I begin this story with a cemetery. Granted, it is a spectacular cemetery, at the very top of Spain’s highest pueblo blanco or white village, with views, well, to die for, eastwards over the mountains, the Med glistening to the south.
The walls, dotted with plastic flowers and photographs of the deceased, are blinding white in the late afternoon sun. I am looking curiously at one of them, because there is something I haven’t seen here before: a row of memorial plaques to British people who have lived in the village, which is called Comares, and contributed in some way to its life and prosperity.
There’s the late Ernie, the electrician who looked like Father Christmas. And there is Dennis, the former London car dealer who had a seat on the local council.
There’s space for a few more – but I won’t be one of them. I’ve had a house in Comares since 1999, but now I’m selling up.
And I’m not alone. Since the Spanish Prime Minister threatened a 100 per cent tax on homes owned by non-EU nationals in January, the headlines have been pretty bleak. Newspaper reports state that Spain wants to “punish” British homeowners. And if that wasn’t enough, we have the anti-tourism protests.
It seems the decades-long love affair between Spain and British tourists and house buyers has reached an acrimonious end.
But that memorial wall tells a different story. And so does Comares.
Let’s locate you. It’s an hour’s drive east of Malaga in an epic, mountainous land called the Axarquía. It’s not very well known. “Could you spell that?’ said a woman from the Spanish Tourist office when I said I wanted to write about the area. And yes, she was Spanish.
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Intrepid foreigners have been finding a refuge here since the late 1980s. My friend Clair has lived in the village since she came here as a teenager and still rarely gets off the mountain. In fact, before the EU funded a new road up here and a bus service, there were some elderly people from Comares who never had.
The Independent’s Simon Calder asked me to write about the village shortly after we bought our house in 1999. I felt protective. It is an astonishingly beautiful place, and you know what happens to astonishingly beautiful places within easy reach of several international airports.
So I begged Simon to headline the article Please Don’t Come to Comares – which, as an honourable man, he did.
I’ve regretted that headline ever since. Okay, the article was heavily ironic, contrasting the village with over-touristed honeypots like Ronda and Frigiliana. But like so many rural villages, Comares’ population aged and waned. What I soon came to realise was, despite those “fanatics” quoted earlier, Comares really does need the tourists.
It tried. The local town hall invested heavily in prettifying the village. Concrete or dirt paths were replaced with cobbles. A ceramics co-operative made attractive interpretative signs telling the story of the village from its origins as an Arab stronghold. They made dozens of new parking spaces below the village. Year after year, these remained empty. On Sundays, you’d get a trickle of intrepid daytrippers up from the coast. Parking was not a problem.
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I walk down the road from the cemetery (tight, narrow – Comares is effectively pedestrianised, though try telling that to the local farmers). It’s spring and Comares is usually dead quiet. But as I approach the main plaza, I hear noise – voices, music, the clatter of glasses and plates.
This is strange.
The main square is packed. Waiting staff carrying coffees, beer, salads and plates of fried fish run to and fro between the Bar La Plaza and Robert’s, its adjoining restaurant. The courtyard of the hotel, Verde Olivia, is doing good business, too.
At the Balcon viewpoint, visitors are clustering around, taking in the views down to the coast and, to the east, the looming majestic shape of La Maroma, the local mountain.
A party of young climbers carrying their gear make their way up the hill to the square. A lady from the recently-opened souvenir shop runs out calling “Mira! Mira!” at them. Olive oil! Local wine!
¡Dios mío! They’ve finally discovered Comares. I peer down the hill. Nope. Nowhere to park.
While locals from the Canaries to the Costas angrily march to reclaim their beaches and shoot water pistols at visitors, up here in the mountains a quieter, more civilised and friendlier form of rural tourism is at last taking root.
What’s happened? Covid, for one thing. Elena Roji Montero, a local councillor, says her fellow citizens discovered their own countryside in a big way after being cooped up for so long. More and more Spanish people and foreigners are taking the long and winding road up from the plains.
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Our house is being bought by a lovely Belgian woman named Sofie who plans to reunite it with the two others in the same little calle she already has. These village streets have been morphing and reshaping since the 9th century. Sofie plans to open a little shop selling “local curiosities, vintage finds, boho-chic dresses, handmade ceramics and small wonders that whisper stories of Andalusia”. Elena is happy: “We need more shops!”
This is such an Andalusian story. From the Phoenicians onwards, different peoples have come and gone in these hills. I have an old schoolfriend, a retired Spanish teacher, who lives a few valleys over near Torrox. “Round here, they love tourists and foreign residents,” he tells me. “People over 40 remember the dire poverty of their grandparents. Tourists often become residents who then employ local artisans and keep traditional crafts and produce alive.”
Maybe a suitable headline for this piece could be “Please come to Comares”? Unlike previous years, you’ll definitely get a bed and a good meal and (also unlike previous years), you had better book in advance.
Who knows, you might even stay forever.
Getting there
Numerous airlines flky from the UK to Malaga, including Jet2, British Airways, Vueling and easyJet. Flight time is around 3 hours, and Comares is a 1 hour drive from Malaga. There are buses between the village and Velez Malaga and Malaga itself, but hiring a car is easier.
Where to stay
The best hotel and restaurant is the Verde Olivia on the square. You’ll also find decent food at Roberts and the Mirador de la Axarquia.
The walking and cycling are incredible. There’s a zipline across the mountains and Comares is fast becoming a magnet for rock climbing.
For more information, visit turismocomares.es
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