Fortress Wanderings in the Spanish City of Antequera.

Fortress Wanderings in the Spanish City of Antequera.

January 2017.

It was still pitch black in Málaga when I boarded the bus to Antequera. The city slept under the last of the night, streetlights glowing softly against shuttered storefronts. In fact, the first thin traces of dawn didn’t begin creeping across the sky until we were already three-quarters of the way towards our destination, the countryside slowly revealing itself in pale shades of blue and silver.

Fortress Wanderings in the Spanish City of Antequera.

I had dragged myself out of bed at an ungodly hour, compelled by the absurd timetable of the return service — the final bus back to Málaga leaving in the middle of the afternoon. The logic was simple: arrive early, or barely arrive at all.

Sleep quickly reclaimed me once we were on the road. By the time we rolled to a stop I was audibly snoozing, only to be jolted awake as the driver, with all the discretion of a town crier, bellowed: “Antequeeeeeera.”

Early morning light at Paseo Real (Royal Promenade.)

Moments later I was stepping gingerly down onto Paseo Real, the bus having deposited me directly at the edge of the old town.

The morning still carried the cool hush of early light, so I wandered a few steps into the leafy square and settled onto a bench to properly wake up. Slanting beams of sunrise flickered through the branches overhead, dappling the paving stones and slowly warming the quiet streets around me.

Fortress Wanderings in the Spanish City of Antequera.

Paseo Real.

Antequera had intrigued me from the moment I first read about it. Affectionately known as ‘The Florence of Andalusia,’ the town sits at the geographical heart of the region and has been a crossroads of civilisations for centuries — Romans, Moors, and Christians all leaving their mark upon its hilltop churches and honey-coloured palaces.

Fortress Wanderings in the Spanish City of Antequera.

Photo courtesy of Tila Monto.

Yet despite possessing one of the most beautiful historic centres in southern Spain, Antequera often slips quietly through the cracks of travellers’ itineraries, overshadowed by the monumental magnetism of Córdoba, Granada, and Seville.

Fortress Wanderings in the Spanish City of Antequera.

Photo courtesy of Ingo Mehling.

From my bench I could see the elegant Lovers of La Peña statue. It commemorates a tragic fourteenth-century legend that still hangs over the landscape around Antequera.

According to the story, Tazgona, a Moorish princess, fell in love with a Christian soldier named Tello who had been imprisoned by her father, King Ibrahim. When the king discovered the relationship, his fury was absolute. She was royalty, he a mere soldier — and worse still, she was Muslim and he Christian. Tello was promptly sentenced to death.

The Lovers of La Peña Statue.

Fortress Wanderings in the Spanish City of Antequera.

But the soldier managed to escape, and the two lovers fled together into the countryside with the king’s men in pursuit. Their flight ended atop the towering limestone outcrop just outside the town. Cornered and facing capture, they chose death over separation, throwing themselves from the rock in a final act of defiance.

The actual mountain on the edge of the city.

Photo courtesy of Paul Hermans.

Taking in the sweeping views of Lover’s Rock (Peña de los Enamorados) from the top of Antequera’s fortress is considered a highlight of any visit.

With that in mind, I set off through the park and into the old town, passing beneath the Estepa Gate. This handsome arch of brick and red stone dates from 1749 and once formed part of the city’s defensive walls, marking the historic road that led west towards the town of Estepa.

Estepa Gate.

Sadly, the gate was demolished in 1931 to make way for the growing tide of motor traffic. Fortunately, a sense of historical regret later prevailed. In 1988, the arch was carefully reconstructed according to its original design and incorporated into a roundabout.

Fortress Wanderings in the Spanish City of Antequera.

Beyond Estepa Gate, I soon arrived at Plaza de Castilla, a tidy little square bright with carefully tended flowerbeds. At its centre stands a statue of Pedro Espinosa, the Golden Age poet born in Antequera in 1578, his figure gazing calmly down the quiet street. The early light caught the pale façade of the clock-towered building behind him, giving the square a gentle, almost theatrical glow.

Fortress Wanderings in the Spanish City of Antequera.

Plaza de Castilla.

