The luthier who makes guitars worth thousands of euros in the most remote valley of La Alpujarra: "If the world ends, let it catch me in the mountains."

Upon passing the entrance to Soportújar , the Hermitage of the Eternal Father appears. A sweet, minimal temple, moved several times (stone by stone) to its current location: La Lomilla del Aire, at the foot of the road, where it was installed by the neighbors in the 1930s, outside the Archbishopric of Granada. It belongs to the jurisdiction of Carataunas, one of the smallest villages in La Alpujarra. It covers an area of ​​4.66 square kilometers. A few meters from the temple, on the narrow track that winds down the valley, a sculpture in homage to a donkey serves as a detour sign. You must follow a long, zigzagging dirt path, almost elevated in the mountains, until you reach the bottom of Las Cañadillas, where 14 years ago a 50-year-old guitar maker from Madrid, Mario Aracama, set up his workshop, his home, and his life .

The scorching heat of mid- August is avenged at the entrance to the farmhouse by the lush vegetation spread across the fig, orange, and pomegranate trees. Mario Aracama is in the workshop, somewhat oblivious to the plant world and, on the other hand, focused on his own task: the guitar he's building, the classical guitar that has taken him several months of work and which he accepts as a slow, time-consuming, almost unrelated craft , far removed from the urgency of this stretch of the 21st century. Early in the morning, Mario Aracama prepared a smooth gazpacho seasoned with lemon instead of vinegar.

He was born in Madrid in 1975. He grew up in the La Estrella neighborhood, near the Retiro Park and Parque de Roma . As a teenager, he went to the United States to pursue his studies. He returned to Madrid and, having left so many things behind, embarked on a life-long search to London, where he found what he hadn't yet known he wanted. At Guildhall University, he studied the three-year course in Musical Instrument Technology . He graduated with an essay entitled "Differences between the Classical and Flamenco Guitars ." And so it all began. "I was 22 years old, and finding that university and that degree was a revelation. I was looking for adventure, hoping for surprises, and I discovered there was something that attracted me like nothing else. My first year of college, I started by building a smooth-bottomed mandolin and a turned maple flute. My second year, a Torres-model classical guitar. My third, another Romanillos-style classical guitar, and a flamenco guitar following the Santos Hernández technique. I had no choice but to be a luthier. And that's what I am," he says with his well-spoken, precise, and well-spoken voice.

Mario Aracama is a patient, serene, quiet, observant, careful, and skilled man. He possesses a wealth of knowledge of wood, chisels, and planes at his fingertips. He possesses a delicate touch for handling sharp tools. After London, he went to India . "Music drove me. The university where I studied is in a Hindu neighborhood, and I discovered some fascinating native musicians in the surrounding venues. I wanted to learn about their origins, and off I went, hopping from one town to another in the north of the country. That lasted for about 10 months," he explains. "I learned a lot on that expedition, and it helped confirm what I wanted to do: build guitars. Upon returning to Spain, I set up my first workshop in Hoyo de Manzanares, although four months later I decided to move to Granada in search of master builders. I left London out of a need to see more of the sky, and I vowed to find it. That's where my fondness for the south comes from," he says, reviewing some of the rosette designs he has prepared for future guitars, handcrafted with the diligence of a Nasrid plasterer. " I opened the new workshop in Realejo, a Granada neighborhood steeped in guitar-making tradition; and my neighbor was my teacher, Antonio Marín , whose designs I had studied at university. He was the one who welcomed me when I arrived and the person who gave me the foundation to follow my own path later on. Today, he's 92 years old and recently retired. I owe him a lot."

The fact is that Aracama, a distinct link in a middle-class family in Madrid, staked everything on a solitary enthusiasm. Building guitars is like writing, composing, painting, reading: an experience only fully possible if done alone. "That's why I prefer isolated houses to live in. I have that need," he explains. The workshop is a cozy, orderly space. The small windows overlook the hypnotic Alpujarra scenery. Here, the only sounds are those of the mountains . It's a formidable retreat. Almost a monastery, adorned from the entrance porch with a colorful string of Tibetan prayer flags. To get there, you must accumulate a handful of forest signs inside. Details matter on the route: a lamppost where you must turn left. A cat-shaped rock you must leave behind. A deep pothole that indicates you're very close... No one strays along these paths unless they know where they're going . When the bumpy dirt track ends, there's no further. Today is watering day.

