for travellers comfortable with their own company, happy to trade nightlife for star-gazing and restaurant variety for home-cooked stews.

The village won't change your life. It offers something more valuable: perspective. Standing on Zarra's highest street at sunset, watching swallows dive between houses while the valley fades to purple, you remember why Spain's interior still matters. Just bring cash, pack supplies, and don't expect the bar to be open.