Tierzo

The church bell strikes noon, yet nobody appears. Thirty-six residents are somewhere among Tierzo's stone houses, but the village square remains empty except for a single cat surveying the valley below. At 1,140 metres above sea level, this is Spain's high plateau at its most extreme—where the land folds into empty valleys and the horizon stretches uninterrupted for fifty kilometres.

The Arithmetic of Emptiness

Tierzo distils rural Spain into pure mathematics. One street. Three dozen inhabitants. Zero shops, bars, or petrol stations. What it possesses instead is altitude—enough to make your ears pop during the final climb—and space. Lots of space. The neighbouring village lies twelve kilometres away through pine forests and across ridges where griffon vultures circle on thermals.

The altitude changes everything. Summer mornings arrive cool and crisp, even when Madrid swelters 150 kilometres to the south-west. Winter arrives early and stays late. Snow isn't guaranteed but when it comes, the access road from the N-211 becomes impassable for days. Mobile phone signal flickers in and out. GPS systems have been known to throw up their digital hands entirely.

Stone walls divide the surrounding hillsides into irregular polygons, marking field boundaries established centuries before. Dry stone walls, built without mortar, create terraces that struggle against gravity and erosion. Many have collapsed, their stones scattered across hillsides where wild thyme and rosemary now grow. These walls once supported wheat and barley; now they support mainly photographs for the few visitors who make the journey.

Walking Through Forgotten Territories

The village serves as an accidental trailhead for some of Castilla-La Mancha's least-known hiking. Ancient paths, worn smooth by centuries of mule traffic, connect Tierzo to abandoned hamlets and remote farmsteads. One route drops 400 metres through holm oak forest to the abandoned village of Masegoso, where roofless houses stand like broken teeth. Another climbs towards the Sierra de Solorio, following ridge lines where the only sound is wind through pine needles.

Walkers should come prepared. Signposting follows the Spanish tradition of being adequate at the start and theoretical thereafter. A local map from Guadalajara's tourism office helps, though the best routes aren't always marked. Carry water—there's none available en route—and expect to meet nobody. The compensation comes in wildlife: wild boar tracks criss-cross the mud, and Spanish ibex occasionally appear on distant crags.

Autumn brings mushroom hunters, their wicker baskets betraying their purpose. The local pine forests produce saffron milk caps and oyster mushrooms, though knowledge of which species to avoid remains essential. The village's few remaining elderly residents sometimes offer guidance, though their Castilian Spanish arrives thick with regional vocabulary that even fluent speakers find challenging.

The Gastronomy of Absence

Tierzo's culinary scene consists precisely of nothing. No restaurants, no bars, no village shop selling emergency crisps. The nearest proper meal requires a twenty-minute drive to Molina de Aragón, where Mesón del Gallo serves robust local specialities: migas—fried breadcrumbs with garlic and chorizo—and ternera de la Sierra, beef from cattle that graze the high pastures.

This absence forces visitors into local patterns. Self-catering becomes essential. The supermarket in Molina de Aragón stocks everything from local Manchego cheese to British teabags, should homesickness strike. Villagers buy in bulk and preserve—every house displays strings of dried peppers and braids of garlic. Their approach makes sense when the nearest shop involves a forty-minute round trip.

Casa Rural El Cuartel provides the only accommodation within the village itself—a converted stone house sleeping six, with ceilings low enough to trouble anyone over six feet. At €80 per night for the entire property, it offers value unmatched in more celebrated destinations. The owners live in Guadalajara and meet guests by arrangement, handing over keys and local advice with equal warmth.

When Silence Becomes Tangible

The village's most remarkable feature reveals itself after dark. At 1,140 metres, with the nearest major road fifteen kilometres away and no street lighting beyond the square, Tierzo offers darkness almost impossible to find elsewhere in Western Europe. On clear nights, the Milky Way appears with startling clarity, a river of light flowing across a sky unpolluted by neon or sodium.

Winter visits require particular commitment. Temperatures regularly drop below freezing from November through March. Snow arrives unpredictably—the village might be accessible one day, cut off the next. Four-wheel drive helps but offers no guarantees. Spring brings wildflowers to the surrounding hills in April and May, making these months perhaps ideal for fair-weather visitors.

The village fiesta in August temporarily swells the population to perhaps 200, as former residents return for three days of music, mass, and communal meals. For visitors, this represents either the best or worst time to arrive, depending on tolerance for amplified Spanish folk music and neighbourly reunions that continue until dawn.

Getting here from Britain requires commitment. Fly to Madrid, collect a hire car, and drive north-east for two hours. The final forty kilometres wind through increasingly empty country, past villages where elderly men still wear traditional berets and time moves according to agricultural rhythms rather than tourist schedules. Petrol stations become scarce; fill up in Guadalajara before heading into the mountains.

Tierzo offers no postcard moments, no Instagram opportunities beyond the obvious shot across the empty square. What it provides instead is Spain stripped to essentials: stone, sky, silence, and space. For those seeking respite from the country's more clamorous destinations, thirty-six residents wait in their mountain aerie, living proof that empty Spain still exists—provided you're prepared to climb high enough to find it.