In Spain, Antequera is often called “The City of Churches.” Despite its modest size and population of around forty thousand, the town boasts no fewer than thirty churches, giving it more houses of worship per resident than anywhere else in the country.

That morning, as I wandered through the old town, several churches were already open, among them San Sebastián. Built in 1548 to a design by Diego de Guevara, its striking Renaissance façade dominates the pretty Plaza de San Sebastián. Rising above it all is the church’s rugged 60-metre stone tower, one of the most recognisable landmarks on Antequera’s skyline.

San Sebastián Church.

Outside the church, I was pleased to see that Antequera more than held its own in Spain’s always enjoyable sittin’-doin’-nothin’ stakes. Several old men had already claimed their favourite benches, quietly surveying the square as the morning unfolded around them.

Sittin’ doin’ nothin’, Antequera style.

No one seemed to be in any particular hurry; conversations drifted lazily between doorways and café tables. It was the sort of place where time didn’t so much pass as gently stretch itself out for the day.

Sleepy Antequera.

Taking a bench of my own, I pretended to be sittin’-doin’-nothin’ too, quietly capturing a few sneaky photographs. Only one man eventually twigged to what I was up to.

Sittin’ Doin’ Nothin’.

“What are you up to, sonny Jim?”

A short while later I popped my head into San Augustín, a former convent church dating back to 1550. Dedicated to Saint Augustine, the interior features paintings depicting scenes from the saint’s life, several side chapels, and a striking barrel-vaulted ceiling that draws the eye along the length of the nave.

Fortress Wanderings in the Spanish City of Antequera.

As pretty as those first churches were, it was the magnificent Church of Santa María la Mayor that truly stole the show. By now I was climbing the winding path towards the fortress, and the church appeared quite suddenly through the beautiful Arch of the Giants. The name refers not only to the arch’s imposing size, but also to the fact that a large statue of Hercules once stood here.

Fortress Wanderings in the Spanish City of Antequera.

Santa María la Mayor is one of Andalusia’s earliest Renaissance churches, built between 1530 and 1535. During Spain’s Golden Age it served not only as a place of worship, but also partly as a college, with a grammar faculty and even a school of poetry.

The church is no longer used for regular services, though it occasionally hosts concerts and cultural events. It was locked up on the day of my visit, but I have since read a few disgruntled reports from tourists who claimed the warden charged four euros to enter — only for them to discover a church that is, for the most part, rather bare inside.

Santa María la Mayor Church.

Fortress Wanderings in the Spanish City of Antequera.

Still, it was a pleasure simply to admire the building’s stately façade and the sweeping mountain views from Plaza de Santa María. The square hosts another statue of Pedro Espinosa, the poet who studied and wrote here in the early seventeenth century.

Fortress Wanderings in the Spanish City of Antequera.

At the other end of the square, opposite the church, I settled down for a while at the charming El Escribano restaurant. The name was a playful nod to the church’s history as a centre of writing and poetry — escribano translating roughly as scribe or notary. What’s more, it can carry the more affectionate sense of a scribbler.

El Escribano Restaurant.

It proved to be a perfect spot for a drink and a bite. Determined to try something traditional and local, I took the waiter’s recommendation and ordered porra antequerana— a thick, chilled soup topped with chopped egg, tomato, salty slices of jamón and generous splashes of olive oil.

It was unusual, but delicious, and with a cold draft beer alongside it really hit the spot. Unfortunately, the restaurant later closed during the Covid years. But on that morning it felt very much alive.

Fortress Wanderings in the Spanish City of Antequera.

Porra Antequerana.

As I polished off the last scraps of my meal, the cook emerged from the kitchen at the side of the building. I hadn’t expected the chef to be an elderly lady — well into her seventies, I would guess — but I had nothing but admiration for her culinary skills. Not to mention the fact that she arrived at work each day dressed impeccably.

My compliments to the chef!

With a happy stomach, I continued my gradual ascent towards Antequera Fortress. As I climbed, some truly wondrous views began opening up across the city, and I caught my first glimpse of Lover’s Rock rising from the plains beyond.

Fortress Wanderings in the Spanish City of Antequera.

