Cañizares

At 1,130 m above sea level, Cañizares wakes before the sun. By six the lights in the stone cottages flick on, one by one, and the smell of wood smoke drifts up the narrow lanes. From the mirador outside the church you can watch the Serranía Alta appear in slow motion as dawn peels back the darkness. The air is thin enough to make a Londoner puff, and in January it bites; even in May you’ll want a fleece after sundown. This is Castilla-La Mancha, but not the flat, wind-mill country of Don Quixote. Here the land wrinkles into pine-clad ridges and limestone gorges that trap winter snow long after Valencia’s oranges are already ripe.

A Village that Measures Life in Seasons, Not Hours

The census lists 428 residents, yet on a Tuesday morning the plaza feels emptier still. Schoolchildren have been bussed down to the valley, pensioners shuffle into the Bar El Pozo for a €1.20 café con leche, and the loudest sound is the clatter of the baker’s van unloading yesterday’s baguettes. Shops observe the civilised Spanish timetable: open 09:00–14:00, closed 14:00–17:00, reopen 17:00–20:00. Miss the window and you’ll queue with the village dogs outside the Covirán on c/ Las Eras, praying its freezer hasn’t sold out of pizzas.

There is no tourist office. Directions are given with a tilt of the head and the confident assertion that “todo está aquí” – everything is here, by which they mean within two streets. Parking is free and unlimited; the only traffic warden is the occasional shepherd moving his flock through the main road. Fuel is cheaper at the Repsol on the CM-2105 than anywhere between Madrid and the coast, so motorists top up, buy a plastic-wrapped bocadillo, and usually drive on. Those who stay overnight tend to be walkers, geology students, or Madrilenios with second homes converting ruined barns into weekend retreats.

Stone, Wood and the Smell of Pine

Architecture is functional rather than pretty. Granite houses shoulder against the slope, their wooden balconies painted the traditional ox-blood red. A few façades have been sand-blasted back to pristine grey; others slump quietly behind ivy and satellite dishes. The 16th-century parish church dominates the skyline, but its tower lost its neo-Gothic spire in a storm twenty years ago and no one has quite got round to replacing it. Step inside and you’ll find a single nave, dimly lit, with a Christ statue whose polychrome paint is flaking like old emulsion. Sunday mass is at eleven; visitors are welcome, though the priest eyes rucksacks suspiciously.

Outside town the landscape hardens. Forest tracks strike north towards the Hoz de Beteta, a limestone canyon where griffon vultures ride thermals and, if you’re lucky, a Spanish imperial eagle circles overhead. Marked trails are few, so pick up the free leaflet (Spanish only) from the ayuntamiento lobby or download the GPS track before leaving Cuenca. Distances look modest on the map – six kilometres to the Ermita de la Hoz, say – but the climbs are stiff and summer shade scarce. Carry more water than you think reasonable; the village fountain looks inviting yet runs dry in August.

Winter White, Summer Gold

Snow arrives earlier than along the coast and lingers longer. The CM-2105 is cleared by nine, but side roads can remain icy until noon, so winter visitors need chains or, better, a set of decent tyres. When conditions settle, Cañizares becomes an affordable base for snow-shoeing: no lift queues, no €30 day passes, just strap on the racks and follow the forestry road towards Puerto de Hornilla. The trade-off is comfort – there is no equipment hire in the village, so bring everything from Cuenca or Madrid. Night temperatures dip below –8 °C; most guesthouses switch heating off at midnight to save propane.

Come May, the pine woods exhale resin and the first wild asparagus appears along the verges. Daytime highs hover around 22 °C, perfect for the 12-km circular route that climbs to the abandoned farmstead of El Campichuelo and drops back along the Arroyo de la Dehesa. June turns the hills gold; by July they rattle like parchment and fire risk closes some tracks. August fiestas inject the year’s only surge of noise: brass bands, a foam party in the polideportivo, and an open-air paella that feeds half the province. Book accommodation early – the three guesthouses have twelve rooms between them, and the nearest alternative is 35 minutes down the mountain in Beteta.

What to Eat when the Menu is Short

Cuisine is mountain-heavy: migas fried in chorizo fat, gachas (a thick maize porridge) pepped up with paprika, and game stews thick enough to stand a spoon in. Vegetarians can usually coax a pisto manchego – Spain’s answer to ratatouille – out of the kitchen, especially at Mesón de Cañizares on the plaza. Ask for the queso curado; it’s younger and creamier than the vacuum-packed stuff in British supermarkets, and the owner will slice a sliver for tasting before you commit. House red is from Valdepeñas, drinkable, light on tannin, and €7 a bottle if you take it away. Pudding options seldom stray beyond cuajada (sheep’s-milk junket) with honey; count yourself lucky if the churro fryer is running on a Sunday morning.

Dining hours are non-negotiable: lunch 14:00–16:00, supper 21:00–22:30, and almost everywhere shuts on Monday. Turn up at nine expecting pub-time tapas and you’ll go hungry. The Covirán sells tinned tuna, local wine and surprisingly good tortilla ready-sliced – useful insurance if the mountain took longer than planned.

Getting There, Getting Out

Public transport is skeletal: two buses a day to Cuenca, none on Sunday. A hire car from Madrid-Barajas takes two hours via the A-3 and the CM-2105; after Aranjuez the traffic thins and the speed limit rises to 120 km/h. Petrol is 15 cents cheaper at the Repsol just past Tarancón; toilets are clean and the coffee machine acceptable. Mobile coverage on EE is patchy but workable; Vodafone and Three users often find themselves relaying messages via WhatsApp from the bench outside the town hall where the signal ghost-walks across the valley.

The nearest sizeable sights are the Unesco-listed "Enchanted City" (45 min) and the hanging houses of Cuenca (1 hr), so Cañizares fits neatly into a slow loop between Madrid and Valencia. Stay a night, maybe two, then drift on. The village will be up before dawn again, regardless.