In Aracama's lair, guitar tops and bases hang from the ceiling, waiting their turn. Also necks to be finished. On a shelf, more rosettes await their place; and on one of the benches, molds and soles he made to shape the pieces that will be tamed into guitars. A scent of well-seasoned woods spreads throughout the room : Madagascar rosewood, ebony, cedar, and spruce pine for the classical guitars. The cypress veneers that peek out on the other side are for flamenco guitars. And in the anteroom, the thickness planer and blade cutter, the disc saw, the band saw, the column drill, and small sanders organize the space.

"I invest about 250 hours in each instrument, but I never rush it. The goal is for each one to be excellent."

Mario Aracama has something of a Taoist about him, at peace with the world, amidst his labyrinth of firewood . In the background hang two of his latest guitars, delicately varnished, a hallmark of this artisan. The pieces reveal the hallmarks of this luthier hidden in the depths of La Alpujarra. Exclusive instruments. Of great beauty. Prepared for the best sound. Some of his creations are heard throughout Europe, the US, Malaysia, Japan ... " I build in a completely artisanal way . And I am in this place that also demands calm. I invest about 250 hours in each instrument, but never in a hurry. The goal is for each one to be excellent. I always work when I want to, that's why I produce just the right guitars. I work about six or eight months and leave the other months to travel, to get some fresh air, to load up on more adventures."

- How many guitars have you made in these 23 years of experience? - I haven't counted, maybe a hundred. Or a little less, or a few more. What does that matter? Classical guitars are the ones I work on the most. Flamenco guitars are only commissioned. Flamenco guitars are thinner; they're made by reducing the volume of the wood so that the sound is more direct, drier, and has a better attack.

"It doesn't seem like much." I'm determined to do everything in its own time, everything with its own love. That's why there's something unique about my pieces. I don't know how to live in a hurry. I choose the design with the same care I take in selecting the wood. Time should be on the instrument's side . A good guitar can only be built from good wood.

- How do yours sound? - I follow the path of the maestro Antonio de Torres, from Almería, the Stradivarius of the Spanish guitar. I'm looking for a velvety, beautiful, pliable sound . One that has plasticity and richness of nuances.

His creations display unique characteristics, such as the double rim: one millimeter of cypress and two of rosewood. The double rim adds volume to the body, more projection, more presence, and a balanced sound between voices. In Aracama's craft, precision is the rule. He works without hesitation, concentrating on that extra or missing millimeter that can ruin a piece. There are fifty guitar makers in Granada. He chose the most hidden and profound place to do his work. "If the world ends, let it catch me in the mountains. I've been here for so many years that I no longer know how to live in cities, or even in villages. This place presented itself to me by chance, as the best things do," he says. "One day, 14 years ago, I went to eat at some friends' house, very close to where we are now. They told me about this place, I went to see it, and in that moment I decided it would be my home. I asked the tenants if they would rent me the space where the workshop is, and they accepted. Two women lived in the house; over time, one of them stayed, and so did I. We share the two hectares of the farmhouse. Settling here was like jumping into the void, but it worked out well. I never think about the future."

Not thinking about the future is liberating, almost a karmic requirement. Aracama doesn't smoke or drink. Not anymore. He walks in the mountains. He works on guitars. He contemplates the valley. He spends his days feeling the days go by. He moves around in the old white van he has parked out front. In the workshop, only two guitars remain finished. "I'm working on another one. I've already explained that time is my own here, and I have a clear plan. Just because I'm more successful doesn't mean I'm going to produce more . When a guitar is sold and it's the last one, you have to wait for the next one. And I never set a date for that wait."

Three Japanese people came to this hollow of the Cañadillas Valley a year ago. They found the workshop by asking around. They came looking for a classical guitar from Aracama. They preferred to get ahead of the game rather than wait for the pieces he sometimes exhibits at professional fairs. They arrived, told us about their passion, their journey to find it, and their intentions. They played as many pieces as necessary, and several hours later they left with the merchandise bound for Japan. The appetite for one of these guitars draws people of all walks of life to the area.

Mario Aracama is a passionate luthier in his own way, although he might as well not be a luthier. It's enough for him to be himself and have neither god nor master. His achievement is to steer straight ahead, the awareness that there is no horizon or border . Nor is his work driven by superstition, nor are there traces of religion, industrial mysticism, or any faith other than that of being in the world on his own terms. Under the orange tree, he winds a finely crafted guitar, assembled with seven symmetrical braces, a bridge, and a 650-millimeter scale. He extracts a top-quality sound from the soundhole. The sound rises cleanly through the sublime air. Mario Aracama doesn't know if he'll ever leave La Alpujarra or settle somewhere more visible, with better access. To think such a thing is to fall into the trap of anticipating things. The only triumph is to finish the next instrument and live a little detached, a little on the fringe , and a little slowly around a vibrant center of wise, impeccable guitars. From the bottom of the valley.