Totana

The morning bus from Murcia drops you on Avenida de la Constitución at 9:42 sharp, and the first thing you notice is the smell: damp earth from the nearby lettuce plots, woodsmoke from a chimney, and something faintly metallic that turns out to be clay dust from the potters’ quarter. No one offers a flamenco postcard or a chilled sangria. Instead, an elderly man in a beret nods a curt “buenos días” and points you toward the Friday market, where €3 buys a carrier bag of just-picked broccoli the size of a football.

Totana sits 255 m above sea level on the flood-plain of the Guadalentín, 40 minutes’ drive inland from the Costa Cálida. The motorway skirts it; most UK holidaymakers barrel past on the way to beach villas further south. That single fact keeps the town’s voice recognisably local: menus are printed only in Spanish, the tourist office keeps Spanish hours (closed 14:00–17:00), and if you want a Full English you’ll be frying your own back at the campsite.

Pottery, pigs and a mountain hermitage

Begin in the Barrio de las Ollerías, a grid of low white houses south of the main road. The street names – Calle del Alfarero, Calle del Horno – read like stage directions. Inside open garages potters still kick wheels dating from Franco’s day, shaping the bulbous botijo water cooler that every Spanish farmworker recognises. Drop into Taller Perán (Calle San Roque 7) and you’ll probably meet Charo, third-generation, who speaks rapid Murcian Spanish but understands the word “postage”. She’ll wrap a pair of 1-litre pitchers in yesterday’s La Verdad and ship them to Manchester for €25, delivered inside a week.

From the pottery quarter it’s a ten-minute walk to the sixteenth-century church of Santiago Apóstol, its tower wrapped in baroque icing as if someone changed architectural mind halfway up. Inside, the air is cool and smells of beeswax; look for the odd English prayer card left by expats who’ve adopted the place for weddings. Outside, Plaza de Banderas hosts the weekly pig-market on Wednesdays – not a tourist show, just farmers weighing cerdos on portable scales. The squealing is frank, the negotiations franker.

The real pull lies 8 km uphill. The road to the Santuario de Santa Eulalia twists through almond terraces until the air thins and the temperature drops five degrees. Park at 1,200 m and climb the final steps; the stone hermitage appears suddenly, its bell-tilted roofline silhouetted against the sky like a cardboard cut-out. Views stretch north to the plateau of La Mancha; on clear March mornings you can pick out the snowcaps of the Sierra Nevada 150 km away. The sanctuary is the finish line for Totana’s oldest romería each May: thousands of walkers, carts decked with paper flowers, and a 24-hour party that ends with Mass celebrated on the front terrace. British motorhomers who’ve stumbled on the event compare it to a Yorkshire gala, only with olives instead of beer tents and processional drums that rattle the ribcage.

Bronze-Age secrets and pine-scented trails

Archaeology buffs should reserve online for the Saturday-morning tour of La Bastida, a hillfort predating the Argáric culture. The guide, usually María from the local museum, hands out hard hats and ushers you past fresh trenches where carbonised wheat is still being brushed clean. She’ll translate “matriarcal” as “female-line inheritance” and show you the curved dagger that rewrote Bronze-Age trade theory. Children get to handle a 3,800-year-old potsherd; parents get a safety waiver in Spanish and a grin that says you’ll be fine.

If you prefer your history vertical, Sierra Espuña is the playground. Ricardo Codorníu visitor centre (free entry) stocks the only English-language leaflet in the whole comarca. Route 2 – Sendero de la Umbría – climbs 400 m through pine and rosemary to a 1920s stone viewpoint once used by forest rangers. Allow two hours, carry more water than you think, and expect goat bells rather than people. In July the stones shimmer at 35 °C; in February you can stride through crisp air and spot Spanish ibex on the skyline. After rain the paths turn slick clay – British walking boots grip better than the trainers most locals wear.

Rice, crumbs and chocolate for lunch

Back in town, lunchtime starts at 14:00 and finishes abruptly when the cook’s family arrives. Try La Huertana on Calle Corredera: a tiled room with ceiling fans and hand-written prices. Order arroz de conejo (rabbit paella) for two; it arrives in the pan, saffron-stained and crusted at the edges, enough for three hungry Brits. The wine list is short – house red from Bullas in a 50 cl carafe, €4 – and they’ll fill your water bottle from the tap without the bottled-water hard sell you get on the coast. Pudding is migas con chocolate, fried breadcrumbs dusted with cinnamon and sugar, a dish invented to use up yesterday’s baguette. Dieticians look away; walkers ordering seconds is common.

Vegetarians aren’t ignored, but you need to know the magic words: “¿Hay guisadas de verduras?” The reply is usually a clay dish of slow-cooked swiss chard, chickpeas and cumin that tastes better than it sounds. Vegans should head for the Friday market and self-cater; avocados the size of grapefruits sell for €1.20 a kilo in season.

Getting there, getting stuck, getting out

No UK airline flies direct to Murcia-Corvera in winter since Ryanair culled the northern routes. Fly to Alicante instead, pick up a hire car, and take the A-7 south for 75 minutes. Fuel at the airport is cheaper than motorway services, and the cartel of tunnels south of Elche now accepts UK credit cards without the old “tarjeta rechazada” panic. If you’d rather ride the rails, the twice-daily train from Alicante terminates at Totana’s nineteenth-century station; tickets cost €11–€14 and the buffet car serves surprisingly decent coffee. Beware the 90-minute gap between the airport bus and the first train – long enough for a Burger King, not long enough for the beach.

Accommodation is limited. Camping Totana Park, 3 km west of centre, charges €18–€22 a night for a pitch with electricity in low season; the owner, Ken from Salford, keeps a swap-box of English paperbacks and sells frozen Yorkshire puddings at cost. Hotel Huerto del Cura on the main street has fifteen rooms, spotless but plain; doubles are €55 including garage parking, Wi-Fi that actually reaches the rooms, and a breakfast strong enough to fuel a morning on the hillfort.

When to jump in – and when to leave

March to early June is prime time: almond blossom first, then wild orchids in the Sierra, and daylight warm enough to sit outside at 18:00 without a jacket. September and October repeat the trick, swapping blossom for pomegranate heavy on village trees. Mid-July is fierce: 40 °C by noon, towns shuttered, procession drums at midnight. British winter visitors love the empty roads and €12 three-course menús, yet evenings can dip to 3 °C – pack the same fleece you’d take to the Peak District.

Totana will never tick the box marked “cosmopolitan”. It offers instead a calibrated slice of inland Spain: the smell of wet clay at dawn, the sound of a Bronze-Age whistle reconstructed from shards, the sight of shepherds moving goats beneath electricity pylons. Turn up expecting souvenir tat and you’ll be disappointed. Turn up curious and you’ll leave with a heavier suitcase – one that might clink with pottery and definitely contains crumbs of migas at the bottom.