Llerena

The morning sun hits the ochre stone of the porticoed Plaza Mayor at 641 m above sea-level, and for twenty minutes the whole square glows like a kiln. At this altitude the air is thinner than on the neighbouring plains of the Campiña Sur, so the light feels sharper, almost surgical. By half past nine the local farmers have already demolished a coffee and brandy at the bar under the town-hall arches, and the first coach party from Seville is still forty minutes away. If you arrive before them you’ll have Llerena almost to yourself – all 5,670 inhabitants and five centuries of stone.

A Town That Tried Heresy for a Living

From 1502 until 1834 this was the seat of the Extremaduran Inquisition. The court did not burn huge numbers – the records show 53 death sentences in more than three centuries – but it did build. The Casa de la Inquisición, a sober Renaissance mansion on c/ Ancha, still has the original grilled balcony from which edicts were read to a nervously quiet square. Inside, the tourist office will show you a laminated floor-plan of the secret chapel and the interrogation cell; there is no charge, but they appreciate a euro for the leaflet in English. Across the street the 16th-century Palacio de los Zapata, now the law courts, lets visitors peer into a patio where columns are carved with the Zapata family’s chain motif – the same chains later adopted by the Spanish Inquisition as its emblem. History here is a palimpsest: every coat of arms seems to hide a prior owner who suddenly felt the need to leave town.

The Churches Are Open – But Check the Clock

Spanish time-keeping can ambush the unwary. The Iglesia de Nuestra Señora de la Granada unlocks at 10:30 and locks again at 13:00 sharp; miss the window and you will stand outside one of Extremadura’s finest baroque retablos until the following morning. Inside, the cedar-wood choir stalls still smell of polish and incense. Look for the tiny pomegranate carved on the end of pew 12 – the symbol of Granada and the church’s namesake – then climb the narrow tower for a 360-degree view of dehesa oak pasture fading into haze. Entry is €2; exact coins only.

Five minutes north the late-Gothic Iglesia de Santiago belonged to the Knights of Santiago, the military order that ran this frontier district against the Moors. Their tombs line the nave like stone submarines, each lid carved with a knight in full armour. The sacristan keeps the lights low to protect the paint, so bring a phone torch if you want to read the Latin epitaphs.

Lunch at Two, Shutters at Three

British stomachs should note: Llerena still eats when the bell tolls. Try arriving at Restaurante Doña Mariana on Plaza de España at 13:45 and you will secure one of the outside tables before the locals flood in. Order the pluma ibérica – a feather-shaped cut from the black-foot pig that grazes on acorns in the surrounding woodland. It arrives medium-rare, charred outside, tasting halfway between pork and beef, and costs €14 including papas fritas. If you prefer vegetables, the seasonal revuelto of wild asparagus and scrambled eggs is €8 and tastes of spring hedgerow. House red from nearby Tierra de Barros is €2.20 a glass; they accept cards, but the machine sometimes claims the telephone line is “occupado” – carry a €20 note to be safe.

When the last coffee is served the staff pull down the metal shutter. Between 14:30 and 17:30 the town belongs to siesta and to the lone guardian in the Chocolate Moro workshop on c/ Pilar. The owner, a third-generation chocolatier, roasts Ecuadorian beans in the back room and sells an 80 % cocoa bar infused with toasted acorn – the flavour of Extremaduran autumn. One bar costs €4.50 and survives the flight home in hand luggage; buy two because the first won’t make it past security at Seville.

Walking Off the Inquisition

Once the mercury drops below 30 °C the side streets become navigable again. A self-guided route – pick up the English leaflet at the tourist office – strings together six convents, a fragment of Moorish wall and the old Jewish quarter in a gentle 1.5-km loop. The gradients are mild, but the altitude means you will feel slightly breathless if you stride. For something longer, the GR-134 long-distance footpath skirts the town, following an 18-km figure-of-eight through holm-oak dehesa. September hikers share the path with free-range pigs snuffling for acorns; take water, there is no café until you circle back.

Winter brings the opposite problem: nights can dip to –3 °C and the Plaza Mayor’s cafés wheel out patio heaters that run on butane. Daytime is crisp, skies are cobalt, and hotel prices drop by a third. Summer, by contrast, sends locals indoors after 13:00; British visitors compare the midday heat to “standing in front of a fan oven”. Sightseeing window: 09:30-12:30, then retreat to your air-conditioned room or the municipal pool on the ring-road (€3 day pass, open June-September).

Getting There Without Losing Your Mirrors

Llerena sits 87 km east of Badajoz on the N-432, a straight single-carriageway that takes an hour if you resist the urge to overtake tractors. From Seville the A-66 motorway peels off at exit 530, adding 75 minutes through rolling wheat fields. The last 3 km into town narrow to one-way cobbles; park on c/ Arrabal de Tejeiro by the bus station (free, no time limit) and walk five minutes uphill. Monday mornings see a farmers’ market: cars double-park, delivery vans block entire lanes – arrive after 12:00 when the stalls are packing up.

No direct train exists. Buses run twice daily from both Badajoz and Seville, timed for market day rather than tourists, and arrive at the terminal opposite the 16th-century Convento de la Merced. The building is now a cultural centre; if it is open, pop in for temporary art shows that rarely charge admission.

Fiestas: Drums, Horns and Free Paella

Holy Week processions squeeze through the arcades at 22:00, the only time the Plaza Mayor falls silent. Hooded penitents carry baroque floats; the atmosphere is devotional, not touristy – cameras are tolerated, flash is not. In early September the Feria de la Virgen de la Granada turns the square into an open-air kitchen: volunteers dish out free paella at 15:00 on Sunday, but you need to queue before 14:00 or the pans scrape clean. A travelling funfair occupies the car park where you left the hire car; move it to the signed blue-zone by the medical centre or you will be blocked in until midnight.

When to Fold Your Map

Llerena does not shout. It offers a compact lesson in how ordinary Spaniards lived with grand history on their doorstep – and still do. If you need glossy boutiques or nightclubs, stay in Seville. If you are happy to trade a cathedral for a quieter square, a cheaper lunch and a story about heresy that does not end on a pyre, Llerena justifies the detour. Come in April for wildflowers along the GR-134, or in late October when the acorn-fed hams are starting to cure and the air smells of woodsmoke and chocolate. Arrive after 14:00 on a Monday without checking opening hours and you will spend two hours in a shuttered town wondering why you bothered. Time it right, and you will leave when the bells strike four, just as the sun slips off the stone and the square returns to its residents – proof that some places handle their past better than their publicity.