Illescas

At 583 metres above sea level, Illescas sits high enough on the Castilian plateau to catch the breeze that sweeps across the cereal fields of La Sagra, yet low enough to feel the gravitational pull of Madrid just thirty kilometres north. This isn't a hilltop fortress town or a romantic ravine village—it's a working agricultural centre that happens to have five El Greco paintings hanging in a 16th-century sanctuary, making it perhaps the most culturally disproportionate small town in central Spain.

The Altitude Advantage

The elevation matters more than most visitors expect. Summer mornings start fresh, even in August, and the air stays dry enough that a 25-degree day feels manageable compared to Madrid's sticky heat. Winter tells a different story: when the capital gets a dusting, Illescas often wakes to a proper blanket, and the A-42 autovía becomes a skating rink. The town's microclimate makes spring and autumn the sweet spots—wild fennel grows along the verges in April, and the surrounding olive groves turn silver under October light.

This isn't hiking country; the landscape rolls rather than rises. What you get instead are flat tracks through wheat fields and vineyards, perfect for a morning bike ride before the sun gets ambitious. The local council has marked out three circular routes—yellow, green and blue—that start from the sports centre on the edge of town. None exceed eight kilometres, but they'll take you past the Roman bridge remains at Calicanto and through the sort of agricultural theatre that Cervantes knew well.

Art in the Afternoon

The Sanctuary of Nuestra Señora de la Caridad delivers that rare experience of seeing major artworks in their intended setting rather than a neutral museum wall. The five El Greco canvases here weren't bought by a collector—they were commissioned for this specific chapel in 1603. The "Coronation of the Virgin" hangs where the artist intended, catching the same shaft of afternoon light that would've illuminated it for the Augustinian friars. Entry costs €3, but the sacristan often waves away payment if you arrive during the quiet hour between 2 and 3 pm.

Across the main square, the Iglesia de Santa María tells a more convoluted architectural story. Its tower started life as 13th-century Mudéjar, all brickwork and geometric patterns, before subsequent centuries grafted on Gothic arches and a Baroque altarpiece. Inside, the smell of beeswax and old stone hits immediately—this is a working church, not a heritage set piece. The audio guide (€2, available in English) comes voiced by a local teacher whose pronunciation of "medieval" veers between the English and Spanish versions, but her knowledge of the church's survival during the Civil War is spot-on.

Lunch Without the Tour Groups

British visitors expecting a prettified old quarter will be disappointed—or relieved, depending on temperament. The historic core occupies barely six streets, and they're intercut with 1970s apartment blocks and modern cafés serving oat-milk cortados. What you get instead is a functioning Spanish town where lunch options range from the no-frills Bar California (menu del día €12, wine included) to La Cueva, built into what was once a Jewish house with a 15th-century cave cellar.

The food leans hearty rather than delicate—gazpacho manchego (a meat and bread stew, nothing to do with the Andalusian soup), cordera a la pastora (lamb with rosemary and local wine), and queso Manchego that's properly cured rather than the rubbery stuff exported to British supermarkets. Vegetarians face the usual Castilian struggle, though the pisto manchego (a richer cousin of ratatouille) arrives topped with a fried egg whether you want it or not.

Thursday Chaos and Sunday Calm

Market day transforms the town completely. Every Thursday, the Plaza de España becomes a gridlock of fruit vans and handbag stalls, while the underground car park—already tight for a Ford Focus—turns into a metal concerto of revving engines and reversing alarms. The market itself is authentic enough—elderly women squeezing tomatoes, traders shouting prices in thick Castilian—but it obliterates any medieval atmosphere. Come instead on Sunday morning, when the only sound is the church bell and the cafés are full of extended families doing the weekly gossip circuit.

Parking strategy matters. The underground facility beneath Plaza de España costs €1.20 per hour but accepts only Spanish coins or specific cards—British chip-and-pin usually fails. Street parking on Avenida de la Constitución is free for the first hour, but the orange machine eats notes and gives no change. Several visitors simply leave cars at the Lidl on the outskirts and walk ten minutes—no one's been towed yet, though technically it's customer-only.

The Commuter Reality Check

Illescas's proximity to Madrid brings advantages and irritations in equal measure. The town functions as a dormitory for capital workers, meaning trains of suited commuters fill the 7:15 am service to Atocha, and Friday evenings see a reverse exodus of Madrileños heading to country houses. This economic lifeline keeps restaurants open midweek but also explains the rash of new-build apartment blocks on the northern approach—hardly the Castilian idyll imagined from a British kitchen.

Yet the commuter flow also preserves services that similar-sized towns have lost. There's a proper bookshop (Casa del Libro branch), a Saturday morning cinema showing VOS films, and even a craft beer bar—La Tercera, tucked behind the town hall—where the barman speaks fluent English learned during a season in Sheffield. The dual identity feels neither fake nor forced; it's simply how 21st-century Spain works when you can see the Madrid skyline from your bedroom window.

Making the Numbers Work

A half-day covers the cultural highlights comfortably. Arrive by 10:30 am, park near Santa María, visit both churches before the 1 pm rush, then lunch. The afternoon offers choices: a gentle walk through the olive groves, a siesta in the Parque de la Constitución (shaded benches, decent public loos), or a 25-minute drive to the windmills at Consuegra if you're chasing Don Quixote vibes. Accommodation options are limited—two business hotels by the motorway and one boutique conversion in the old hospital. Most British visitors base themselves in Toledo, ticking Illescas as an easy detour en route to Madrid Barajas.

The honest assessment? Illescas rewards those who prefer their Spain lived-in rather than polished. You'll find no souvenir stalls, no flamenco shows, and precious little English spoken. What you will find is a town where art, agriculture and commuter reality coexist in a balance that feels uniquely Castilian—neither picture-perfect nor disappointing, simply itself.