Setenil de las Bodegas hardly seems real even when you’re standing in it. Setenil is one of Andalucia‘s pueblos blancos, whitewashed towns that gleam like beacons in the desert. This one is unique because it began its life under the bedrock, where residents used natural caves to escape the punishing Andalucian sun and to age their wine. Today the troglodyte homes look like they’re being swallowed by rock. Great shelves of bedrock overhang the oldest streets, too, and one famous street (Cuevas de la Sombra) literally has its own rocky roof.
Setenil is fantastic. Obviously it’s also incredibly popular, but mostly as a day trip. So I have a “secret” for how to enjoy it to its fullest. It’s a simple tip, and probably one you’ve heard before.
Are you listening closely?
Stay overnight!
Staying overnight is a good tip for any day-trip destination. You can get a better feel for a place when you take more time and mingle with the locals who are just going about their lives. Your night and morning are more relaxed since your bed is right down the street. And in a tiny village with tiny streets, visiting without the crowds can be the difference between an enjoyable visit and a crowded nightmare.
As a lady who can do without crowds and heat, it was the perfect setup for me. My photographs were full of dreamy light and empty streets. I never had to awkwardly stare at a wall while waiting for people to walk out of my shot. At night, the desert air flowing in through my open window was silent. That said, the town has a small population and most shops and restaurants buttoned up early, so staying overnight might not be the perfect fit for those who like a bit more nighttime entertainment.
My night in Setenil
The day’s heat lingered long after sunset. The syrupy air insisted that I mosey down the deserted streets, and I took the opportunity to admire every single rock along the way. Down at the valley’s floor, whitewashed stone bridges hopped across the town’s trickling river. On the way back up Herrería street I moved even slower. I tripped at least twice while staring up at the overhanging cliffs, which was only partly the fault of whoever built uneven stairs underneath such a beautiful roof. At the crest of the hill sits a tiny castle that dates back to Moorish times. The castle’s neighbor is a church, and when I arrived a stream of locals was pouring out into its plaza, freshly released from a ceremony.
Desert pinks had taken over the sky as I walked back down to my home for the night. A car came up behind me and I had to wedge myself into a house’s doorway to let it pass. In awe, I watched the driver careen down the alleyway. The narrow streets leave zero room for error. Drive a few centimeters too far to the left and you’d fall into the street below. Park more than a few centimeters away from the closest wall and your neighbors wouldn’t be able to drive past you on their way to work.
I dined “with” locals that night at La Pechá, tucking into fresh seafood as I listened to the ubiquitous football match on TV. For breakfast the next morning I walked up to Mirador del Carmen to watch the sun rise above the cliffs. Even the most famous of streets was still empty. The only place open before ten was the local ham shop, where they happily also sold coffee. When I left town at 10 a.m., the town itself was still empty. Literally as I drove out, though, I saw the first incoming wave of tour groups. An unbroken line of inbound cars and buses stretched for the next 20 kilometers.
I thanked my lucky stars I was moving on.
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