by On our first morning in Atalbéitar, I walk into the kitchen to make coffee and to know if I’m feeling the effects of the previous night’s feast. Then I remember it’s not for me; it is the kitchen floor, which is on a gentle slope. I have to be careful carrying the coffee back to bed because the steps are different heights, and the doors are small enough to hit your head. As I lie there, under a ceiling made of woven chestnut boughs and stone slabs, I survey my surroundings, and come to the pleasant conclusion that there is not a single right angle in sight.
We are staying in a Moorish house in this Andalusian village, and I might as well have traveled back 700 years to when it was first built. I have been visiting Spain for many years, and my husband leads desert tours here and we have traveled from one end to the other, looking for hidden corners and mountain trails. But when we arrive at Atalbéitar at night, negotiating its passages, ducking under ancient covered paths and spring water running over our feet, we both agree, we’ve never been anywhere like this. The village suggests that it grew out of the ground rather than being imposed. Its streets are too narrow for cars, the 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 is shining in a solid blue sky and the early almond blossoms add splashes of pastel pink to the rocky hills. Everything is still and quiet.
Atalbéitr is part of La Tahá, a group of seven villages in the Alpajurras region of Andalusia. It is a tiny speck on the map of Spain, on the southern slope of the Sierra Nevada overlooking the deep gorge of the Trevelez River. Settled by the Nasrid dynasty of Granada, the people who built the Alhambra, the whitewashed villages of Pitres, Atalbéitar, Capilerilla, Mecina, Mecinilla, Fondales and Ferreirola have kept a Moorish feel thanks to its unique architecture and remote location. There is an entrance to the valley by a front mountain road that passes through Pitres, the main town, but a spur from this road reaches all the other villages, so no trade passes through them.
In Atalbéitr, this is no cause for concern. No trade to be found. It has a population of 31, and no shops or restaurants, although there is an improvised social club/bar, run by the village stalwart Jesus, who opens his house on the main square when the mood takes him. That’s not to say there isn’t a vibrant social scene. La Tahá has 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 the autumn chestnut festival called Mauraca, and the summer fiesta of Santa Cruz , which includes “traditional burial”. the fox”, with a fancy parade ending with the cremation of a fake fox bone filled with fireworks.
The village suggests that it grew out of the ground rather than being imposed
Our arrival, in mid-January, coincides with the first festival of the year, Chisco de San Antón, when each of the La Tahá villages is celebrated with a bonfire in the central plaza and a feast of barbecued pork and sweet local wine. The ultimate reason for the festivities seems to have been lost in the mists of time – it’s all about the party. The most impressive aspect for us – coming fresh from cash-strapped England with its bankrupt councils – is that the local authority provides all the meat and bread and drink.
Soon, the flames are rising high, a jam band of local musicians has been set up by the fire and the smell of roasting meat fills the air. The crowd is small and friendly, a mix of ages and nationalities, which according to our hosts, a Scottish-Spanish couple, Tom and Carmen, is typical of La Tahá. The area is a quiet success story that defies the usual Spanish lament of empty villages and dying populations. Over the years, the seven villages have attracted an international crowd of artists, musicians and writers. The nearest town, Orgiva, has long been known for its hippie and bohemian reputation, while La Tahá, 45 minutes away, with its old rambling houses and fertile land, is a great place to seek out. life.
We are invited into the jam session, with a truly extensive mix of banjo, harmonica, guitar, drums and penny whistle pouring 12 bar blues with improvised Romanian lyrics soon. We use a jar of lentils from our rental property as a percussion instrument. The meat and wine seem to be off limits but in true British form, we peak early and the locals are left in full swing late into the night.
La Tahá provides a truly natural detox, with the refreshing absence of a wellness waffle. There are no expensive retreats, or burned-out execs turned fitness gurus
This morning, with my sea legs fixed on the kitchen floor, I recall our holiday intention: two weeks of healthy living after the excesses of the festival, starting with a heart-pumping walk every day. The villages of La Tahá are connected by a network of trails, and during our stay we promise to visit each village by foot. Our first trip takes us along the riverbed to Pitres: a dramatic and rough ride full of surprises and a shameful lack of exercise.
The slopes of the Trevelez valley are extremely steep, passing through magical forests of pine and oak, with orchards of orange and lemon trees in the villages, and wild figs and pomegranates at every turn. The valley’s geology is mica-strewn and the landscape shimmers silver in the sunlight. As we walk on this precious land, it is hard for us to believe that a large part of Spain is in the middle of a drought. Streams pour down the mountainside and natural springs bubble from the rock. In the depths of the forest we come to the most famous spring, Fuente la Gaseosa, where a high concentration of iron carbonates in the rock has created a natural supply of agua con gasfizzing straight out of the ground.
We start our walks with the most challenging climbs up the hill but in the end we make it down to the bottom of the valley, drawn to the roar of the Trevelez long before we see it. Our efforts are rewarded with a final scramble through the undergrowth to an icy dip in a natural pool under the Roman bridge.
The clean light, abundant water and fresh mountain air do wonders for everything you like. It’s hard to believe, in our ultra-connected western European lives, that such magical, untouched places can still be found. The villages themselves are beautiful in their simplicity, with only a few old-school, humble hotels and cafes serving good coffee and not much else. There is a weekly market in Pitres, and vans selling bread and fish do throughout the villages.
La Tahá provides a truly natural detox, with the refreshing absence of a wellness waffle. There are no expensive retreats, or burned-out executives turned fitness gurus to urge you to live your best life. It’s just a lot of territory cats, an old man in his pajamas grunting “Buenas” from his balcony every morning, and every bounty from mother earth – everything you need for the good life.
Details of the walking paths between the villages, 7 Towns, 7 Ways, can be found here. The writer stayed at albaholidaylets.com
