Just a stone’s throw from the madness of Málaga, Anthony Jeffries discovers a peaceful oasis for plants and animals.

I’m standing next to a big brute of a wild boar, but my thoughts are on what lies in front of me. I can see the whole of Málaga, the Mediterranean Sea beyond and the bowl of mountains which surrounds the city.

It’s a breathtaking sight and it makes me gasp, though my neighbour doesn’t stir. Hardly surprising – he’s made of bronze and sits atop a plinth at the Mirador del Cochino, way above the city and the Costa del Sol.

Actually, the first thing I notice when I arrive at this mirador is not the view, but the porker. Normally, statues commemorate famous locals or great generals or even heads of state. But in the absence of too many humans, I guess an animal takes pride of place and this area – the Montes de Málaga natural park – is very definitely boar country. The park is wonderful: isolated mountaintop hamlets, plunging valleys, wooded mountainsides, trickling streams, even the odd flower-filled meadows.

But what – for me – marks out the Montes de Málaga reserve as different is its proximity to the provincial capital. Standing on that hilltop at the park’s northern end, you can’t quite believe just how close you are to the heaving mass of humanity that is the city. If my porcine pal could somehow hop down from his plinth and set off through the pine woods and scrub, he’d take no time at all to travel the five or six miles to the edge of town. It would take me longer and further, of course, the road down from the mountains twisting and turning and – in one place – looping back on itself twice in spectacular fashion.

But that’s down there, and up here in the clear, mountain air you can’t hear anything – not even the constant stream of airliners landing and taking off at Málaga airport a few miles to the west.
Well, it’s not quite true to say you can’t hear anything. The air is full of birdsong: everything from tiny warblers to trilling bee-eaters and shrieking owls (yes, in the daytime) to the whistle of eagles having fun with the thermals high above.

It’s good country for birds. But for those of us on two legs (or four wheels) the options are more limited. There are plenty of walking and cycling trails and forestry tracks to follow, but only one road runs anywhere near the park – the old trade route from Málaga to Córdoba.
It skirts the eastern edge of the reserve after climbing from the city and runs roughly north, with the occasional offshoot to tiny villages like Olías and Totalan. Even now, these are self-contained settlements – the type where the older residents might only have visited the city on their doorstep a handful of times in a long life.

It’s not easy to stay on the Córdoba road because you spend most of your time marvelling at the views across the Axarquia region. You can see for miles as the mountain ranges stack up behind one another, forming a backdrop to the valleys below the ridge where orange-tiled, white farmhouses dot the landscape.

Relief is at hand, though, in the form of regular ventas, or wayside inns. All have a look of permanence about them, harking back to the time when travel was on foot or by horse or cart, and in mountain areas you stopped at the nearest safe spot available. The oldest of these ventas is also the most curiously named. Venta Galway is more than 400 years old; built and opened by an Irish trader who retained a love of his native city. Nowadays the Galway serves purely as a restaurant and bar, and its game dishes are renowned in the area. I can vouch for their tastiness, though in deference to my statuesque friend, I opted for venison rather than boar.

The road winds on north to Colmenar – a growing town with an old heart set in more open country which offers travellers brief respite before plunging into the sierras which separate the inland plain from the coast.

Back in the natural park, the regional government has done a terrific job of making the area available to the public. There are mountain and forest paths; trails aimed at bird, plant, even fungus enthusiasts; picnic and barbecue areas; miradors and – in line with a commitment to educate the next generation in conservation matters – a residential school where children spend a week having the time of their lives.

The Lagar del Torrijos site is a hub for walking activity. This is the old agricultural centre used to produce not just wine but also bread and olive oil and the lagar itself, a solid stone barn, is now a museum dedicated to explaining its past.

Ecology is big news here, and the Montes de Málaga has its own very respectable eco-warrior of sorts. Juan Maria Luna has built up the Hotel Humaina over the last decade, transforming it from a tumbled down hunting lodge into what he calls an “eco craft” hotel.
“It’s based on an awareness of the importance of environmental conservation and the aim of developing sustainable, responsible tourism,” he says.

And that philosophy is backed up with organic food, the sale of craft products, solar energy panels, even the re-use of ‘grey’ water on plants and shrubs. The Humaina is a remarkable place – tucked into a bowl between the hills. The tranquillity is complete, especially at night, when you can take a moonlit walk along the track outside the grounds and the only sounds you will hear are the cicadas, the odd nightingale and the steady munching of wild animals come to feed on scraps left by the hotel’s kitchen staff.

It’s become something of a show when the waste is distributed just outside the gates. “At first the animals would turn up after we left the food,” says Juan Maria. “But now they’re there waiting. It’s like having pets without the responsibility.”