Huérguina

The snow arrives overnight and the village loudspeaker crackles at dawn: the road to Cuenca is closed again. Nobody in Huerguina is surprised. At 1,100 m the Passat wind that scours the Serranía Baja turns puddles to ice in minutes, and the weekly bus from the provincial capital often finishes its journey on a tow-truck. This is the price of living above the tree line where the pine forest finally thins and the plateau tips into gorge country. For visitors it means arriving prepared—or not at all.

Stone, slope and silence

Fifty-odd inhabitants, two streets, one church and no shops: the statistics read like a typo. Yet the village survives because the houses are built from the same limestone they stand on, roofs weighted with handmade Arabic tiles that have shrugged off a century of storms. Granite doorframes sit slightly askew, following the tilt of the hillside, and every threshold is raised a hand-width against the draught that rolls down the valley at sunset. Huerguina was never meant to be “pretty”; it was meant to last.

Walk uphill from the stone trough that serves as a village square and the lane turns into a track within 200 m. Keep going and you reach the fire-road that rings the pine plantation—an hour’s brisk circuit with views across three provinces. The Cuenca ranges fold westwards like corrugated iron, their oak scrub black against the winter grass. On weekdays the only sound is the windmill groan of a distant generator; at weekends a single tractor may appear, towing a trailer of freshly cut holm-oak for charcoal.

Maps, mushrooms and the missing bar

Huerguina offers no way-marked trails, no information office, no credit-card machine. What it does offer is 360° of public forest laced with livestock paths wide enough for two mules. Download the IGN 1:25,000 sheet (MTN50-958) before you leave Britain; phone coverage is patchy once the land drops away to the north. From the church door it’s 4 km south to the ruined farm of El Campillo, 6 km east to the spring at Fuente la Orden, and 9 km west to the honey-coloured hamlet of Valdecabras—each walk ending at a different altitude and therefore a different micro-climate. Spring brings almond blossom at 800 m while the upper slopes are still flecked with snow; by late May the same gradient produces wild peony and the first sting of summer heat.

October is mushroom month. Locals set out at sunrise with wicker baskets and the assured stride of people who learnt their fungi at primary school. níscalos (saffron milk-caps) hide under the pine needles; setas de cardo sprout in the cattle-trampled clearings. British foragers should bring a Spanish field guide—Latin names differ—and remember the regional limit of 3 kg per person per day. The Guardia Civil patrol the forest tracks and fines start at €300 for over-picking or knife-scored stems.

Night skies and winter fuel

Darkness falls fast after 6 pm from November to February. Light pollution is negligible: the Milky Way appears as a smudge of chalk across black glass, and on moonless nights the village street-lamps are switched off to save the council €42 a month. Astro-photographers can set up tripods in the square; the stone walls act as natural wind-breaks, though temperatures drop to –8 °C so bring spare batteries and a flask of something hot. Guest-house owners will lend thick blankets but not telescope adapters—pack your own.

Snow shuts the village two or three times each winter. When the forecast drops below –5 °C the petrol generator in the barrio alto kicks in, pumping just enough current to keep freezers running. Visitors staying in self-catering cottages are advised to fill the car tank at Villalba de la Sierra (18 km) and buy groceries early: the nearest supermarket that stays open in a blizzard is 45 km away in Cuenca.

Where to sleep and how to pay

Accommodation is limited to three private houses registered as casas rurales. Casa Pajarero sleeps four, has under-floor heating and charges €90 a night with a two-night minimum. Casa de la Tía Gregoria is smaller—one double room, wood-burning stove, outdoor compost toilet—and costs €55. Neither takes cards; bank transfer in advance or cash on arrival. The owners live in Cuenca and will meet you at the agreed time or leave a key under the rosemary pot: punctuality matters because mobile reception dies 3 km out of town.

There is no hotel, no hostel, no camping permitted within the village boundary. Wild camping is tolerated above the tree line if you pack out all waste, but camp-fires are banned April–October and offenders face on-the-spot fines of €2,000. Better to ask a farmer for permission to pitch near a water trough; payment is usually a bottle of decent whisky or €10 left under a stone.

Food you will—and won’t—find

Daily menus do not exist. The village bar opens on Friday evening and Saturday lunch only; beer is €1.50, coffee €1, and the tapa is whatever Antonio’s wife has fried that morning—often migas (fried breadcrumbs with garlic and chorizo) or torreznos (crisp pork belly). Turn up on a Tuesday and you will find the shutters down. Bring supplies, or drive 25 minutes to Priego where Mesón la Cerca serves roast lamb for €14 and will fill a Thermos with ajo arriero (salt-cod and garlic purée) if you ask politely.

Regional specialities worth hunting down: queso de oveja cured in ash, gazpacho pastor (game stew thickened with bread), and miel de romero (rosemary honey) sold from an honesty box at the roadside in 500 g jars for €6. British visitors sometimes miss the saltiness of the cheese—ask for curado rather than tierno if you prefer stronger flavour.

Leaving without a scratch

Departure times depend on the weather forecast, not the body-clock. If snow is predicted the asphalt access road (CM-2106) is gritted once, at dawn, and then left to nature. A front-wheel-drive car with winter tyres is adequate; summer tyres and a hire-car sticker mark you as the day’s roadside entertainment for passing shepherds. Chains are compulsory above 1,000 m when the red warning flashes—buy them in Cuenca, not at the village petrol pump which closed in 2008.

Book return trains from Cuenca after 4 pm to allow for delays. The 09:45 morning service to Madrid takes 55 minutes on the AVE, but missing it means a five-hour wait for the next slow train. A sensible itinerary is two full days in the village, one buffer night in Cuenca’s old town, and an early train out. That way the snow can close the pass, the bus can break down, and you still catch the flight home—probably with a jar of rosemary honey in your luggage and the smell of wood-smoke in your coat.