Arevalillo

The single-track road from Piedrahíta rises so fast that ears pop before the stone houses come into view. At 1,142 m, Arevalillo sits level with the summit of Ben Nevis, yet the view is of sun-bleached oaks and slate roofs rather than whisky-coloured lochs. Winter arrives here earlier than in Madrid, 170 km south, and lingers longer; locals still judge a car by whether it can start on a February morning without a heater.

Fifty-eight residents are listed on the padron, the municipal roll, but dogs and cattle outnumber them. The animals roam the dehesa that rings the village—open woodland where holm oaks have been pollarded since the Middle Ages to feed both pigs and the charcoal trade. Their acorns fatten the local Avileña beef cattle whose meat ends up on plates in Segovia and Salamanca; the village itself has no shop, bar or restaurant, so visitors need to bring supplies or drive twenty minutes to Barco de Ávila for bread and wine.

Stone walls the colour of weathered parchment squeeze the streets into narrow chutes. Most houses keep the original layout: stable and hayloft on the ground floor, living quarters above, chimney protruding like a periscope through the roof. Granite lintels still carry the date of construction—1789 on one doorway, 1834 on another—along with the mason’s mark, a practice English builders abandoned with the Tudors. The church, dedicated to San Pedro, has no great art treasures; its value lies in the silence inside and the stone bell-cote that has withstood Gredos gales since the 16th century. Step in during late afternoon and the only sound is the creak of cedar wood as the door shuts behind you.

Walk south along the unpaved camino that leaves the upper edge of the village and within ten minutes the last house is behind you. The path follows an old drove-road once used to move merino sheep between summer and winter pastures; today it serves weekend hikers and the occasional shepherd on a quad bike. After 4 km the track tops a ridge at 1,350 m; from here, on days when the sierra is not wrapped in cloud, the granite wall of the Gredos circo shows its teeth 15 km away. There is no signpost, no picnic table, no mobile signal—just wind, thyme and the odd vulture sliding overhead.

Spring comes late and fast. Snow can fall in April, yet by mid-May the pastures turn an almost Irish green and the oak leaves are the size of a two-euro coin. This is the season for orchids—locals will point out Anacamptis pyramidalis growing beside the path without realising that British botanists pay good money to see the same plant in Kent. Nights remain cold; if you have rented one of the three village houses that take paying guests, light the wood stove that the owner has considerately stacked with oak logs. Expect to pay €90–€120 a night for a two-bedroom cottage; heating is extra in winter, and hot water comes from a solar panel that works best when the sun actually shines.

Summer brings relief from the frying temperatures of the Spanish plateau. At 30 °C in the valley, Arevalillo sits at a breathable 25 °C, dropping to 12 °C after midnight. July is the month of fiestas: the patronal weekend begins with a Saturday-evening mass followed by a communal paella cooked in a pan wide enough to bathe a toddler. Visitors are welcome to join the queue, but bring your own plate and cutlery—council budgets do not stretch to disposable crockery. Fireworks are modest; the real spectacle is the number of fourth-generation emigrants who drive up from Madrid in cars still bearing German or Swiss stickers from the return journey.

Autumn is mushroom time. The regional government publishes an online map showing where picking is permitted, but in practice anyone with a basket and a knife may wander the public forest. Boletus edulis appears after the first September rains; local restaurants in Barco will cook your harvest for a corkage fee of €6 if you book ahead. Be certain of your identification: the hospital in Ávila keeps a stock of antidotes for the two species of amanita that share the same woodland.

Access has improved, though “improved” is relative. The AV-910 from the N-110 is now tarmacked all the way, but it is still a single lane with passing places. In winter the last 3 km are often gritted only after the local farmer has attached his home-made snow-plough to a 30-year-old tractor. Coaches cannot enter the village; the turning circle outside the church will accommodate a Ford Focus provided the driver is prepared to perform a seven-point manoeuvre. The nearest railway station is in Ávila, 65 km south; car hire is essential unless you fancy the twice-weekly bus that links Piedrahíta with Barco and is frequently cancelled when the driver is sick.

Mobile coverage is patchy. Vodafone reaches the upper square, Movistar users need to stand on the picnic table outside the church, and O2 customers are advised to climb the ridge. Fibre-optic cable arrived in 2022, yet the connection still drops when the router overheats at midday. Treat this as a feature rather than a flaw: Arevalillo works best as a detox from notifications.

Leave the village before November if you dislike solitude. By December half the houses are shuttered, their owners having migrated to warmer flats in Arenas de San Pedro. Snow can cut the road for days; bread arrives by 4×4 when the driver feels like making the trip. On the other hand, the night sky at this altitude is dark-sky-park quality—Orion seems close enough to snag your sleeve, and the Milky Way casts a shadow on fresh snow.

Come prepared, come with provisions, and come without a tick-list of sights. Arevalillo offers altitude, silence and the slow-motion version of Spain that package brochures never mention. If that sounds like work rather than holiday, the turn-off to the motorway is only forty minutes away.