The long road to Grazalema finally led us to the White Village of Grazalema. Like most other white villages, Grazalema is also on a mountain top so the views from practically anywhere there are breathtaking. Sometimes I wonder whether the locals that live in places like this are conscious of the amazing scenery they have. Do they wake up everyday giving thanks to the beauty they get to see? Or are they so used to it that they are immune and don’t care? Or, as often the grass seems greener on the other side, do they crave the crazy lights and life of a big city?
It was nearly dinner time when we reached Grazalema. We had just enough time to go for a walk, me snap away like a tourist, and make ourselves a bit more worn out to deserve the food better.
One of the cute things I noticed in Grazalema is that every single establishment, no matter if they are a small independent business or a massive chain of supermarkets, they all have a black iron sign with white letters. It’s as if the town hall has a marketing department that decided that the decor of the town would have these black iron signs. However they do it, I think it’s charming.
It seemed that in Grazalema everybody knew each other. We realised that walking in the streets everyone would say hola and stop to talk to each other. At the restaurant we finally chose to have dinner, every single local that came in would chat to the waiters as if they had known each other all their lives. Anyone walking by would stop to have a chat with the people sitting there. Everyone that went past on a motorbike or car would wave their hola.
I realised I’ve never lived in a village small enough to know everyone. I wonder, does it make you feel like your cramped in a cage and everyone is watching your every move? Or is it the contrary? Is it fantastic because you feel secure and part of a tight community?
Ok, I’ve probably posed some absurd questions in this post. But hey, I’ve lived in loads of places but never in a beautiful remote mountain village. So I don’t know.
Anyway, at some point, we let our tired feet rest and stopped for dinner. We tried some mosto, which is a kind of very young wine typically made in the region. It’s the wine that is produced after the first fermentation, so it’s relatively weak in terms of alcohol content, and it’s quite sweet and juicy.
A bit of Payoyo cheese from the local Payoyo goats.
Some chicken fried in a crispy corn batter. Indeed it is not a traditional local dish, but the waiter said it’s something they had invented in that restaurant and he recommended it as one of his favourite dishes. So gave these fancy nuggets a try. I really liked them.
Lastly, some venison cooked in a wine sauce.
Thank you for reading!