Molina de Segura

The 08:03 from Molina-Centro to Murcia is standing-room only, yet ten minutes earlier the castle carpark held just three cars and a stray cat. That contrast tells you everything about modern Molina de Segura: a place that guards its medieval past on a hilltop while the working day unfolds in industrial estates and citrus packing plants down below.

At 125 m above the Segura flood-plain, the town’s sandstone core predates the railway by a millennium. Arab engineers first tapped the river, turning the wide basin into market gardens that still supply Britain with winter lettuce. Their irrigation ditches—acequias—run behind modern apartment blocks; if you follow the smallest one west from Calle Rico you’ll reach the ascensor, a 50-cent lift that saves the thigh-burning climb to the Castillo de los Moros.

A fortress with a view and a queue

The castle keep opens at ten; be early and you’ll share the battlements only with swifts and the smell of warm stone. From the top the Vega Alta spreads like a green chessboard: orange rectangles, darker plots of artichokes, white plastic greenhouses glinting where the plain narrows toward the motorway. Interpretation boards are in Spanish only, but the panorama needs no translation—on clear winter days you can pick out the Mar Menor, 35 km away.

Back in the lanes below, the Iglesia de Nuestra Señora de la Asunción squats heavily over its plaza. The Gothic doorway survived the 1829 earthquake; the Baroque tower did not, so what you see is a confident 19th-century rebuild. Inside, the altarpiece is flood-lit by coin-in-the-slot meters—bring 50 céntimos or the gilding stays dim. Tuesday is market day; canvas awnings fill the square from dawn, stalls sag under pomegranates, ñoras (dried peppers) and cheap trainers. Parking underneath the plaza is free for the first hour—long enough to grab a toasted mollete smeared with local goat’s cheese and honey at Bar El Linde on the corner.

Industrial skirt, horticultural heart

Most visitors leave after coffee, lured south by Cartagena’s Roman theatre or the coast’s blue flags. That is a mistake. Molina’s flat grid of 1960s housing hides a second, older town of chimney stacks and wine cellars. Pick up the free “Chimney Trail” leaflet from the tourist office (inside the Ayuntamiento, English spoken mornings only) and you can thread together the brick relics of the esparto-grass industry—ropeworks, flour mills, a 1900 ice factory now reborn as a climbing wall. There are no crowds, no audio guides, just the occasional delivery lorry and the sweet smell of fermenting oranges drifting from a warehouse.

The trail ends at the Parque de la Compañía, where retired men in flat caps play petanca beneath date palms. Beyond the railings, allotments grow onions the size of cricket balls; owners water them with the same Moorish sluice system used a thousand years ago. You can taste the results at lunchtime in La Terraza on Avenida de Madrid. Order secreto ibérico—a marbled shoulder cut grilled pink—and ask for chips instead of the usual haricot beans; they’ll oblige without fuss.

Walking, cycling, or just watching water flow

Afternoon heat keeps the streets empty until half past five. That is the moment to hire a bike from the shop opposite the health centre (€12 half-day; passport required) and follow the river south. A paved greenway runs 8 km to the azud—an 18th-century weir that diverts water into acequias. Herons stand on the concrete lip, oblivious to the A-30 hum beyond the poplars. If you prefer boots to pedals, the Cañadas del Río Mula start 10 km west; signposted routes of 5–12 km loop through rosemary-scented hills where wild boar root among almonds. Summer walkers should carry at least a litre of water; the Murcian sun here is a dry 35 °C by noon.

Evenings belong to the paseo. Families drift toward the pedestrianised stretch of Calle Mayor for ice cream or café con leche; children chase footballs around the bandstand while grandparents occupy the benches in strict order—men on the shaded north side, women in the last slant of sun. Join them with a carta de vinos from Heladería Siglo XXI; their Muscatel floats come with a biscuit that tastes like a Bath Oliver dunked in syrup.

When the fireworks start

Molina’s calendar is loud. San Roque in mid-August shuts the ring road for a week; fairground rides occupy the Polígono car park and midnight fireworks rattle windows across town. September’s Feria de Todos los Santos is gentler—craft stalls, folk dancing and free samples of arroz caldoso, a soupy rice that locals insist is not paella. If you’re self-catering, stock up early: Mercadona closes at 21:30 and the Chinese bazar opposite is the only back-up for loo roll, tinned tomatoes and obscure AA batteries.

Getting there, getting out

The A-30 motorway makes Molina a 15-minute hop from Murcia’s Corvera airport, but public transport is patchy. Buses leave Murcia bus station every 30 minutes until 22:00; the last return is 22:30, so miss it and a taxi costs €30. Motorhomers already know the score: the free aire behind Lidl has grey-water disposal, 24-hour security and the constant swoosh of articulated lorries—fine for one night, not for a fortnight’s siesta.

Stay overnight and you’ll discover the town’s biggest surprise: silence after midnight broken only by the castle’s floodlights switching off at 01:00. Hotels are thin on the ground—try Hotel Venta de la Vega on the outskirts (pool, €65 B&B) or the basic Hostal Molina on the main drag (€40, ask for a back room to avoid the 06:00 delivery vans). Book ahead during fiestas; the university choir from Cartagena once had to bed down in the sports hall when every room was gone.

Come morning, buy a bag of cordiales—soft almond pastries—from the bakery beside the church and head for the lift once more. The Segura mist lifts early, revealing tractors already threading the furrows. You could be on the coast in 40 minutes, but the castle battlements are empty again, the city commuters stuck in tailbacks far below. Molina de Segura will never shout for attention; it simply gets on with growing lettuce, guarding ruins and clock-watching the river that made it. Stay long enough to notice, and the contrast feels sharper than any sea view.