Bonilla de la Sierra

The bells stop at sunset. Not gradually—one moment the bronze voice is rolling across granite walls, the next it is simply gone, leaving a hush so complete you can hear your own pulse in your ears. That is when visitors grasp what 1,077 m of altitude really means: not just thinner air, but a different speed of time.

Bonilla de la Sierra sits on the northern lip of the Sierra de Ávila, 170 km north-west of Madrid. From the capital it is an hour-and-fifty-minute dash up the A-6 and along the N-110; the last 20 minutes wriggle through wheat and broom before the walled nucleus suddenly appears on a spur of rock. What looks from the road like a modest fortified hamlet once hosted its own bishop, and the over-sized fifteenth-century Catedral de la Asunción still proclaims the fact. Inside the single nave the stone is bare, the roof timbers hand-blackened by five centuries of candle smoke. Arrive at the west door around seven on a summer evening and the sinking sun ignites the tower: the blocks turn honey-gold, then rose, then bruise-coloured before the light slips behind the sierra. It lasts eight minutes—no more—and you will probably have the spectacle to yourself.

A town you can walk in half an hour—if you don’t look up

The walled perimeter is only two-thirds complete; short stretches of crenellated wall and an occasional cube-shaped tower give just enough clues for the imagination to sketch the rest. Houses are built into the fabric, so front doors open directly onto what used to be the battlements. Cobbled lanes are barely a cart’s width; residents still stable a donkey or two in the ground-floor arches. Look up and you will spot timber balconies warped by winter frosts, iron hinges the size of dinner plates, and the odd coat of arms—some proud, some chipped beyond recognition. The whole circuit from the Puerto de la Villa round to the Puerta de Herreros takes twenty minutes, but allow forty: every lintel demands inspection and the sierra keeps shifting its backdrop.

Outside the walls the land falls away in folds of oak dehesa and cereal terraces. Footpaths strike out almost immediately: the PR-ÁV 11 follows the Corneja valley floor to Villaviciosa (6 km, flat), while a steeper way-marked loop climbs to the abandoned village of El Campillo and returns via stone-lavadero springs (11 km, 400 m ascent). Both are way-marked, yet the paint blinks out occasionally—download the free Wikiloc files before you set off. In May the meadows are neon-green and loud with skylarks; by mid-July the grass has burnt to parchment and the only shade is under holm-oaks where fighting bulls graze, motionless as statues.

What opens, what doesn’t, and when to give up

The cathedral keeps no fixed timetable. The key hangs in Bar Corrales on Plaza Mayor: ask for la llave, leave a €20 deposit, and you can let yourself in. Mass is Sunday at 11:00; if the bar is shut (Monday, or afternoon siesta) the building stays locked. The adjoining Palacio Episcopal is private—peer through the gateway at the austere granite block, but expect no interior access. Likewise the castle: its Romanesque keep is photogenic from every angle, yet the owner only unlocks it for the annual mediaeval fair on the last weekend of August. Turn up any other time and you will find a solid wooden door and a polite hand-written “Cerrado”.

Plan accordingly. Bonilla is a half-day stop if you simply want stone, silence and sunset photography. Stretch it to a full day by walking one valley circuit and lingering over lunch. Staying overnight brings star-scapes you rarely see at lower altitudes, but also the realisation that the village has two bars, one grocery shop, and zero evening entertainment after 21:00.

How to eat without surprises (unless you want them)

Both bars serve the same short mountain menu: chunky beef burger made from local avileña negra cattle, tortilla española the width of a tractor tyre, and lomo de la olla—slow-cooked pork shoulder that collapses at the touch of a fork. Winter Thursdays feature patatas revolconas, paprika-spiked mash topped with crisp pork fat; ask “sin torreznos” if you prefer it vegetarian, though the barman will look puzzled. House wine is a robust Tierra de Castilla tempranillo that costs €2.40 a glass and tastes better than many London pub bottles at £25. If you are self-catering, stock up in Ávila: the village shop opens 09:00–13:00, closes for siesta, and sells little beyond tinned tuna, UHT milk and detergent.

Practicalities your phone won’t tell you

Money: no ATM. The nearest cash point is 13 km south in Piedrahíta—drive there before lunch or you will be begging the barman to accept euros taped to your card receipt.

Access: park outside the walls (signed Aparcamiento) and walk. The streets are granite chunks polished to ice by six centuries; tyre sidewalls do not enjoy them.

Temperature: even in June the night mercury can dip to 7 °C. Bring a fleece for the sunset session and a wind-proof if you intend to hike—the breeze that funnels up the Corneja valley is sharper than you expect at 40° north.

Language: English is rarely heard. A smile and “¿Puede ayudarme?” unlocks directions faster than perfect subjunctives.

When to come, and when to stay away

May and late-September give clear skies, green pastures and daytime highs of 20 °C without the furnace heat of the Castilian plateau. Easter brings drifting bells and a small procession, but also coach parties from Ávila; arrive early if you want photographs without backsides in fluorescent anoraks. Winter has diamond-bright mornings and the sight of stone roofs furred with frost, but snow can block the final mountain stretch of the N-110—carry chains December-February. August is hot, dusty and, paradoxically, the liveliest month: the mediaeval fair fills the lanes with costumed knights, the castle opens for torch-lit tours, and the population swells to perhaps 600. Book accommodation early or you will be sleeping in the car park you so wisely used.

Sleep, if you decide the silence is addictive

There are no hotels within the walls. Two kilometres down the valley, the stone-built Posada de la Villa (doubles €70, breakfast €8) has wood-burners for winter and a pool for summer; redstarts nest under the eaves and the owner speaks fluent gesture. Closer, Casa Rural El Rincón de los Deseos occupies a converted barn inside the hamlet of Navarrevisca, 5 km away. Both places will direct you to stargazing spots where the Milky Way looks close enough to snag on the cathedral tower.

Exit strategy and the after-taste

Leave at dawn and the sierra glows pink behind you; the road drops through oak woods and suddenly the meseta opens out, flat and wheat-gold, as if Bonilla were a dream you have just woken from. You will not have bought souvenirs—there is no shop selling fridge magnets—yet the quiet may follow you all the way back to the M25. Some places impress with spectacle; others simply reset your internal volume control. Bonilla de la Sierra does the latter, and then refuses to turn the sound back up.