A Look at Your Place

Some towns build their roofs. Setenil moved in under one that was already there.

Two and a half thousand people live where a river cut a narrow gorge, white houses pressed against rock that leans out over the street like a held breath.

On Calle Cuevas del Sol the stone is the ceiling. A terrace of tables and chairs sits in its shade; the far side of the street takes the sun; the houses opposite climb in white steps toward the light.

From above, the town is a pale thread following every bend the river makes, stitched into olive and almond groves.

Tradition says the name comes from septem nihil, seven times nothing: seven assaults that got nowhere before it fell in 1484. Wine later gave it the second half of its name. The vines are gone (phylloxera, 1860s). The name stayed.

From above first, then from the street: rock for a roof, white for light, and people who stayed.