Cañamares

The first thing you notice is the quiet. Not the hushed, reverent silence of a cathedral, but the practical absence of anything much happening. A tractor idles by the single grocery shop. Two elderly men discuss the price of diesel without moving their hands. Somewhere behind the stone houses, a dog barks once, then thinks better of it. Cañamares, population 582, sits at 950 metres on a shelf above the Río Escabas and makes no effort to impress anyone. That, unexpectedly, is what makes it interesting.

The yellow season

Between late November and February the fields along the lane to Beteta glow as if someone has switched on a low-wattage bulb. This is the Ruta de Mimbre, a 25-mile chain of pollarded willow groves that British over-winterers have started calling “the Spanish pussy-willow spectacle”. After the annual prune the stumps sprout fine stems that turn chromium yellow in the frost. Photographers arrive with thermos flasks and leave without having spent a euro; there is no ticket office, no coach park, no explanatory panel. The only sound is the click of camera shutters and the soft knock of wood on wood as a local farmer gathers kindling for his stove.

River, gorge and what passes for a beach

Five minutes downhill from the church plaza the tarmac stops and a grassy bank opens up beside the Escabas. Villagers call it “la playa de Cañamares” out of habit rather than accuracy. The river is too shallow for swimming and the stones are fist-sized, but on a hot afternoon the poplars throw decent shade and the water is clean enough to soak tired feet. Three kilometres east the river has sawn a limestone gorge, the Cañón de Escabas, whose walls rise 150 metres and echo with bee-eaters in May. A circular walking route – 12 km, moderate, no shade – links the village to the canyon rim and back along an old mule track. Start early; the sun is merciless by eleven, and the only bar en route opens when the owner wakes up.

Eating without ceremony

Hotel Río Escabas, the low white building by the bridge, serves a weekday menú del día for €14. Expect roast lamb that collapses at the touch of a fork, or trout that was swimming the same morning. Portions are large; ask for media ración if you prefer British-sized plates. Vegetarians get a baked-pepper paella that tastes faintly of wood smoke. Across the square the grocery shop stocks Manchego at half the airport price and jars of rosemary honey that will set off a luggage scanner if you try to bring more than three home. Sunday lunch requires forward planning: everything shuts at 14:30 sharp and nothing reopens until Monday.

How to arrive, how to leave

There is no railway, no taxi rank and no petrol station. The nearest bus stop is in Uña, 12 km away, served by one school service that leaves at 07:20 and returns at 14:00. Driving from Madrid takes two hours on the A-3 and CM-210; the final 20 km wriggle through pine plantations where wild boar wander at dusk. Fill the tank in Tarancón – once the road climbs above 800 metres services vanish. Mobile coverage is patchy; download offline maps before you set off. In winter the CM-210 is gritted but still collects snow; carry chains if you plan to stay up high after November.

What you will not find

Gift shops. Guided tours. A cash machine that works on Sundays. Summer nightlife beyond the occasional outdoor dominoes championship. Cañamares does not do “experiences”; it offers space. On a clear night the Milky Way is bright enough to cast shadows, and the loudest noise is the grunt of a badger overturning stones by the river. If you need constant stimulation, book Cuenca city instead – 45 minutes north-east and buzzing with tapas trails and abstract-art museums. Use Cañamares as the counterweight: walk, read, sleep, repeat.

When to come, when to stay away

April–May and mid-September to late October give warm days, cool nights and thyme-scented air. Spring brings orchids to the gorge rim; autumn brings saffron-coloured beech woods on the northern slopes. August is hot, dry and motionless; the village fiestas (second weekend) double the population, fill the single guesthouse and pump traditional dancing through loudspeakers until 03:00. If you crave silence, avoid those three days. Deep winter can be spectacular – snow on the willow stumps, eagles over the escarpment – but daylight lasts eight hours and the hotel bar closes early when trade is thin.

One foot in the sierra

Cañamares functions as a low-key base for the Serranía de Cuenca without the weekend crowds of Uña or the coach parties of Ciudad Encantada. From the top edge of the village a spider-web of unmarked tracks leads into pine and juniper forest. A gentle 90-minute loop climbs to the ruins of a Civil War lookout post with views west across the Meseta; longer routes link to the lagunas de Cañada del Hoyo, crater lakes 15 km south where black-necked grebes nest in May. None of the paths are way-marked to British standards – carry the 1:50,000 Serranía de Cuenca map and expect to back-track at least once.

The bottom line

There are prettier villages in Spain, and there are certainly livelier ones. Cañamares trades postcard perfection for something harder to bottle: the sense that daily life continues with or without visitors. Come if you want to walk without meeting anyone, to eat lamb without a side order of flamenco, to watch a river change colour as the sun drops behind a limestone ridge. Leave early on Sunday if you need cash, coffee or a train ticket – the village will be shutting its doors and switching off its lights, perfectly content to spend the rest of the week talking to itself.