Menasalbas

The granite bell tower of San Andrés appears first, rising 702 metres above the plain like a navigational beacon for drivers who've spent the last hour wondering if Google Maps has finally lost the plot. Then the village itself materialises: grey stone houses rather than the whitewashed cubes of tourist brochures, clinging to a ridge where the Montes de Toledo start their rolling march towards the Tagus valley.

Menasalbas makes no immediate effort to impress. Its population of 2,400 is scattered across a cluster of streets that feel more Extremaduran than Castilian, with granite portals and wooden gates that have survived centuries of agricultural decline, civil war and rural depopulation. This is precisely what makes it interesting. While other villages within striking distance of Toledo have gentrified themselves into weekend homes and boutique hotels, Menasalbas remains stubbornly operational: a working place where farmers still gather at 10am for coffee and brandy, and where the bakery on Calle Real sells honey from hives you can spot on surrounding hillsides.

The Moorish Tombs and Other Surprises

The village's star attraction isn't actually in the village. Three kilometres north-east, down an unmarked track that starts opposite a goat farm, lies a cluster of 400-year-old Islamic necropolises carved directly into the granite bedrock. These aren't elaborate mausoleums but simple rectangular cavities, some still bearing the original orientation towards Mecca. The site's existence surprises most visitors who assume this landscape holds only Catholic heritage; in reality, these mountains provided refuge for Moorish communities well into the 17th century.

Finding them requires preparation. Mobile signal dies the moment you leave the CM-415, and the official signposting amounts to a single weather-beaten panel that might once have been informative. Download the Wikiloc trail before leaving Britain, pack water, and wear proper walking boots—the granite here eats trainers for breakfast. The circular route takes ninety minutes and passes through dehesa woodland where Iberian pigs still root for acorns, giving you excellent odds of spotting black vultures overhead.

Back in the village proper, the 16th-century church of San Andrés rewards closer inspection. Its tower incorporates stones recycled from earlier constructions, including what archaeologists identify as Visigothic fragments. Inside, the baroque altarpiece survived the Civil War by virtue of being painted over rather than destroyed—a common survival strategy that means many 'plain' village churches hide spectacular decoration beneath layers of whitewash.

Walking Into Nothing

The real reason to base yourself here is access to walking territory that remains virtually unknown outside Spain. The Montes de Toledo form a 400-kilometre chain that nobody in Britain has heard of, creating a natural barrier between the baked plains of La Mancha and the Tagus valley. From Menasalbas, marked trails head in three directions: south towards the Cijara reservoir (20 kilometres of rolling granite hills), west into proper mountain country where elevation reaches 1,400 metres, and north through agricultural land towards the better-known village of Navahermosa.

Spring delivers the most dramatic walking, when flowering cistus turns entire slopes white and the temperature hovers around a perfect 18°C. Autumn brings mushroom hunters and changing oak foliage, though you'll share trails with wild boar and the occasional deer. Summer walking is possible but requires early starts; by 11am the granite reflects heat like a pizza oven, and shade becomes more valuable than water. Winter can be surprisingly sharp—night frosts are common, and the CM-415 occasionally ices over—though day temperatures usually reach 10-12°C.

The local tourist office (open Tuesday to Friday, 10am-2pm only) stocks basic maps showing three circular routes of varying ambition. More interesting are the unmarked paths that farmers use to access remote olive groves; ask permission before crossing private land, but you'll generally find landowners happy to practice their English and point out vulture nesting sites.

Food That Understands Hunger

Menasbaleño cooking evolved to fuel agricultural labour rather than impress food critics, which means portions are generous and flavours direct rather than refined. The village's two proper restaurants both close their kitchens at 5pm sharp—plan accordingly or self-cater. Local specialities include perdiz estofada (partridge stew) during autumn hunting season, and migas manchegas that transform yesterday's bread into something worth travelling for.

The cheese cooperative on the road to Toledo produces Manchego curado that's noticeably milder than supermarket versions, aged for six months rather than the industrial twelve. British visitors often find this more approachable than the aggressive versions sold in UK delicatessens; buy a quarter-wheel (about €18) and it'll survive the journey home in hand luggage if you pack it properly. Local olive oil comes from cooperatives in neighbouring villages—look for DOP Montes de Toledo on the label, pressed from cornicabra olives that give a peppery finish perfect for dipping rather than cooking.

For picnic supplies, the bakery opens at 7am and sells excellent crusty bread plus local honey harvested from mountain hives. Pair this with fruit from Thursday's market (held in the main square) and you've got lunch sorted for any walking expedition.

The Practical Reality Check

Let's be honest: Menasalbas isn't for everyone. The village has no bank, no petrol station, and no Sunday shop opening. Public transport consists of one school bus each weekday morning to Toledo; miss it and you're looking at a €70 taxi ride. The nearest proper supermarket is 25 kilometres away in Navahermosa, and most bars observe the classic Spanish timetable—closed between 5pm and 8pm, when hungry British visitors most want feeding.

Accommodation options are limited. Casa Rural Las Navillas sits four kilometres outside the village with proper mountain views and zero light pollution, but you'll need a car and shouldn't expect Wi-Fi. In the village itself, two modest guesthouses offer basic rooms at €35-45 per night; they're clean and friendly but won't feature in design magazines anytime soon.

What you get instead is authenticity without the performance. On festival days (San Andrés at the end of November, summer fiestas in August) the village throws proper parties that haven't been sanitised for visitors. Local bars serve wine from bulk containers at €1.20 a glass, and the evening paseo still functions as social media for people who've never owned smartphones. It's Spain as it existed before tourism, existing alongside rather than despite modernity, and offering walking country that remains genuinely undiscovered. Just remember to bring cash, download your maps, and adjust your watch to Spanish time—which runs approximately two hours behind whatever your British instincts suggest.