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about Pozuelo de Calatrava
Town near the capital with Laguna del Prado; bird sanctuary and place of devotion to the Virgen de los Santos.
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The morning flight from Gatwick lands in Madrid at 11:05. By half-one you're already climbing through the Sierra Morena foothills, the hire-car thermometer dropping from 32 °C on the motorway to a breathable 26 °C as the exit sign for Pozuelo de Calatrava appears. At 630 m above sea level the village sits just high enough to escape the furnace heat of La Mancha proper, yet low enough to keep the olive and vine roots happy. The first thing you notice is the colour of the earth: a rusty volcanic ochre that stains the wheat stubble and turns the rainwater gutters terracotta.
A grid made for shade, not show
Pozuelo won't win any beauty contests, and locals seem fine with that. The centre is a tight lattice of single-lane streets designed long before cars arrived; whitewashed walls lean inwards, almost touching above your head, creating a tunnel of cool air even at three in the afternoon. There are no souvenir shops, no boutique hotels occupying restored palaces, no Instagram mural. What you get instead is a functioning village of 3,685 inhabitants who still shut the metal shutters at siesta time and gather on the plastic chairs outside Bar California to argue about football.
The fifteenth-century church of Nuestra Señora de la Consolación dominates the main square, but not in the postcard way you might expect. Its tower is square and practical, more lookout than lace. Step inside and the temperature drops another five degrees; the stone floor is uneven from centuries of parishioners' boots. There's no admission fee, just a €1 candle box if you feel guilty for gawping while someone is actually praying. English signage is non-existent, so brush up on your Spanish or simply enjoy the silence—both work.
What the brochures forget to mention
Let's be clear: the famous Calatrava castle is not here. The fortress ruins everyone photographs are 25 km away at Calatrava la Nueva, a stiff drive on a road that narrows to single track for the final climb. Pozuelo serves as a quieter, cheaper overnight base, nothing more. The village's own volcanic landscape is subtle: low ridges of dark basalt amid the wheat, a couple of dry craters now planted with almonds. You can walk to the nearest rim in forty minutes from the church door; the path is unsigned, the reward a view across an ocean of olive trees rather than a jaw-dropping caldera.
Sunday is a ghost town. The solitary cash machine (Caja Rural, plaza corner) runs out of notes by eleven, the food shop pulls its shutter until Tuesday, and the petrol station on the bypass doesn't reopen until Monday 07:00. Fill up Saturday, buy your milk and crisps in Ciudad Real, and regard the shutdown as part of the exercise in temporal travel.
Eating without theatrics
The daily menú del día is served from 14:00 sharp at three establishments on the same street. Expect gachas manchegas (a thick porridge of flour, garlic and paprika), pisto (Spanish ratatouille topped with a fried egg) and a quarter-litre of local rosé for €11. Vegetarians survive on pisto and the excellent Manchego curado; vegans should probably self-cater. Game stews appear after the October shoot—if the word "jabali" appears on the chalkboard you've hit wild-boar season. Portions are farm-hand sized; doggy bags are frowned upon, so order one course at a time.
Evening tapas culture is muted. Bar California lays out bowls of crisps and olives, but the real action is the €1.20 caña of draft beer and the conversation drifting from tractors to Real Madrid. Close at midnight or when the owner wants bed, whichever comes first.
Using the place, not just seeing it
Pozuelo works best as a low-cost springboard for the wider Campo de Calatrava. Within 30 km you can summit the Almagro volcano (a gentle 45-minute spiral), swim in the shallow, warm waters of Lagunas de Ruidera, or tour the iron-tinged vineyards that supply Valdepeñas cooperatives. None of these spots charges entry, and you'll share the trails mainly with local dog-walkers. In April the wheat is knee-high and green; by late June it turns gold and the harvest dust hangs in the air like dry fog. August is simply too hot for anything except moving to the coast—take the hint.
Winter brings the opposite problem. Night frosts are common, the hotel spa is booked by city couples on cheap romance packages, and the fields look bald and brown. Still, the light is sharp, the roads empty, and hotel rates drop to €55 B&B. Bring a fleece for the evening wind that barrels down from the Montes de Toledo; the village sits directly in its path.
Getting here, getting out
Madrid-Barajas is the only practical gateway from the UK. A morning flight has you on the A-4 southbound before the Spanish capital's ring road clogs up. Tolls were removed in 2021, so the 196 km run costs only petrol. Trains are a mirage: the RENFE stop at Ciudad Real is 32 km away, taxis are €40 pre-booked, and the local bus appears when it feels like it. Car hire is therefore non-negotiable—book early in July or you will end up with the scrapings of the fleet, something French and underpowered for the hills.
Accommodation is refreshingly simple to choose. The Cumbria Spa & Hotel on the western edge has 42 rooms, free parking, a small heated pool and a sauna that smells of eucalyptus. Doubles run €75–€95 depending on whether there's a fiesta somewhere within 50 km. The place is clean, the Wi-Fi actually reaches the bedrooms, and the staff understand enough English to sort extra pillows. There is no Plan B in the village, so if it's full you'll be driving 20 km to the next nearest bed.
Worth the detour?
Pozuelo de Calatrava will never feature on a "Top Ten Spanish Villages" list, and that is precisely its appeal. You come here to calibrate your sense of time to something slower than the A-4's 120 km/h limit, to eat food cooked by people who also farm the ingredients, and to walk volcanic tracks without way-markers or entrance fees. Stay two nights, three if you crave silence, then point the car south for Granada or west for Extremadura. Leave before the village closure habit starts to feel normal; after all, you still need to get cash for the motorway coffee.