Nava del Barco

The road signs read 1,140 m, but your ears told you first. As the hire car climbs past Barco de Ávila the tarmac narrows, the pines close in, and Nava del Barco appears: a single street of stone houses hunched against the wind that rolls off the Gredos crest. Eighty-odd residents, one bar, no cash machine, and a view south-west that drops all the way to the plain of Extremadura. If you wanted postcard Spain, you took the wrong turning twenty kilometres back.

Altitude Adjustments

Everything here is calibrated for height. Roofs pitch sharper so snow slides off, chimneys are wider to burn oak logs, and windows are smaller to keep the heat in. Even the church bell rings at a slightly higher pitch, or so it seems after the thick air of Madrid. Mornings start cold; by eleven the sun has burnt through and tee-shirts appear, but keep a fleece handy – cloud can barrel up the valley in minutes, turning a gentle hike into a navigation exercise.

The village sits on the southern flank of the Sierra de Gredos, the granite wall that splits Castilla y León from Extremadura. From the last house you can pick out the Almanzor summit, and if you know your geography you’ll realise that beyond it lies Salamanca and then Portugal. This is walking country, not sightseeing country. The only “monument” is the sixteenth-century parish church, its stone the colour of weathered sheep’s wool, its door unlocked only for Saturday-evening Mass. Come for anything grander and you’ll leave disappointed; come prepared to move your legs and you’ll understand why the village keeps a map pinned up in the bar that is greasy with fingerprints.

Trails That Start at the Front Door

Three paths leave the upper edge of Nava del Barco. The easiest follows the Arroyo de la Yunta through pine and Pyrenean oak, gaining just 250 m in 5 km and ending at a stone shepherd’s hut where swallows nest in the rafters. Allow two hours there and back; you’ll meet locals collecting pine cones for winter kindling and, in May, wild peonies the size of saucers.

Serious walkers continue to the high lagoons. The full circuit – Laguna Grande, Laguna de la Nava, Laguna de Barco and Laguna Helada – is 28 km with 1,300 m of ascent. Start at the Puente de la Yunta car park two kilometres above the village, and be on the path by 07:30; afternoon storms build fast above 2,000 m even in June. The hut at Laguna del Barco has sixteen bunks (€15, no sheets) and a cold-water tap fed by the melt stream. Book through the Gredos Park office in Hoyos del Espino; at weekends it fills with Madrid mountaineers who talk about gear you’ve never heard of.

If that sounds brutal, compromise: walk to the first lagoon and back (12 km). The trail crosses meadows where roe deer graze at dawn, then climbs a glacial staircase polished smooth by ice that retreated only 10,000 years ago – yesterday in mountain time. Granite boulders the size of double-decker buses lie tumbled on the valley floor, perfect for a sheltered lunch. Turn round when the path turns into a staircase of fist-sized scree; the lagoon will still be frozen before June and the reflection of the cirque wall is worth every wheezy step.

Eating (and Not Eating) Locally

Back in the village, hunger is best tackled early. The only restaurant opens at 13:30 and stops serving at 15:00 sharp; arrive at 15:05 and you’ll be offered crisps and a coffee. The menu is chalked on a board, written by someone who assumes you know what judiones are. These butter beans, the size of a fifty-pence piece, arrive stewed with chorizo and morcilla; ask for the vegetarian version and you get the same bowl minus the meat, still smoky from pimentón. A chuletón de Ávila for two is a T-bone that hangs over the plate; order it medium and the waiter will repeat “bien hecho?” with raised eyebrows until you surrender and accept rare. Local garnacha wine comes chilled even in March – light enough for a British palate weaned on Beaujolais – and costs €12 a bottle.

There is no shop in the evening sense of the word. The ultramarinos opens 09:00-14:00, sells tinned tuna, UHT milk and a lottery ticket if you ask nicely. Bring cash from Ávila; the nearest ATM is twenty kilometres away and the bar card machine fails whenever the wind is easterly.

When to Come, When to Stay Away

Spring is the sweet spot. Snow still caps the Almanzor but the meadows are emerald and the village fountain runs full. Wild narcissus line the lanes and you’ll share the trail with shepherds, not Instagrammers. By July the plain below is an anvil of heat; Nava stays ten degrees cooler but Spanish holidaymakers clog the mountain road at weekends, queuing to reach the Gredos platform where ice-cream vans park. August fiestas see the population swell to perhaps four hundred – loud, friendly and determined to dance until three in the square. If you need silence, book mid-week in September when the gentians turn crimson and the first frost sharpens the air.

Winter is a gamble. A dusting of snow prettifies the slate roofs for photographs, but the access road is cleared only when someone remembers. Carry chains from November onwards; if a front comes through you may wake to thirty centimetres and a patient wait for the plough. On the other hand, the high lagoons become a Nordic playground – crampons and ice-axe territory – and the bar lights its wood stove, pouring chestnut liqueur for the handful who made it up.

Beds for the Night

Accommodation is limited to three guest-houses, none with more than eight rooms. Casa Rural La Vega sits at the valley entrance, its balcony perfect for watching black kites ride the thermals. Inside, the heating is oil-fired and relentless – you’ll sleep with the window open even in February. Expect €70 a night including breakfast (strong coffee, thick toast, local honey). Two smaller places in the village itself offer rooms from €45 but share walls with neighbours who rise at six to feed goats; earplugs advised unless you find bleating soothing.

Booking ahead is essential at weekends; mid-week you can turn up and knock. Owners live on site and will appear within minutes of a car door slamming. None speaks fluent English, yet hand gestures and a print-out of your reservation work wonders. Wi-Fi exists but slows to a crawl when cloud sits on the ridge; download maps before you leave Madrid.

Last Orders

Leave Nava del Barco as you found it: quietly. The village does not need saving by tourism; it needs visitors who accept its rhythms and its weather. Pack out your litter, nod at the old men on the bench, and don’t ask why the church is shut on Tuesday – it always has been. If the mountains allow, you’ll descend with thighs that remember every contour and a new respect for places where the nearest traffic light is an hour away. And if the snow closes in, the bar still has a pack of cards and a bottle of something that tastes of burnt toffee. Wait it out. The road will open eventually, but Nava del Barco will have moved on without you.