Villasayas

At 1,050 metres above sea level, Villasayas sits high enough for the air to feel thinner, sharper. Dawn breaks over cereal stubble and scattered juniper woods; the only sound is a tractor coughing to life somewhere beyond the stone houses. Sixty residents, maybe seventy if the children are back for holidays, live in a settlement that never needed a traffic light and probably never will.

Stone, Adobe, and the Gaps Between

The village plan grew the way most meseta hamlets did: someone built beside the spring, someone else added a house uphill, and the church bell tower ended up the tallest thing around. Parish records say the tower got its present shape in the sixteenth century after an earlier Romanesque apse began to crack; the patchwork of masonry and brick is still visible if you walk the short climb to the plaza. Heavy wooden doors, many dating from the nineteenth century, stand half-open to reveal cobbled courtyards where chickens wander. Not every dwelling has survived—gaps between houses show where roofs have collapsed, leaving party walls exposed like open books. The effect is more honest than a heritage brochure: you read depopulation at a glance.

Walking takes twenty minutes, thirty if you pause to photograph the way afternoon light strikes an adobe gable. Junipers give off resin in the warmth; swallows stitch the sky above the bell tower. There is no ticket office, no audio guide, just the small interpretive panel the regional government bolted to the church wall in 2019. Even that is already sun-bleached.

Tracks for Legs, Not for Apps

Villagers still use the old drove road that leaves the upper end of town, crosses the Arroyo del Canto, and continues 8 km to the ruined hamlet of Velilla de la Sierra. The path is drivable in dry weather but more pleasant on foot; elevation gain is gentle, no more than 150 m, and the reward is a picnic spot among roofless stone houses where orchards have gone wild. If you fancy a longer outing, continue another 6 km to the Roman bridge at Alcolea de la Torre—round trip from Villasayas is 16 km, feasible in a day if you start early and carry water, because there is none en route.

Winter changes the arithmetic. The same track can lie under blown snow from December through February; locals fit their cars with chains just to reach the main road. Even in April you may find the odd north-facing drift. Come prepared, or wait for May when the stone walls are bright with poppies and the cereal fields turn luminous green.

What Passes for Nightlife

Evenings revolve around temperature. In July the mercury can still touch 30 °C at seven o’clock; by ten it has fallen to 18 °C and villagers emerge onto folding chairs beside their doorways. Conversation drifts across the narrow lanes; someone brings out a guitar, another opens a bottle of Ribera del Duero bought earlier in Almazán. Tourists are noticed but not fussed over—say “buenas” first and you’ll get a nod, maybe directions to the best place for star-gazing. Light pollution is minimal; the Milky Way appears as a distinct river, not a faint suggestion. Take a jacket even in midsummer; the altitude makes for chilly breezes after midnight.

Eating: Bring a Cooler or Drive

There is no shop, no bar, no petrol pump. The last grocery closed in 2008 when the owners retired to Soria; the premises now store hay bales. Self-caterers should stock up in Almazán, seventeen minutes north on the SO-818. The supermarket there (Mercadona, opens 09:00–21:30) sells local morcilla de Burgos and a decent selection of Soria’s own goat cheeses. If you would rather be cooked for, head to Asador Alameda in Almazán for lechazo (milk-fed lamb) at €26 per quarter, or try the weekday menú del día (€14) at Mesón del Cid, where portions are large enough to skip supper.

Picnickers can use the stone tables beside the village playground; the ayuntamiento installed a tap that draws from the municipal spring, safe to drink and cold enough to numb your hand. Bin your litter—collection lorry visits Tuesdays only.

When to Come, When to Stay Away

May and late September offer the kindest light, the least brutal temperatures, and fields that are either emerald green or stubble gold. Birdlife is active then: you’ll hear calandra lark song overhead and, if you’re lucky, spot a red kite planing along the thermals. Spring can deliver a week of showers; pack waterproof boots, because the clay soil sticks like glue.

August fiestas (around the 24th, date confirmed each year on the village Facebook page) double the population for forty-eight hours. Visitors sleep in cousins’ spare rooms or pitch tents behind houses; music from the frontón goes on until four. It’s the liveliest window, but also the noisiest—those seeking meseta silence should avoid it.

January tests resolve. Night frosts routinely reach –10 °C; pipes freeze inside occupied houses. Unless you crave the austerity of empty Spain in mid-winter, delay your trip.

Getting Here Without Tears

Public transport stops at Almazán. From Madrid-Barajas, rent a car and take the A-2 east, then the N-111 north; total driving time is 1 h 45 min, toll-free. Zaragoza airport is closer (1 h 15 min) but flight choice is slimmer—Ryanair from London-Stansted three times a week in summer. Fuel up before you leave the motorway; the last services are at Calatayud, after that it’s 90 km of empty road. Phone coverage is patchy between villages; download offline maps.

Parking in Villasayas is wherever you find a gap against a wall. Do not block farm gates; tractors need width and owners have little patience.

A Final Reading of the Landscape

Leave the car, walk past the last house, and keep going south. After ten minutes the hamlet is a dark smudge behind you; the land opens into one of those wide horizons Antonio Machado praised in his Soria poems. Nothing moves except a distant harrow raising dust. Turn around: the bell tower still shows, a fixed point amid grain and sky. Villasayas offers no souvenir shop, no Michelin mention, not even a café con leche. What it does provide is that rare sense of scale where human settlement feels small, provisional, and entirely dependent on the weather. Take it or leave it—the village will still be there when the tractors start again at sunrise.