Castrillo del Val

The morning tractor rumbles past at 7:30 am sharp, headlights still on, driver raising two fingers from the steering wheel in the Spanish farmer's salute. From the village edge at 939 metres, the view drops away across wheat stubble to Burgos cathedral, 15 kilometres distant but visible on clear days as a sandstone spike on the horizon. This is Castrillo del Val's daily reality: close enough to city conveniences, stubbornly rural in rhythm.

Altitude and Attitude

Nine hundred metres changes everything. Summer nights drop to 14 °C even when Burgos swelters at 24 °C after dark, so pack a fleece for terrace drinks. Winter brings proper mountain weather: the 2022 cold snap hit –18 °C and snow drifted against stone doorways for three days. The village sits on a limestone shelf where the Meseta lifts into the Sierra de la Demanda; locals claim the air "weighs different" up here, thick enough to carry wood-smoke from October fireplaces halfway down Calle Real.

That altitude makes the light behave strangely. Photographers arrive for golden hour and find the sun already blazing at 8 am, then slipping behind the western ridge by 4 pm in December. Spring comes late—farmers plant two weeks after lower villages—and autumn lingers, painting the surrounding cereal plains the colour of burnt toast. It's this seasonal lag that draws British walkers in September and October: harvest colours without the Costa-style crowds, and temperatures that actually suit walking.

What Passes for Action

The daily soundtrack is agricultural. At 6 am the dairy unit on the southern edge starts milking; by 8 am someone is hammering copper pipe in the workshop opposite the church. Mid-morning brings the bread van, horn playing a two-note tune that hasn't changed since 1987. There's no supermarket, no cash machine, no petrol station—just the agricultural co-op selling overalls and tractor parts alongside tinned peaches. Stock up in Burgos before you ascend; the nearest shop is a 20-minute drive back towards the city.

The parish church of San Esteban Protomártir squats at the top of the village like a medieval bulldog. Built in stages between the 12th and 17th centuries, it shows its renovations: Romanesque walls thick enough to stop arrows, Baroque bell-tower added after lightning struck in 1734. Inside, the air smells of candle-wax and damp stone; look for the carved capital depicting a farmer treading grapes while a pig eats the leftovers—rare humour in Castilian religious art. The church opens for mass at 11 am Sundays; at other times ask in the bar and someone will find the key within ten minutes.

Below the church, Plaza Mayor still functions as outdoor living-room. Old men occupy the bench under the elm at 11 am sharp, leaving again at 1 pm for lunch. The stone column in the centre is a rollo jurisdiccional, a 16th-century symbol of the village's right to hold its own court. These pillars dot Castile; Castrillo's version is modest, waist-high, but locals touch it reflexively when passing, the way Londoners pat the nose of the Soho goat statue.

Walking Without the Crowds

Camino de Santiago leaflets sometimes list Castrillo del Val as a stage stop. They're fibbing. The main French Way stays stubbornly 5 kilometres north; diverting here adds 10 km to an already long day. What you do get are empty farm tracks that spider out across the cereal plain, perfect for half-day loops. The signed route to Cótar (7 km) follows an old drove road between wheat fields; skylarks rise like fireworks and the only shade is a single poplar plantation planted as a windbreak in 1968. Take water—there's nowhere to refill until the tiny bar in Cótar, which opens unpredictably.

For something stiffer, head south on the GR-82 towards the Sierra de la Demanda. The path climbs 400 metres in 4 km through holm-oak and juniper to a limestone ridge where griffon vultures cruise at eye level. On Wednesdays you can hear the rifle-snap of target practice from the Guardia Civil range in the valley; otherwise the silence is total. Turn around at the fuente del Mojón, a stone trough fed by a spring that never freezes. The round trip takes three hours—four if you stop to photograph every ruined cortijo.

Cyclists find rolling roads with negligible traffic. The loop east through Huérmeces and Villayerno Morquillas is 32 km with 450 metres of climbing, passing three villages where the bar opens only if the owner hears your brakes squeal. Road surfaces vary: freshly laid tarmac gives way abruptly to 3 km of potholes where winter frost has lifted the edges. A hybrid tyre is wiser than skinny racing rubber.

Food That Doesn't Mess About

Local restaurants assume you've walked all morning and need feeding, not fussing. Hotel Rural La Tenada serves a fixed lunch at 2 pm: roast lamb, chips and a jug of Ribera del Duero red for €16. Ask for solomillo if the famous Burgos black pudding sounds too adventurous; it's simply grilled pork loin, no surprises. Vegetarians get ensalada de la huerta—shredded lettuce, tomato and tinned tuna. This is not the place for dietary complexity.

Evenings follow Spanish timing: kitchens open at 8.30 pm earliest. The bar on Calle Real does raciones rather than tapas: a plate of patatas bravas could feed three. Order one dish at a time; portions arrive faster than you expect and leftovers are frowned upon. House wine comes in 500 ml carafes—roughly two large British glasses—and costs €4. Drink it even if it tastes like liquid Christmas pudding; asking for coffee with dinner marks you immediately as foreign.

When to Bother—and When Not

April delivers green wheat and nesting storks, but nights still touch 4 °C. May warms up and the village smells of broom and sheep-milk cheese; this is the sweet spot before Spanish schools break up. August is furnace-hot, yet the fiestas bring back every emigrant family: streets throb with peñas (party groups) until 5 am. If you need sleep, book elsewhere that week. September offers harvest activity combines rumbling in the fields, shortening days and temperatures that make walking comfortable in a T-shirt.

Winter is brutal but beautiful. Stone walls glint with frost, wood-smoke hangs in the valley and you might have the place to yourself—though some accommodation closes from November to March. Snow rarely settles more than 48 hours, yet the access road bends sharply on the final climb; carry chains if hire-car companies allow them.

Getting There, Getting Out

Burgos Airport has no UK flights, so fly Bilbao or Santander with Ryanair or EasyJet, then drive 90 minutes south on the A-1. Car hire is essential: public transport means a school-bus style service at 7 am and 2 pm, and Burgos taxis charge €35 for the 20-minute hop. If you're walking the Camino and fancy a detour, factor in an extra half-day plus the cost of a taxi back to the path—drivers are scarce on Sundays.

Leave room in the boot for wine. The co-op in nearby Villalbilla sells young Ribera reds at €3 a bottle that taste twice the price once they've breathed. Just remember the tractor will still be roaring at dawn tomorrow, whatever time you finally turn in.