Villas de la Ventosa

Altitude: 850 m.
That single figure explains almost everything. At this height the meseta’s summer furnace cools by four degrees, winter sneaks in six weeks early, and the wind that names the village – ventosa means “windy” – rattles every loose tile from October to April. Bring a fleece even in July.

A Map that Shrinks after 20:00

Drive south-east from Madrid airport for 110 km, leave the A-3 at Tarancón, then watch the lanes narrow until the CM-412 finally peels off across wheat. The last 12 km are ruler-straight; olive groves give way to low rosemary scrub, and red-brick farmsteads appear like mirages. Sat-nav will tempt you down a farm track – ignore it, stay on the tarmac until the N-430 junction, then follow the brown fingerpost that simply says “Villas”. First-time visitors often overshoot: the village sign is half-size and tilts 15 degrees, as if the wind has already started on it.

Park anywhere on the single main street; traffic lights, zebra crossings and parking meters have never arrived. Population 210, plus dogs. Monday feels like a rehearsal for extinction – the only bar is shut, the tiny grocer pulls its grille across at 14:00 and doesn’t return until 17:00 sharp. If the shop’s closed, the nearest loaf is 18 km away in Motilla del Palancar, so stock up before you leave the motorway.

What Passes for Sights

Forget cathedrals. The parish church of San Andrés has a squat tower you could miss while blinking; inside, the prize possession is a 17th-century cedar lectern so dark it looks burned. Locals will tell you it survived three fires, two civil-war lootings and a lightning strike – all delivered in the same matter-of-fact tone they use for rainfall statistics. Walk the two parallel streets in fifteen minutes and you will have seen every stone the place owns.

The real architecture is in the houses themselves: 60-centimetre adobe walls the colour of digestive biscuits, tiny windows facing south to trick the winter sun inside, and rooflines that slope just enough to shrug off snow every third February. Metal grills still protect ground-floor stables, though the donkeys have been replaced by hatchbacks. Notice the brick staircases glued to façades – they once led to dove lofts whose eggs paid the rent.

Walking the Wind’s Own Footpaths

Head north past the last streetlamp and a gravel lane lifts you onto the páramo within ten minutes. From here the province of Cuenca rolls out like a crumpled tablecloth: wheat on the flats, holm oaks in the creases, and every ridge topped by a ruined windmill. There are no waymarks, so download the free Wikiloc track “Ventosa – Arroyo de la Luz loop” (9 km, 250 m ascent) before you lose signal. Spring brings purple flax and poppies; September smells of crushed thyme and gun-metal rain. Bootprints of wild boar criss-cross the path – they feed at dusk, so finish walks by 19:00 or carry a torch.

Serious hikers can stitch together a 22 km figure-of-eight that links the abandoned hamlets of Valdecasa and El Horcajo, both ghost-quiet since the 1960s. Take two litres of water: streams run only after storms, and the bar at kilometre 18 cannot be relied upon for opening hours.

Eating What the Fields Offer

The village’s one restaurant, El Rincón de la Sierra, opens Friday to Sunday and serves exactly four main dishes. Order the cordero al estilo alcarreño – shoulder of lamb slow-roasted with garlic and half a glass of water until the meat slides off the bone (£14). Vegetarians get pisto manchego, a chunky pepper-and-aubergine stew topped with a fried egg (£8). Puddings are theoretical; once the almond tart’s gone, coffee arrives instead. House clarete, a chilled rosé from nearby Valdepeñas, costs €2.50 a glass and tastes like strawberries left in the fridge overnight.

If the owner’s mother has made galianos, say yes. This comfort-food classic mixes yesterday’s stew with torn flatbread until it becomes a thick, paprika-stained porridge – think Spanish bubble-and-squeak without the frying. Lunch service stops at 16:00; arrive late and you’ll be offered crisps and forgiveness.

Seasons that Turn the Volume Up or Down

April and May deliver 22 °C afternoons and meadows loud with skylarks; it’s the best window for flowers without the furnace heat. September evenings smell of fermenting grapes and drop to 14 °C – perfect for sleeping with the window open. August spikes at 34 °C, but the altitude keeps nights bearable; this is also the only month when the village feels half-alive, as emigrant families return for fiestas. Expect every house to sprout fairy lights, and the bar to stay open until an unheard-of 02:00 on the weekend of the 15th.

Winter is not romantic. Thermometers touch –8 °C, the wind whips across open fields unhindered from the Gulf of Cádiz, and the single grocery shortens its hours. Roads are gritted late, if at all – carry snow chains from December to February or you may spend the night in the car.

Where to Lay Your Head

Three rental properties exist. Casa Rural La Solana has the edge: a 200-year-old grain store converted by a Madrid architect who knew enough to leave the beams alone. Two bedrooms, wood-burner, and the only private pool in the postal code (week’s rental £650 low season, £950 August). Book early; repeat visitors block-diary for next year before they leave. Hostal El Moral offers simpler rooms above the bar at £35 a night, but bring earplugs – Saturday karaoke drifts up through the floorboards until well past Spanish midnight.

If everything’s full, Motilla del Palancar has two serviceable hotels 18 km away; the drive takes 20 minutes unless a tractor is enjoying the lane.

The Honest Verdict

Villas de la Ventosa will never feature on a coach-tour itinerary. There are no souvenirs, no selfie-backdrops, and nobody will improvise a flamenco for tips. What you get instead is space, silence and a landscape that changes colour faster than a weather map. If that sounds too quiet, stay in Cuenca and day-trip. But if you’ve ever wanted to hear grain growing, to walk until the path runs out of footprints, or to eat lamb while the owner’s grandfather recounts the year it snowed for three days non-stop, set the sat-nav, fill the tank, and let the wind push you through the gate.