Seven Moorish villages in southern Spain provide the ideal setting for rejuvenation, offering mountain air, pristine springs, and every reason to celebrate
On our initial morning in Atalbéitar, I venture into the kitchen to prepare coffee and momentarily question if I’m experiencing the effects of the previous night’s festivities. Then I realize it’s not me; it’s the kitchen floor, gently sloping. Carrying the coffee back to bed requires caution due to the varying heights of the steps, and the doorways are small enough to risk bumping one’s head. As I recline beneath a ceiling crafted from interwoven chestnut branches and stone slabs, I take in my surroundings and happily note the absence of a single right angle.
We are lodged in a Moorish dwelling in this Andalucían hamlet, and it feels as though I’ve been transported back 700 years to its inception. Having visited Spain extensively over the years—my husband leads wilderness tours here, and we’ve explored from one end of the country to the other, seeking out secluded corners and mountain paths—arriving in Atalbéitar at night was a unique experience. Navigating its maze of alleys, ducking under ancient covered walkways as spring water gurgles past our feet, we both concur that we’ve never encountered a place quite like this. The village seems to have organically emerged from the land, rather than being imposed upon it. Its streets are too narrow for cars, and village cats roam freely, their occasional meows the only sound aside from the distant bleating of goats across the slopes. Gazing out over the valley on this brisk winter morning, the sun shines brightly in a clear blue sky, and early almond blossoms add touches of pastel pink to the rocky hills. All is calm and quiet.
Atalbéitar is situated within La Tahá, a cluster of seven villages in the Alpajurras region of Andalucía. It is a small dot on Spain’s map, nestled on a southern slope of the Sierra Nevada, overlooking the deep gorge of the Trevelez River. Settled by the Nasrid dynasty of Granada, who also constructed the Alhambra, the whitewashed villages of Pitres, Atalbéitar, Capilerilla, Mecina, Mecinilla, Fondales, and Ferreirola have preserved their Moorish essence due to their distinctive architecture and secluded location. Access to the valley is via a winding mountain road that passes through Pitres, the principal town. However, the remaining villages are reached by branching roads off this main route, ensuring there is no through traffic.
In Atalbéitar, this is not a matter of concern, as there is no trade to be found. The village, with a population of 31, lacks a shop or restaurant. However, there is an ad hoc social club/bar, managed by village stalwart Jesus. He opens his home on the main square whenever he feels like it. Nonetheless, this does not mean there is a lack of vibrant social activity. La Tahá boasts a bustling festival calendar, many of which are tied to Easter and various saints’ days. Some are unique to the region, such as the Mauraca autumn chestnut festival and the Santa Cruz summer fiesta, featuring a traditional “burial of the fox” event. This involves a fancy dress parade culminating in the bonfire cremation of a mock fox filled with fireworks.
The village appears to have organically emerged from the land, rather than being forcibly constructed upon it
Our arrival in mid-January aligns with the first festival of the year, Chisco de San Antón. During this festival, each of the La Tahá villages celebrates with a bonfire in the central plaza and a feast featuring barbecued pork and local sweet wine. The original purpose of the festivities seems to have faded into history—it’s now primarily about the celebration. What strikes us the most, having arrived from cash-strapped England with its struggling councils, is that all the meat, bread, and alcohol are provided by the local government.
Before long, the flames soar high, accompanied by the lively tunes of a local jam band near the fire, and the aroma of roasting meat wafts through the air. The crowd is small and amiable, comprising a mix of ages and nationalities, which, as per our hosts, Tom and Carmen, a Scottish-Spanish couple, is typical of La Tahá. The region stands out as a quiet success story, contrasting with the usual narrative of rural Spain’s deserted villages and dwindling populations. Over time, the seven villages have attracted an international array of artists, musicians, and writers. The closest major town, Orgiva, is renowned for its longstanding hippy commune and bohemian ambiance. Located 45 minutes’ drive away, La Tahá—with its sprawling old residences and fertile land—provides an ideal setting to embrace “la buena vida,” or the good life.
We join the jam session, where an eclectic mix of banjo, harmonica, guitar, drums, and penny whistle quickly come together to play a 12-bar blues with improvised Romanian lyrics. We even use a jar of lentils from our rental property as a percussion instrument. Despite the seemingly endless flow of meat and wine, we Brits peak early and depart, leaving the locals to their late-night revelry.
La Tahá offers a genuinely natural detox experience, free from the usual wellness jargon. There are no pricey retreats or burnt-out executives turned wellness gurus
As I steady my sea legs on the kitchen floor in the morning, I remind myself of our holiday intentions: two weeks of healthy living after the festive season’s excesses, starting with a brisk walk each day. The villages of La Tahá are linked by a maze of trails, and during our stay, we pledge to explore each village on foot. Our inaugural trek leads us along the river gorge to Pitres: it’s a breathtaking, rugged hike filled with moments of awe and a stark realization of my lack of fitness.
The slopes of the Trevelez valley are incredibly steep, winding through enchanting forests of pine and oak. Villages are dotted with orchards of orange and lemon trees, while wild figs and pomegranates abound at every turn. The valley’s geology is marked by layers of mica, causing the landscape to shimmer silver in the sunlight. Walking through this lush, verdant land, it’s hard to fathom that much of Spain is grappling with a severe drought. Streams cascade down the mountainside, and natural springs bubble from the rock. Deep within the forest lies the most renowned spring, Fuente la Gaseosa, where a high concentration of iron carbonates in the rock has created a natural source of sparkling water, fizzing straight from the ground.
We begin our hikes with the toughest uphill climbs but eventually descend to the valley floor, lured by the roar of the Trevelez long before it comes into view. Our perseverance pays off as we navigate a final scramble through the undergrowth to enjoy a refreshing plunge in a natural pool beneath a Roman bridge.
The pure light, plentiful water, and fresh mountain air work wonders for any ailments. It’s astonishing, in our hyper-connected lives in Western Europe, that such magical, unchanged places still exist. The villages themselves are charming in their simplicity, boasting only a couple of modest, traditional hotels and cafes serving excellent coffee and little else. Pitres hosts a weekly market, and vans selling bread and fish make rounds of the villages.
La Tahá offers a truly natural detox experience, devoid of the usual wellness jargon. There are no pricey retreats or burnt-out executives turned wellness gurus telling you how to live your best life. Instead, there’s a multitude of territorial cats, an elderly man in his pajamas greeting you with a grunt of “Buenas” from his balcony every morning, and all the gifts of nature—everything you need for a good life.
