 "Mediterranean escape")
Clouds descend upon us as we make our way uphill. Around us, the mountains of Casares stretch as far as the eye can see. And then the land meets the impossible blue of the Mediterranean.
As the first gentle drop of rain hits my cheek, we find ourselves inside the Moorish Fort. Ahead, a whitewashed gate to the cemetario beckons and we wander in. It's the first time I've been in a vertical cemetery, but I learn that this is typical of Mediterranean villages perched on rocky crags, with little space to dig graves. We walk around, admiring the views and the old inscriptions on some of the crypts, imagining the stories of the people who rest here.
"It's a good resting place, no?" says an old man, oblivious to his pun, as I linger on a bench. "There are some spots still left to buy!" he cackles. And this, I realise later, is the first "To Let" sign we see in Casares.
Is it the whitewashed sugarcube houses, piled precariously high and seemingly nudging the battlements of a Moorish castle? Is it the lines of laundry adding that comfortable touch of homeyness to the picture perfect environs? It's hard to say, but clearly many generations have fallen for the charms of Casares, even though with a population of 4,000, it's considerably less inhabited than a block of my Delhi neighbourhood. The story goes that this is where Julius Caesar was supposedly cured of a liver complaint, owning to the sulphuric waters of a local spring. For this reason, the Roman Empire permitted Casares to mint its own coins. Its castle dates back to the 12th century and was founded by the Moors.
Another day, we explore the winding lanes of this quaint village, which invariably turn into a maze of stairs with houses on both sides. Bougainvillea and window boxes offer a bright respite to the predominantly white houses. It begins to rain again, so we abandon our walk for some drinks and tapas. Plate after small plate of fried anchovies, artistically laid out prawns and Iberian ham with melon arrive in front of us. There's nothing like good tapas, I muse, to help one forget the weather and one's own damp clothes and shoes.
It's no wonder, we're beginning to realise, why Casaresis a popular timeshare destination. "Did you know," asks my husband who's been suspiciously busy on his phone, "there are over 100 villas and fincas (Spanish for country cottages) for rent/sale in Casares on a single website?" If that's true, I muse looking around the village from its central fountain, every other house here must be up for grabs.
"We come here every summer and it's wonderful!" says one, an Englishman in his sixties. "When I was young, I bought a timeshare here. Now I think I'll exchange it for a place in the old cemetario!"
As the first gentle drop of rain hits my cheek, we find ourselves inside the Moorish Fort. Ahead, a whitewashed gate to the cemetario beckons and we wander in. It's the first time I've been in a vertical cemetery, but I learn that this is typical of Mediterranean villages perched on rocky crags, with little space to dig graves. We walk around, admiring the views and the old inscriptions on some of the crypts, imagining the stories of the people who rest here.
"It's a good resting place, no?" says an old man, oblivious to his pun, as I linger on a bench. "There are some spots still left to buy!" he cackles. And this, I realise later, is the first "To Let" sign we see in Casares.
The vertical cemetery at Casares
Is it the whitewashed sugarcube houses, piled precariously high and seemingly nudging the battlements of a Moorish castle? Is it the lines of laundry adding that comfortable touch of homeyness to the picture perfect environs? It's hard to say, but clearly many generations have fallen for the charms of Casares, even though with a population of 4,000, it's considerably less inhabited than a block of my Delhi neighbourhood. The story goes that this is where Julius Caesar was supposedly cured of a liver complaint, owning to the sulphuric waters of a local spring. For this reason, the Roman Empire permitted Casares to mint its own coins. Its castle dates back to the 12th century and was founded by the Moors.
Mountain vistas from the ramparts of the Moorish Fort
Another day, we explore the winding lanes of this quaint village, which invariably turn into a maze of stairs with houses on both sides. Bougainvillea and window boxes offer a bright respite to the predominantly white houses. It begins to rain again, so we abandon our walk for some drinks and tapas. Plate after small plate of fried anchovies, artistically laid out prawns and Iberian ham with melon arrive in front of us. There's nothing like good tapas, I muse, to help one forget the weather and one's own damp clothes and shoes.
It's no wonder, we're beginning to realise, why Casaresis a popular timeshare destination. "Did you know," asks my husband who's been suspiciously busy on his phone, "there are over 100 villas and fincas (Spanish for country cottages) for rent/sale in Casares on a single website?" If that's true, I muse looking around the village from its central fountain, every other house here must be up for grabs.
Casares town
"We come here every summer and it's wonderful!" says one, an Englishman in his sixties. "When I was young, I bought a timeshare here. Now I think I'll exchange it for a place in the old cemetario!"