Mejorada

The church bell strikes seven and the sound ricochets across the valley, bouncing off oak-covered slopes that rise 548 metres above the Tagus plain. In Mejorada, dawn arrives with a metallic echo rather than a rooster’s crow, and the village’s 1,300 residents already know whether today will be a jacket morning or a shirtsleeves one simply by checking the mist clinging to the Sierra de San Vicente. At this altitude, weather changes fast: T-shirts at noon, fleece by five, and a starlit sky so clear that Madrid’s glow—70 kilometres east—remains a rumour.

Stone, Sweat and Silence

Mejorada spreads uphill like a spilled sack of building blocks, granite houses braced against the same rock they were quarried from. Narrow lanes twist past doorways still carved with the original owners’ initials and the date—1893, 1907, 1921—each lintel a quiet boast that this family endured drought, civil war and rural exodus. Walk slowly: the streets were designed for donkeys, not hatchbacks, and every second corner frames a view of dehesa woodland rolling north toward the Tiétar valley. On weekdays you may hear only a tractor gearbox and the click of walking sticks as two elderly señoras head to the bakery for the 11 o’clock barra. Come August fiestas, the same alleyways thump with orchestras and smell of gunpowder; book accommodation early or you’ll be driving back to Talavera at 2 a.m.

The parish church, whose tower serves as the local GPS, is an architectural layer cake: Romanesque apse, Gothic rib vault, Baroque bell-stage added after the 1755 Lisbon earthquake shook half the roof off. Step inside and the temperature drops five degrees; the granite holds winter cold well into June. Restoration work in 2019 stabilised the tower but left builders’ scaffolding tags dangling like urban Christmas decorations—proof that conservation here is ongoing, not museum-perfect.

Walking Tracks that Reward the Winded

Leave the village by the cement track signed “Ermita 3 km” and within ten minutes the asphalt gives way to a traditional cattle path wide enough for one robust cow. Holm oaks close overhead, their acorns crunching underfoot; look for wild asparagus sprouting beside the trail in April. The route climbs gently to the abandoned hermitage of Nuestra Señora de la Paz, elevation 720 m, where someone has bolted a picnic table to the terrace. From the edge you can see the Tagus River glinting silver 15 kilometres south and, on very clear spring evenings, the snow stripe across the Gredos peaks 80 kilometres west. Allow 90 minutes up, 45 down—longer if you stop to photograph every granite outcrop that looks like a sleeping dragon.

Rain changes everything. Clay sections turn to chocolate mousse; if the forecast shows storms, stick to the gravel loop that circles the village reservoir (5 km, flat, dog-friendly). Mountain-bike tyres are welcome, but riders should pack spare tubes—thorns from the abundant rockrose are needle-sharp.

A Menu that Knows the Season

Forget tasting menus; Mejorada’s gastronomy is written on a chalkboard that changes with the hunting calendar. October brings red-legged partridge stewed with bay leaves and a splash of local tempranillo. By December the same wine appears in a hare stew thick enough to stand a spoon in. The one constant is the wood-fired oven at Casa Nani on Calle Real: Thursday is migas day—breadcrumbs fried with chorizo, grapes and a whisper of cumin—£9 for a plate that defeats most appetites. Vegetarians survive on revueltos (scrambled eggs with wild mushrooms) and the town’s single pizza oven, open only weekends.

Coffee culture stops at 12:30 sharp; the machine is switched off so the owner can prepare lunch. Ask for a cortado after dessert and you’ll be directed to the vending machine at the petrol station on the main road. This is not rudeness, simply scheduling.

Getting There, Staying Warm

From Madrid, take the A-5 to Talavera de la Reina (exit 104), then the CM-4100 north for 26 kilometres. The final 6 kilometres snake uphill; fog can drop visibility to 30 metres between November and March, so carry chains if snow is forecast. There is no railway, and the weekday bus from Toledo arrives at 14:15, returning at 17:45—tight timing for a day trip, perfect for an overnight.

Accommodation is limited to four guesthouses, all within 200 metres of the church. The newest, Villa San Vicente, has underfloor heating and double-glazing—worth the extra £20 when night-time temperatures dip below zero. Book by phone; websites exist but response times are leisurely. Camping is tolerated beside the reservoir in summer, though facilities are nil and the Guardia Civil may move you on if wildfire risk is high.

When the Party Starts, the Village Doubles

Patronal fiestas begin the third weekend of August: three days of open-air dancing, amateur bull-running and a paella that feeds half the province. Population swells to 3,000; cars park two-deep along the CM-4100 and walking becomes quicker than driving. Earplugs recommended if your room fronts the plaza; bands play until 05:00 and no one apologises. On 17 January, the feast of San Antón turns the main street into a petting zoo—horses, greyhounds and one bemused beagle receive a priest’s blessing while owners share anise liqueur from tin cups. These are the moments when Mejorada feels anything but abandoned.

Yet depart in late February and you might share the entire viewpoint with a single griffon vulture. The silence is so complete you can hear your own pulse, and the village below looks like a handful of dice thrown onto a green baize. That contrast—riotous August, whisper-quiet winter—is what keeps the faithful returning. Bring layers, sturdy boots and a tolerance for erratic opening hours; Mejorada offers no souvenir fridge magnets, only the certainty that the bell will ring again at eight, and the mountains will answer.