Palazuelos De La Sierra

At 1,050 metres, the morning air carries resin and woodsmoke rather than the usual Spanish scent of orange blossom. Palazuelos de la Sierra wakes slowly; shutters creak back, a dog barks once, and the first tractor coughs into life somewhere below the pine ridge. There are no church bells yet—San Esteban’s tower lost its bell in 1936 and nobody has quite got round to replacing it—so the village keeps its own quiet rhythm.

Stone, Timber and Silence

The settlement fits into its valley like a cork in a bottle. Granite houses, two storeys high, shoulder right up to the single road that threads through. Balconies of weather-silvered pine jut overhead; in winter their joists creak under snow load, in summer they throw shade thick enough to keep butter solid. Look up and you’ll notice the slate roofs are pinned with fist-sized stones—insurance against the cierzo wind that can howl down from the Demanda crest at 80 km/h.

There is no centre as such, just a widening where the bar, the frontón wall and the church create a pocket of communal space. The bar opens when the owner arrives, usually around ten, occasionally closer to twelve. Coffee is €1.20, wine €1.50, payment goes in the cigar box on the counter. Mobile signal dies halfway through the first cortado; WhatsApp addicts head for the bench outside the ayuntamiento where one sporadic 4G bar drifts in.

Walking the High Woods

Palazuelos is less a destination than a basecamp for the surrounding pine and beech forest. Waymarks—yellow and white stripes painted by the regional park—start at the last streetlamp. Within fifteen minutes the village is invisible and the only sound is the Arlanza river pushing over polished stones. Choose elevation and you’ll reach the Collado de las Lomas (1,480 m) in ninety minutes; the reward is a saw-edge horizon that feels more Tyrol than Castile. Prefer distance over height? Follow the river upstream four kilometres to Fuente Sanza, the official birth of the Arlanza, where water simply appears from beneath a sandstone lip.

Autumn brings mushroomers wielding curved knives and wicker baskets. níscalos (saffron milk-caps) hide under pine needles from mid-October; permits cost €6.50 and can be printed online—wardens do check. After heavy snowfall the same tracks convert to gentle cross-country ski circuits; snow-shoes can be rented in Salas de los Infantes (25 min drive) for €18 a day. The nearest alpine resort, Valdezcaray, is 45 minutes away but day-trippers often bunk down here to avoid La Rioja’s hotel premiums.

Empty Hamlets and a Rock-Cut Chapel

A rewarding half-day circuit heads east to Castrovido, a settlement abandoned gradually through the 1970s. Roofs have collapsed but stone walls still outline kitchens and stables; fig trees gone wild push through living-room floors. Just beyond, the Ermita de la Virgen del Castillo is scooped into a sandstone cliff. The interior is candle-blackened, the altar roughly hewn; if the door is locked (it usually is), the key hangs on a nail inside the porch of the last inhabited farmhouse—ask rather than take. Sunset here arrives early; the rock face to the west throws long shadows that make the temperature drop ten degrees in as many minutes—pack an extra layer even in July.

Roast Lamb and Red that Doesn’t Shout

Food is dictated by altitude and thermometer. Winter means cocido montañés, a white-bean and pork stew thick enough to hold a spoon upright; summer swaps beans for trout, lifted the same dawn from the Arlanza and simply grilled with jamón serrano strips. The local pride is lechazo—milk-fed lamb roasted in a wood-fired clay oven at 220 °C for ninety minutes. The meat arrives bronzed, subcutaneous fat crisped into an almost pork-crackling sheet. Ask for poco hecho if you prefer it pink; most Castilian kitchens default to well-done. Wines are local Ribera del Duero rather than better-known Rioja; Cepa 21 or Pagos de Anguix offer claret-like restraint without the Bordeaux price tag. Vegetarians face limited choice—setas a la plancha (grilled seasonal mushrooms) and little else—so consider self-catering one meal.

There is no restaurant inside the village. The nearest table is in Barcina, twelve kilometres down a switch-back road; book a taxi for the return trip before 22:00 or you’ll sleep in the dining room. Better value is to reserve half-board at one of the four village houses turned into casas rurales; expect €70–€90 per night including breakfast and a three-course dinner with wine.

When to Come, When to Stay Away

April–June and September–early November give crisp dawns and 20 °C afternoons; wildflowers or autumn colour are bonuses. July and August turn surprisingly warm—nights hover around 24 °C—yet the village empties as locals head to coastal second homes; the bar may shut for a fortnight without warning. Deep winter is magnificent if you drive a car with winter tyres; otherwise the final 8 km of the N-234 can ice over and chains become compulsory. Easter brings Spanish families and a cheerful, chaotic atmosphere; if you want silence, avoid that week.

Getting Here, Getting Out

Palazuelos lies 60 km south-east of Burgos along the N-234 (Soria road). The closest scheduled flights land at Santander (Ryanair from Stansted or Manchester, 1 h 30 min drive) or Bilbao (Vueling/easyJet from Bristol/Birmingham, 2 h). Car hire is essential—there is no bus, and the nearest railway station is 45 km away in Aranda de Duero. Fill the tank before you leave the motorway; the mountain stretch drinks fuel and the village has neither garage nor card-operated pump. Stock up on groceries in Aranda—bread, milk, fresh vegetables—because Palazuelos sells nothing except firewood via an honesty box.

Leave space in the boot for the return journey; local honey, queso de Burgos (a spreadable ewe’s milk cheese akin to mild ricotta) and a couple of bottles of Ribera del Duero travel well and weigh far less than pottery souvenirs. Most visitors stay two nights, stretch it to three and you’ll notice the village clock runs slightly slow—intentionally, locals claim, to make time last a little longer.