Trevélez is one of those places that people tell you about long before you see it. It hangs on the southern slope of the Sierra Nevada at around fifteen hundred metres, among the highest villages in Spain, below the bulk of Mulhacén, which at 3,479 metres is the highest peak on the Iberian mainland. The village is split into three barrios, one above the other, with whitewashed flat-roofed houses that look from the road like a staircase of sugar cubes. Above them is a valley of terraced orchards and chestnuts, and the cold, clear river that carries the snowmelt down toward the Mediterranean.
What made the place famous is ham. The cold, dry mountain air is ideal for curing, and the hams of Trevélez, hung in the drying sheds for many months, are sold throughout Spain under a protected name. Stop at any of the small restaurants in the lower barrio and you can eat it sliced thin with bread and olive oil, along with the local trout, and the usual mountain dishes of the Alpujarra. It is sensible to carry cash, and to remember that in winter the village gets real cold, with snow some years.
The Alpujarra has a deep history. After the Christian conquest of Granada in 1492, many Muslims retreated to these valleys, and their way of building, with flat clay roofs and narrow terraced lanes, is still visible in every village. They were then driven out after a revolt in the 1560s, and the region was repopulated by settlers from the north. The terraces and the irrigation channels, called acequias, which carry the meltwater, are a heritage from that earlier period.
The riding to get here is memorable. From the Órgiva side the road climbs the valley through Pampaneira and Capileira, and the final approach to Trevélez is a long series of bends above steep drops, with a very uneven surface in places and rock fall after rain. Take your time. The road is narrow, and coaches and locals in small vans use it fast. Tank up beforehand in Órgiva, or the larger towns on the plain, because fuel in the high villages is something you should never take for granted. Bérchules and Busquístar are small villages a few kilometres on in either direction, with simple bars for a coffee.