It's a forty-minute drive from Jaén. The roadside is filled with olive trees, stretching on and on, gray-green like the underside of an old blanket. The city is on a slope; we parked outside the old town and walked a few steps into the alleys.
In November, daytime temperatures are 17°C, and it's 6°C in the early morning, so you'll need a jacket. The sun sets early, sinking around 5:50 PM—roughly 5:55 PM. So, I squeezed this half-day into the morning to afternoon, getting back in the car before dark.
The old town isn't big. You can walk through it in less than half a day. The Renaissance in this city grows right on the walls: stone carvings on lintels, neatly chiseled window frames, and family crests on the corners. These houses aren't exhibits roped off; they're neighborhoods where people live, with cars parked at the doors and flowerpots on the windowsills. I kept looking up as I walked, and my neck got a bit sore.
Construction on the cathedral began around 1570, with designs by Vandelvira. He didn't live to see it finished, and subsequent generations continued the work, so the interior and exterior don't quite match: a Renaissance shell sits atop a Gothic foundation. I'm not sure if I read that on a sign at the entrance or heard it from someone later. The stone of the outer wall is yellowish, and when the afternoon sun sweeps across it, the whole surface looks like it's been polished.
Here's the catch. I couldn't find official information anywhere on the exact opening and closing times for November. Third-party platforms say it's often closed on Monday afternoons and Sunday afternoons. I originally thought it was closed all day Monday, but it turns out it only closes for half a day, so you might be able to get in during the morning. I decided to just schedule this city for Tuesday to avoid the gamble.
Most of the other churches and mansions in the city aren't open, or they only open during mass, so it's not realistic to go into each one. I did happen to find one open; it was cool inside, the stone floor worn smooth and shiny underfoot, with a few religious paintings hanging on the walls. I spent about ten minutes looking around before coming out.
In front of the cathedral is a small plaza paved with light-colored stone slabs, with a thin water channel running down the street along the side; the water is very shallow. A group of people sat on the edge of the fountain, no one talking, each looking at their own phone. There are several such small plazas scattered throughout the old town, so you can sit down whenever you get tired of walking.
Another thing that's easy to confuse: Baeza and Úbeda are two different cities, nine kilometers apart. In 2003, they were jointly listed as a World Heritage site under the name "Renaissance Monumental Ensembles." Some people think they're done after visiting one, but the two are actually different. Úbeda is more spread out and grand; Baeza is tighter, with short alleys—you turn two corners and you're out of the city gate, walking through it feels like passing through someone's courtyard.
It's a ten-minute drive for those nine kilometers. Spend the morning in one city, drive over at noon, spend the afternoon in the other, and return to Jaén in the evening. One day is enough. Trains also go there; the station is called Linares-Baeza, which is 15 kilometers from the city, and you have to find another way to get from the station. This part is quite a hassle for those without a car, and the train frequency isn't high. I haven't tried it, so I can't say for sure.
The outskirts of the old town are the new city area, where the supermarkets, banks, and gas stations are; the old wall on the hillside is what you really want to see. The wall is made of stone, and some sections have collapsed and been repaired, so the colors don't match, and you can see the seams at a glance.
This area is an olive-growing region, and mid-November is just in time for the harvest. White nets are spread under the trees, one after another. People use long poles to knock the branches, and the sound carries over like distant rain.
As for food, there's a small restaurant near the edge of the old town where the lunch set menu is about €12, with bread extra. The local olive oil is cloudy when poured, but it's quite fragrant for dipping bread, and a serving of stewed beans arrived still steaming. A few old people were sunning themselves in the plaza, their iron chairs scraping loudly against the stone slabs. I sat there, unbuttoning and re-buttoning my jacket as the wind came in gusts.
I stayed at an inn in the old town; the room was small with thick walls, and the window faced the alley. It cost about €60 a night. There was no sound outside the window at night, just the wind passing through the alley.
I looked back as I walked up the slope; the white houses below were lined up neatly in the slanting light. Once the car door closed, everything outside went quiet.