On a distant hill, perched above the sea of rooftops like a quiet guardian, stood — yes — yet another church. This one was El Carmen, a late fifteenth-century building whose interior contains an unusual altar crafted from imported South American wood.

The Antequera Skyline.

It looked so picture-perfect up there on the ridge that I immediately began calculating whether there was any chance of squeezing in a visit before my bus back.

Alas, it wasn’t to be. The unforgiving timetable of the Andalusian bus system quickly put an end to that idea, though for a moment I did toy with the notion of simply staying the night. In truth, the church’s famously unpredictable opening hours might have thwarted me anyway.

El Carmen Church.

Fortress Wanderings in the Spanish City of Antequera.

At last I reached the main part of the fortress, known locally as the Alcazaba de Antequera. The site itself has ancient roots — there was once a Roman stronghold here — though the earliest documented fortress dates to the 11th century.

Most of the walls that survive today were built by the Moors in the 14th century, strengthening the citadel as a defensive bulwark against the advancing Christian kingdoms to the north.

Fortress Wanderings in the Spanish City of Antequera.

Photo courtesy of Ingo Mehling.

For the most part, the Moors held firm. But in 1410 the fortress finally fell when Don Fernando I of Aragon captured the city. In the years that followed, the bishops of Zaragoza rebuilt parts of the complex and used it as a residence for several centuries, before the site gradually slipped into disrepair by 1656.

Fernando I of Aragon: “Gimme that fortress!”

As I discovered that day, the Alcazaba now stands as a vast, open ruin — essentially an empty rectangular shell with a couple of surviving towers. Yet what it lacks in interior spaces it more than makes up for in sheer scale. The whole complex sprawls across some 62,000 square metres.

The Fortress Gardens.

Those who manage the site have done a wonderful job of transforming much of the space into pretty gardens. The result is a pleasing balance between careful restoration and gentle wildness.

Pathways weave between patches of grass, shrubs and old stonework, the greenery softening the fortress walls without ever feeling overly manicured. It’s neat enough to be wonderfully photogenic — and easy to explore — yet still rugged enough to preserve a real sense of the site’s long and weathered history.

Fortress Wanderings in the Spanish City of Antequera.

Lover’s Rock from the fortress.

Climbing ever higher, I was rewarded with some absolutely stupendous views over the city and the surrounding countryside.

Fortress Wanderings in the Spanish City of Antequera.

Gorgeous.

Among these came the most dramatic view yet of Lover’s Rock. Even from such a distance it impresses — an 880-metre limestone crag watching quietly over the town and valleys.

Antequera, Spain.

Some locals refer to the mountain as Montaña del Indio. This is because of its resemblance to the face of a sleeping Native American man when looked at side-on. What do you think? Kinda works for me.

Fortress Wanderings in the Spanish City of Antequera.

To reach the highest point of the fortress, I climbed the Catholic Bell Tower, added in 1582 as an extension to the original Torre del Homenaje (Tribute Tower). The structure rises proudly above the Alcazaba walls, its simple stone form crowning the hilltop like a lookout over the surrounding plains.

Fortress Wanderings in the Spanish City of Antequera.

The tower houses the largest bell in Antequera, a hefty instrument that once called the town below to prayer, celebration, or alarm. On the day of my visit, however, there was no ringing. Instead, I found only stillness at the summit — just me, my thoughts, a perfect silence and the sweeping Andalusian landscape.

Bell Tower Views.

Fortress Wanderings in the Spanish City of Antequera.

My time in Antequera felt far too short. Before long I was making my way back down through the old streets, mindful of the afternoon bus waiting to carry me back to Málaga.

Along the way I happened upon Cine Torcal, an endearing little cinema designed by the architect Antonio Sánchez Esteve that first opened its doors in 1933. At the time it focused largely on arthouse films and occasional cultural events — a quiet continuation of the city’s long love affair with art and ideas.

Antequera, Spain.

At the time of writing Cine Torcal is currently closed while the city works on restoring the historic building. But with luck, its screen — and its place in Antequera’s cultural life — will flicker back to life someday.

Like this? Why not check out more of my travel reports pieces from across Andalusia.

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