When Juan Goytisolo passed through Rodalquilar, it was a busy industrial centre.  He had lunch in the inn (a dish of cod and chickpeas) and talked to the locals eating there.
In spite of its award-winning modern architecture and stunning art project, its beautiful botanic garden and exhibition centres, in some ways Rodalquilar was more prosperous then.  Today there is little or no work apart from seasonal jobs in the hotels and bars, and so only about 80 people live here all the time, as the German lady who runs the panaderia pointed out to us.  During the week, the village is like a ghost town, with most of the houses and flats shut up for the winter.  She explained that many of them are owned by people living in Almeria, or even as far away as Madrid, who only use them for occasional weekends or holidays.  Others are commercial properties, rented out to holidaymakers in the summer.  For a young person growing up in Rodalquilar, there's not much of a future in the village if they want to stay here.

On the other hand, life in Rodalquilar was bleak when Juan visited, working in the mine was dangerous; after he has chatted for a while with some local men, they return to talking among themselves:
                        'the three men forget all about me and start whispering to each other confidentially:  Edelberto's silicosis, work in the mine, what happened to Emiliano.  The youngster brings me coffee, time passes by, and I can still hear them talking about Candido, Jose, Vitorino . . .
                                "An' we can't complain really."
                                "No, too true . . . Because the part-timers . . ."
                                "Because the ones breaking stone . . ."
                        I savour the bitter liquid in my cup as they carry on whispering.  Occasionally they fall silent and their eyes glint.'
The ominous fact that the men need to whisper, tells us about the oppressive control the fascist regime holds over their lives.