Uña

The reservoir shimmers below like liquid metal, its surface broken only by the occasional fishing boat and the shadows of griffon vultures circling overhead. From Uña's single main street, the view drops 200 metres to water level, then rises again through successive walls of limestone that turn honey-gold as the afternoon progresses. This is Castilla-La Mancha, but not the windmill-dotted plateau most British visitors expect. Here, the province of Cuenca has folded itself into dramatic sierras, and Uña clings to the edge of one such fold like an afterthought of civilisation.

At 1,150 metres above sea level, Uña operates on mountain time. Mornings start crisp, even in July; by midday the sun has real bite, but the air retains a clarity that makes the 30-kilometre drive from Cuenca city feel like entering another country. The CM-2104 winds through pine forests and past abandoned shepherd shelters, each bend revealing another sweep of the Serranía de Cuenca's fractured landscape. Winter access requires more nerve: snow tyres are advisable from December through March, and the road can close entirely during heavy falls.

The Village that Tourism Forgot (Almost)

Eighty-four permanent residents. That's fewer people than fit in a single London bus, yet Uña refuses the usual mountain-village narrative of decline. Stone houses with terracotta roofs line lanes barely wide enough for a Seat Ibiza, their wooden balconies bright with geraniums. Some properties stand shuttered, awaiting summer owners from Valencia or Madrid, but enough remain occupied year-round to sustain both a village shop and Bar El Rincón, where coffee costs €1.20 and locals discuss livestock prices over breakfast.

The architecture speaks of practical mountain living: thick stone walls insulate against summer heat and winter cold, while steep roofs shed snow. The 16th-century church of San Miguel occupies the highest point, its modest bell tower more functional than ornamental. From here, narrow paths radiate outward—some becoming proper hiking trails, others dwindling into shepherd tracks that disappear over the ridge.

What distinguishes Uña from better-known Cuenca destinations like the Ciudad Encantada (15 minutes by car) is its working reality. This isn't a museum piece but a place where farmers still drive sheep through the streets each autumn, following transhumance routes older than any map. The weekly rubbish collection happens Tuesday mornings; the mobile library visits fortnightly. Life proceeds at an altitude where even olive trees struggle, and the economy depends more on mountain goats than on weekend visitors.

Walking the Water's Edge

The Embalse de Uña transforms the village's setting from merely dramatic to genuinely special. Created in the 1950s to regulate the Cuervo River's flow, this 140-hectare reservoir sits cupped within limestone amphitheatres that rise 400 metres on three sides. The result is a microclimate: cooler summers than the surrounding sierras, milder winters, and morning mists that turn the water surface into polished steel.

A 7-kilometre circuit tracks the reservoir's northern shore, starting from the village's lower car park. The path requires proper footwear—sections become muddy after rain—but presents no technical challenges. Information boards (Spanish only) identify bird species: herons, kingfishers, and during migration periods, ospreys that pause here en journeys between Scandinavia and West Africa. The walk takes two hours at British hiking pace, longer if you succumb to the temptation of stopping at every bend for photographs.

More serious walkers can tackle the PR-CU 53, a 14-kilometre route that climbs from the reservoir to the Mojón del Trigo (1,482 metres) before descending through pine forests to Villalba de la Sierra. The ascent gains 650 metres—equivalent to climbing Ben Nevis from sea level, though here you're starting already high. Summer starts early enough that wild asparagus appears in April; by late October, the first snow can dust the higher peaks.

Mountain Food without the Fuss

Spanish mountain cooking tends toward the substantial, and Uña makes no concessions to delicate appetites or vegetarian preferences. At Bar El Rincón, the €12 menú del día might feature zarajos (lamb intestines wrapped on vine twigs), morteruelo (a pâté of game and pork liver), or gachas (a thick porridge of flour and paprika that sustained shepherds through winter). Portions assume you've spent the morning herding sheep rather than herding tourists.

The village shop stocks local cheese—Manchega from neighbouring flocks, naturally—and seasonal mushrooms when autumn rains cooperate. Wild boar appears on menus from October through January; the meat comes from animals hunted in the surrounding sierras, not farmed specimens. Wine arrives from Valdepeñas, 150 kilometres south, because mountain grapes ripen poorly at this altitude. The house red costs €2.50 a glass and tastes better after five kilometres of uphill walking.

When Silence Costs Extra

Accommodation options remain limited, which suits Uña's character but requires planning. The village offers two rental houses—Casa Rural El Embalse and Casa la Plaza—both converted from traditional stone buildings with modern heating essential for winter visits. Expect to pay €80-120 per night for two bedrooms, with weekly discounts outside August. Booking directly through the village website (Spanish only) saves commission but requires patience and preferably some language skills.

The nearest alternative lies five kilometres back toward Cuenca at the Hotel Spa El Rincón del Cierzo, where rooms start at €95 including breakfast. Their thermal circuit uses mountain spring water, welcome after serious hiking, though the hotel's restaurant lacks the village bar's authenticity. Camping is theoretically possible at the reservoir's eastern end, but facilities are minimal and summer weekends bring Spanish families whose late-night barbecues continue until 3 am.

The Honest Season

Uña works best from May through October, when daylight lasts long enough for proper walking and temperatures remain civilised. July and August bring Spanish holidaymakers; the village population swells to perhaps 400, cars line the narrow streets, and the reservoir echo with speedboats. September offers the sweet spot: warm days, cool nights, and mushroom season in full swing. The patron saint festivals of 14-16 August transform the place utterly—processions, brass bands, communal paella for 600 people. It's either magical or unbearable, depending on your tolerance for Spanish village life at full volume.

Winter carries genuine risks. Temperatures drop to -10°C, snow can isolate the village for days, and the reservoir path becomes treacherous. Yet the reward is absolute silence, broken only by vultures' wings and the occasional church bell. On clear January mornings, the view extends 50 kilometres across snow-dusted sierras toward the plains of La Mancha.

The road back to Cuenca descends through switchbacks that test clutch cables and nerves. Below, the reservoir shrinks until Uña itself becomes a cluster of terracotta dots against grey limestone. Most visitors pause at the first viewpoint for a final photograph, then drive on. The village returns to its mountain rhythms, existing quite happily at an altitude where mobile signals fade and the modern world feels like someone else's problem.