Jumilla Wine Festival.

A long coach ride, closed bars, and an underwhelming parade made the Jumilla Wine Festival a night to remember, but mostly for the wrong reasons. Great company, good wine, and a red‑dyed fountain couldn’t quite save it.

In August 2024, my friend Lisa asked if I fancied joining her on a coach trip to the Jumilla Wine Festival. I had nothing else planned, so I agreed. A day of wine, food, and a parade sounded promising, at least on paper.

The Journey Begins.

We were sitting outside Roda Bar when a bus went past heading toward Los Alcázares and Los Narejos. Lisa thought it was ours and found it odd that it had gone past us to pick up at the Arches first. We finished our drinks and walked to the pickup point near Campbell’s Bar.

Just as we stepped out, the heavens opened. Heavy rain hammered down, and we dashed under the awning at Campbell’s, joining a few other drowned‑rat‑looking passengers waiting for the same trip.

Eventually, the bus returned, and we all climbed aboard. What followed was one of the most unnecessarily complicated pickup routes I’ve ever experienced. The driver looped around Torre Pacheco, doubled back on himself, then, instead of heading directly to Terrazas de la Torre, drove all the way back to Los Alcázares, took the motorway to San Javier, then cut across toward Balsicas. It doubled the time and distance, but we did eventually collect everyone and finally set off toward Jumilla.

First Impressions of the Festival.

When we arrived, we were told repeatedly to be back at the bus by 01:30. Fair enough. What we weren’t told was where anything actually was. I expected the guide to show us the parade route, point out the bars, restaurants, and stalls, or at least give us a clue. Instead, we were left to figure it out ourselves.

We wandered through a park and eventually found the main road where the parade would take place. Unfortunately, every bar and shop was shut. Every seat along the route had been “reserved” by locals earlier in the day , the Spanish equivalent of putting towels on sunbeds at 06:00. There was nowhere to sit, nowhere to get a drink, and nowhere to get food.

After walking the entire length of the parade route, we gave up and went into the only open bar: Café Sota. Inside were most of the people from our coach, all saying the same thing, it was the only place open.

The wine and food were good, but not cheap. We’d been told to expect bargain prices. Instead, it cost the same as any bar in Los Alcázares.

The Parade.

When the parade began, we stood behind the rows of locals who had claimed their seats hours earlier. Tractors rolled past pulling adverts for local bodegas, handing out tiny plastic cups of wine, but only to the people who had tables and chairs on the route. Children in bodega uniforms followed behind, along with the occasional brass band.

There wasn’t much variety, and with nowhere to sit and my knees complaining, I retreated back inside the bar. I could see the floats through the window and hear the music without having to stand in pain.

After the Parade.

When it finished, we walked back toward the bus station hoping to finally find the promised bars, restaurants, or stalls. Nothing. The only thing open was the fairground. We listened to some young men singing at a local peña, used the bus‑station toilets, and found a seat to wait.

Our guide came off the bus and told me we were late, we weren’t. We were twenty minutes early, and I could still see people from our group walking back from the fair.

The Journey Home.

The return trip was mercifully quicker. The driver must have discovered Google Maps because he took a far more direct route. After dropping people at Terrazas de la Torre and the Arches, he dropped us at Roda at around 03:30.

Lisa and I walked back to her house, grabbed some water, and went straight to bed.

Summary.

I met some lovely people and enjoyed the company. The bar we found was nice, and the food was good, just not cheap. But the organisation of the tour and the parade itself left a lot to be desired. I wouldn’t bother returning for the parade.

Jumilla itself seemed like a pleasant town, and I’d happily go back during the day when everything is open. But as for the festival? Give it a miss. A couple of days later, Los Alcázares held its own parade, much smaller, but far better organised, and everything was open.

The most impressive thing in Jumilla was the fountain dyed red to look like a fountain of wine. Sadly, it was the highlight of the night.