Narrillos del Álamo

The morning bus from Barco de Ávila wheezes to a halt on a ridge that feels closer to sky than soil. Passengers step down onto bare granite; there is no shelter, no shop, no mobile signal worth the name. Below, the village of Narrillos del Álamo spills down a south-facing slope like loose slate shaken from a giant’s pocket. At 1,100 m above sea level the air is thin enough to make London lungs notice the difference, and the silence is so complete that a blackbird’s wingbeat sounds theatrical.

Granite, Slate and the Art of Doing Very Little

Fifty-six residents are on the municipal roll, though on weekdays the place can feel closer to twenty. Houses are built from what the ground offers: chunky granite blocks below, splinters of dark slate above. Timber balconies sag politely; stable doors stand ajar, revealing straw still in situ from the last animal that used them. There is no boutique restoration, no “shabby-chic” paintwork, no gift shop. If you want a souvenir you will have to pocket a shard of quartz and admit defeat.

The single street, Calle Real, takes six minutes to walk from end to end. Halfway down, the late-Romanesque church of San Andrés anchors the only paved square. Its tower is square, blunt and useful: inside, the bells still mark the quarters for field workers on distant allotments. Sunday mass at eleven draws a congregation that overflows onto the porch; visitors who slide in at the back will be nudged forward for communion bread as a matter of course. Nobody checks credentials.

Tracks that Remember Sheep

Paths leave the village in four directions, all following medieval drove roads whose ruts are polished by centuries of hoof. The easiest loop heads west along the Camino de Las Crucetas, a grassy lane that contours above the Alberche gorge. After forty-five minutes the track passes a stone cross erected in 1611 to scare off wolves; from here the view opens west to the snowcaps of the Sierra de Gredos, 35 km away but looking close enough to touch. Map apps rarely mark the route correctly: download the free IGN 1:25,000 sheet beforehand or simply trust the granite waymarks every 200 m.

For something stiffer, continue north-east to the abandoned hamlet of Navalosa Viejo (three hours round trip, 400 m total ascent). The payoff is a picnic table fashioned from an olive press and a spring that runs even in August. Boots are sensible: the path crosses slate scree that slices through city trainers with vindictive ease.

When Winter Closes the Door

Between December and March the road from the valley is kept open only when snowploughs feel charitable. Blizzards can arrive in twenty minutes; locals keep a month of firewood stacked against the north wall of every house. If you visit in February expect bright sun, zero degrees at midday and the odd morning when front doors are reached by climbing out of upstairs windows. Chains or 4×4 are compulsory after 900 m: the Guardia Civil turn cars back without discussion. Spring, by contrast, is explosive; by late April the surrounding grassland is knee-high with wild garlic and the first bee-eaters arrive from Africa like flying rainbows.

Eating Without a Restaurant

Narrillos has no bar, no bakery, no cash machine. The last grocery closed when its proprietor turned ninety-three. Self-catering is therefore mandatory, but not bleak: the Thursday market in nearby Piedrahíta (12 km, 20 min by the 09:15 bus) sells chorizo from Cebreros, beef from Avileña-Negra cattle that graze above 1,200 m, and jars of white beans the size of conkers. Bring a lighter: village kitchens run on butane bottles that need lighting with a flame. If you crave a chair and a menu, drive 25 minutes to El Hórreo in Puerto Castilla, where a three-course comida del día costs €14 and includes a half-bottle of local verdejo.

August Pop-Up Life

For eleven months the primary school stands padlocked and the fronton court hosts only pigeons. Then August arrives. Emigrants return from Madrid, Barcelona, even Bradford; the population quadruples overnight. The fiestas begin on the 15th with a procession behind a brass band that has not tuned its instruments since the previous year. At night the plaza fills with trestle tables; neighbours haul cauldrons of caldereta (mutton stew) from domestic hearths and charge €3 a bowl to fund next year’s fireworks. Dancing starts at midnight and ends when the sun rises over the cereal terraces. If you want to join in, bring your own wine glass—plastic, ideally, because the ground is granite and unforgiving.

Getting Up and Getting Away

No British airline flies direct to Ávila. The least painful route is Madrid-Barajas, then a hire car north-west on the A-6 and AP-51; turn off at junction 108 for the AV-931, a switchback that gains 600 m in 14 km and will test clutch cables. Public transport exists but demands stoicism: one daily coach leaves Madrid’s Estación Sur at 07:30, reaching Barco de Ávila at 10:10; the local minibus to Narrillos departs at 10:30 on schooldays only. Miss it and the next is Tuesday.

Accommodation is limited to three self-catering cottages booked through the regional tourism board; expect €70 a night for two people, firewood included. Hot water is solar-boosted, so cloudy days mean quicker showers. Phone reception on the Vodafone network dies 2 km outside the village; Movistar and Orange cling on in the square if you stand on the church steps and face south-east.

Leave the Ordnance Survey mindset at home: signposts are absent by policy rather than neglect, and the OS-style “right to roam” does not exist. Farmers tolerate walkers who close gates and keep dogs leashed; bulls graze the high pastures from June to October and are faster than they look. Take a waterproof even in July—Atlantic weather slips across the plateau without warning and can drench a ridge while the village basks in sun.

Narrillos del Álamo will not change your life. It offers no epiphany, no Instagram splash, no cocktail list. What it does provide is a yardstick: a place where time is still measured in firewood stacks and church bells, where the horizon is set by granite, not glass. Come for two days and you may leave hungry, slightly cold and baffled by the silence. Stay for a week and the silence starts to make the rest of the world sound shrill.