Pueblos Blancos

On Monday afternoon we took a leisurely drive through the mountains from Ronda to Malaga. We chose a scenic route that winds its way to the coast through half a dozen Pueblos Blancos. This term literally translates as white villages; which is exactly what they are. Each village consists of white-washed dwellings, generally built on a steep hillside or the edge or a dramatic chasm. The overall effect is pure postcard material.


Each Pueblos Blancos was more scenic than the last. We stopped at one strategic lookout offering a bird's eye view of the deep Guadiaro and Genal valleys. From our vantage point we could see at least six separate, tiny white blobs on the surrounding hillside; each another white-washed village.

Then, just when you think the Pueblos Blancos can’t get any more picturesque, Gaucin comes into view. The village itself has a unique sense of symmetry, crowned by a 13th century ruined castle on local rock outcrop. The effect is truly dramatic. The photo below barely does it justice.


Gaucin has a population of only 2000 and is perched 626 metres above sea level. Like so much of Andalucia, it has had a fascinating, if tumultuous history. Derived from the Arab word, "guazan" (strong rock), the village is perched on the crest of the Sierra del Hacho, and due to its key strategic position was once a major Roman settlement.


Its magnificent castle, Castillo del Aguila (Eagle's Castle) dates from this era and was later expanded by the Arabs into a fortress. Every one of the villages in this area has its own long and colourful history. At times their story is almost as captivating as their white-washed profiles. This is one scenic drive I’d happily take again and again.


Our first Pueblos Blancos encounter actually occured the day we arrived in Spain. Rather than take the main freeway from Malaga to Granada we took a winding route of hairpin turns over the Boquete de Zafarraya. This spectacular cleft in the coastal mountain range looks like a typical mountain pass, but it’s actually the gateway to a plateau that makes up Andalucia’s interior. We stopped for lunch at Alhama de Granada, a white-washed village on the edge of a small ravine, framed by the distant snow-capped Sierra Nevada mountains.


After taking in the spectacular view from the town's cliff-side position, we stooped for a light tapas lunch in the village square. Our dining spot sat in the shadow of two wonderful old brown sandstone churches. One church sits on a rocky prominence, creating a memorable contrast to its white-washed surrounds, the other sits precariously close to the town's gorge.


While there we almost got more local culture than we’d bargained for. A funeral procession pulled up outside the church where our car was parked, attended to by some rather casually dressed locals. The forboding hearse blocked our route back to the highway, forcing us to take a detour through the narrow cobblestone lanes. You can see Garry navigating his way above. On more than one occasion we found ourselves backing up and taking an alternative wing mirror scrapping route. It’s a wonderful way to get literally lost in history.