It's like travelling back 700 years: wholesome delights in rural Andalusia
On our first morning, I go into the kitchen to make coffee and wonder if I'm feeling the effects of the previous night's festivities. Then I remember it's not me; It is the kitchen floor, which slopes gently. I have to be careful carrying the coffee to bed as the steps are at different heights and the doors are small enough to hit your head. As I lay there, under a roof made of woven chestnut boughs and stone slabs, I surveyed my surroundings and came to the happy conclusion that there was not a right angle in sight.
We're staying in a Moorish house in this Andalusian village, and I've also travelled back 700 years to when it was first built. I've been going to Spain for years, because my husband leads desert tours here, and we've travelled from one end to the other, finding hidden corners and mountain trails. But arriving at Attlebeiter at night, discussing its tangle of passageways, and ducking down ancient covered walkways as spring water rushes over our feet, we both agree, we've never been anywhere like it. The village gives the impression of growing out of the land, rather than being superimposed on it. Its streets are too narrow for cars, village cats roam freely, and the only sound is the occasional goat bleating across the slopes. As I look out over the valley on this crisp winter morning, the sun shines in a solid blue sky and the early almond blossoms add a splash of pastel pink to the rocky hills. All is quiet and silent.
Atalbitar is part of La Taha, a group of seven villages in the Alpazuras region of Andalusia. It is a speck on the map of Spain, overlooking the deep gorge of the River Trevelage on the southern slopes of the Sierra Nevada. Settled by Granada's Nasrid dynasty, the people who built its Alhambra, the whitewashed villages of Pitres, Atalbeitar, Capillarilla, Messina, Mequinilla, Fondales and Ferreira retain their Moorish feel thanks to their unique architecture and remote location. Access to the valley is via a winding mountain road that passes through the main town of Pitres, but all other villages are reached by spurs of this road, so there is no side trade.
At Atalbeitar, this is not a cause for concern. There will be no trade. It has a population of 31, and no shops or restaurants, although there is an upscale social club/bar, run by the village stalwart Jesus, who opens his house in the main square when the mood takes him. That's not to say there isn't a vibrant social scene. La Taha boasts a busy calendar of festivals, many of which are related to Easter and various Saints' Days, but some are specific to the region, such as an autumn chestnut festival called mauraca, and the summer Santa Cruz fiesta, which includes a traditional "burial". Fox", a fancy dress parade ending in a mock fox cremation filled with fireworks.
The village gives the impression of growing out of the land, rather than being superimposed on it
Our arrival, in mid-January, coincided with the first festival of the year, Chisco de San Antón when every central plaza in La Taha village celebrates with bonfires and feasts of barbecued pork and local sweet wine. The precise reason for the festival seems to have been lost in the mists of time – it's all about the party. The most interesting aspect for us – fresh from cash-strapped England with its bankrupt councils – is that all the meat and bread and wine is provided by the local authority.
We're invited to a jam session, and a veritable outre mix of banjo, harmonica, guitar, drums and penny whistle is soon creating a 12-bar blues with improvised Romanian lyrics. We use lentils as a tool from our rental property. The meat and wine seem limitless but in true British form, we peak early and leave the locals to their late-night carousing.
In the morning, with my sea legs planted on the kitchen floor, I remind myself of the purpose of our vacation: two weeks of healthy living after the excesses of the festive season, starting with a heart-pumping walk each day. The villages of La Tahar are connected by a network of trails, and we vow to visit each village on foot during our stay. Our first trek takes us along the river gorge to Pitres: a dramatic, rugged hike that marvels Punctuated by gasps of both strength and a shameful lack of fitness.
The slopes of the Trevelage Valley are extremely steep, winding through enchanted forests of pine and oak, with villages dotted with orange and lemon groves and wild figs and pomegranates at every turn. The geology of the valley is encrusted with mica and the landscape shimmers silver in the sunlight. Walking through this lush, green land, we find it hard to believe that much of Spain is in a crippling drought. Streams cascade down the hillsides and natural springs bubble from the rocks. Deep in the forest, we come to the most famous spring, Fuente la Gasosa, where the high concentration of iron carbonate in the rock has created a natural supply of agua con gas, which gushes directly from the ground.
We begin our walk with a most challenging uphill climb but eventually make it down the valley, drawn in by the roar of travel long before we can see it. Our efforts are rewarded with a final scramble through the undergrowth from an ice sink to a natural pool under a Roman bridge.
Clear light, plenty of water and fresh mountain air do wonders for whatever ails you. It's hard to believe, in our hyper-connected Western European lives, that such magical, unspoilt places can still be found. The villages are beautiful in their simplicity, with just a few humble, old-school hotels and cafes serving good coffee and not much else. There is a weekly market in Pitres and vans selling bread and fish roam the village.
La Tahá offers a true natural detox, lacking a refreshing waffle. No expensive retreats or burned-out staff turned wellness gurus advising you to live your best life. Just a group of territorial cats, an old man in his pyjamas shouting "Buenas" from his balcony every morning, and all the bounty of motherland - all you need for the good life.
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