Añover de Tajo

Five thousand people, one bakery with a 5 a.m. queue, and a stone pillory that once proclaimed the right to hang thieves: welcome to Añover de Tajo, 540 m above sea level and 35 km northwest of Toledo. From the A-40 the village looks like a white scar on a wheat-coloured hide; climb the final kilometre and the temperature drops two degrees, the wind picks up, and the view opens south to the Tajo’s tree-lined corridor.

Mudéjar Brick and Morning Chatter

The parish tower sets the tone. Built in the fifteenth century with alternating bands of ochre brick and grey limestone, it catches the sunrise ten minutes before the streets below. Inside, the nave is wider than most English parish churches, yet the roof timbers smell of cedar rather than damp stone. The rolled-up hymn numbers are still handwritten on card, and the sacristan will unlock the door if you arrive during office hours (10–12, strictly). Look for the small panel of azulejos behind the altar: they show the Virgin surrounded by what look suspiciously like the local sunflowers, a reminder that the village name comes from the Arabic “al-nuwar”, the flowers.

Outside, the rollo de justicia stands in the middle of the plaza like a traffic bollard that has lost its purpose. Villagers use it as a meeting point – “under the pillar” – rather than a history lesson, but the message is clear: this place once had its own jurisdiction and liked to advertise the fact.

A Living Grid, Not a Museum

Forget the cobblestone maze you expect from central Castile. Añover’s planners laid out a straight grid in the 1960s when agricultural prosperity paid for asphalt and streetlights. The result is unexpected: neat pavements where grandmothers drag shopping trolleys at dawn, and teenagers on electric scooters at dusk. Between the modernised fronts, older houses survive – two storeys, lower walls of rough stone, upper walls whitewashed annually before the fiestas. Knockers are shaped like rope; balconies hold geraniums in olive-oil tins. Peek through any open portal and you’ll see the mandatory patio: a square of beaten earth, a wellhead, and usually a bicycle leaning against the water butt.

Spring mornings smell of dough and diesel. The bakery on Calle Real sells tray-baked mantecados while the delivery vans idle outside; by 11 a.m. the stock is gone and the shutters half-close. For coffee strong enough to stain the cup, join the farmers in Bar El Pilar opposite the church – café con leche, 1.30 €, no-nonsense service, and they will ask if you want the milk warm or scalding.

Plains, Not Peaks

Añover sits on the western edge of La Sagra, a plateau that thinks it’s a plain until the land tilts suddenly toward the Tajo gorge. The altitude keeps summer nights bearable (expect 18 °C at 10 p.m. when Toledo still swelters at 28 °C), but winter brings the fiercest winds in the province. January mornings can start at –4 °C and the mistral-like “cierzo” whistles through the tower gratings; bring a scarf even for a five-minute walk.

Hiking here is less about height than horizon. A signed 7-km loop, the Camino del Castañar, leaves from the cemetery gate, follows tractor tracks past irrigation pivots, and ends on a low ridge where the skyline is broken only by the Toledo cathedral spire, 35 km away. The path is flat, stony, and shared with the occasional combine harvester; wear trainers, not boots. In April the wheat is ankle-high and lime-green; by late June it turns metallic gold and the dust sticks to your calves. There is no shade – carry water, there are no kiosks.

Mountain bikers can string together 25 km of secondary roads linking Añover with Villaseca and Pulgar. Traffic averages one car every eight minutes, mostly white vans heading for the pork-processing plant outside town. Gradient never tops 4 %, but the wind can add or subtract 10 km/h without warning.

River, Pork and Quince Cheese

The Tajo itself lies 8 km south, reachable by a farm track that deteriorates after rain. There is no beach, just a shelving bank where locals fish for carp and barbel; night fishing is permitted with a regional licence (12 € online). Herons outnumber humans on most days.

Back in the village, the weekly market sets up on Friday morning: one fruit lorry, one clothes stall, and a van from Extremadura selling ibérico at prices that undercut the supermarkets. The speciality to ask for is cana de lomo, a cured pork collar that slices like butter. Pair it with the local sheep cheese, semi-curado, 14 € a kilo from the cooperative on Calle Nueva.

Restaurants are thin on the ground. Bar Español near the Health Centre does a three-course menú del día for 10 € – garlic soup, pollo en pepitoria (chicken in saffron-almond gravy), and coffee. They will substitute chips for the almond sauce if you look too foreign, so state your preference up front. Dessert is usually arroz con leche served at room temperature; the cinnamon is added at the table, not brewed in. Vegetarians get eggs or omelette, nothing more.

Sweet teeth should hunt down dulce de membrillo (quince cheese) made by the Convento de las Comendadoras in Toledo; the village grocer stocks it in 250-g blocks, 3.80 €, perfect with the local white wine Vino de la Tierra de Castilla – crisp, 12.5 %, and sold in one-litre plastic bottles for 2.90 €. It tastes better chilled, though villagers insist room temperature shows its “character”.

When the Drums Start

Fiestas begin on the last weekend of August when the temperature finally dips below 30 °C at dusk. The programme mixes religious procession with agricultural fair: tractor parade at 6 p.m., followed by a paella cooked in a pan two metres wide, 5 € a plate, eaten standing in the plaza. At midnight the batucada drummers circle the rollo de justicia for two solid hours; earplugs recommended. Fireworks follow, launched from the tower roof, fragments of cardboard fluttering onto the nave tiles below.

If you prefer quieter tradition, visit during the Romería de la Virgen de la Estrella on the second Sunday in May. Half the village walks 3 km to a field chapel, Mass is said, and everyone shares hornazo – a picnic of cold pork, hard-boiled egg, and sweet anise rolls. Outsiders are welcomed provided they bring their own drink; no glass bottles, the farmers hate glass in the stubble.

Getting There, Staying Over

Public transport from Madrid is possible but tedious: high-speed train to Toledo (33 min), city bus 5 to the intercambiador, then weekday-only service 142 to Añover (50 min, 3.65 €). The last bus back leaves at 19:10; miss it and a taxi is 45 €. Hiring a car at Toledo station makes more sense – 30 minutes on the CM-400, toll-free, parking on the plaza unlimited and free.

Accommodation is limited. Hostal El Parque has eight rooms above a bar on Avenida de la Constitución; doubles 45 €, wi-fi patchy, ask for the back side if church bells bother you. The nearest pool is in the municipal sports centre, open July–August, 2 € entry, closed Monday mornings. Outside those months you’ll swim nowhere; the Tajo is silty and currents are stronger than they look.

The Catch

Come August the village doubles in population as relatives flee Toledo’s heat. Finding a lunch table or a bread loaf after noon becomes a competitive sport. Winter weekends are quieter but many bars close early if trade is slow; phone ahead if you want that hot chocolate at 6 p.m. Mobile coverage is excellent on Vodafone, patchy on EE partners; download offline maps before you leave the main road.

Wind is the constant companion. Hairpins vanish, hats fly, and the dust will find the one unzipped pocket in your rucksack. Accept it, or stay on the Costa del Sol.

Añover de Tajo offers no postcard-perfect plaza, no Michelin stars, no souvenir tat. What it does give you is a working agricultural town where the past survives as texture rather than theme park. Show up with curiosity and a phrasebook, and the place will answer in brick, pork, and the smell of wheat that lingers on your clothes long after the tower has disappeared in the rear-view mirror.