Villameriel

At 900 metres above sea level, Villameriel sits high enough that your ears might pop on the drive up. The village's 110 residents have grown accustomed to the silence that comes with altitude – a silence so complete you can hear the wind moving through oak trees half a kilometre away. It's the sort of quiet that makes city folk nervous, then oddly addicted.

The approach road winds through wheat fields that shimmer like the North Sea in summer, then suddenly you're climbing. Proper climbing. The temperature drops a degree with every hundred metres, and by the time you reach the village centre, the meseta's heat has given way to mountain air sharp enough to make you reach for a jumper, even in August.

Stone, Adobe and the Art of Not Falling Over

Villameriel's streets weren't designed for vehicles wider than a donkey. They twist and dip according to terrain rather than any town planner's whim, creating a maze where every corner reveals another stone house with a wooden door that probably last saw a lick of paint during Franco's time. This isn't picturesque decay – it's simply how things are when a village has been quietly getting on with life since the Reconquista.

The church tower serves as both spiritual centre and practical navigation aid. Built from the same honey-coloured stone as everything else, it disappears from view as you descend the village's steeper streets, then suddenly reappears directly above you when you thought you were walking away from it. Local builders call this "the Villameriel effect" – newcomers spend their first week perpetually lost.

Traditional architecture here means thick adobe walls that keep interiors cool in summer and surprisingly warm in winter. Windows are small, not for aesthetic reasons but because glass was expensive and heating bills weren't invented yet. Many houses still have their original bodegas – cellar rooms dug into hillsides where families once made wine thick enough to stand a spoon in. Today they're more likely to store bicycles and broken agricultural equipment.

Walking Without Waymarks (and Why That's the Point)

The web of farm tracks radiating from Villameriel follows ancient rights of way older than the tarmac patches that now cover them. These aren't recreational trails – they're working routes used by farmers checking livestock and machinery. Walk them anyway, but expect to step aside for the occasional tractor pulling a trailer loaded with something that smells distinctly agricultural.

A gentle two-hour circuit heads south towards the neighbouring hamlet of Ojeda, three kilometres away across rolling country. The path climbs gradually through oak scrub where booted eagles circle overhead, then drops into a shallow valley where red kites have learnt to follow walkers in hope of sandwich crusts. Spring brings wildflowers that would make a Cotswolds gardener weep with envy, though they're mostly varieties British field guides don't bother listing.

Winter walking requires more commitment. Snow isn't guaranteed but when it comes, Villameriel becomes effectively isolated for days. The village stocks up in October like frontier settlers, and visitors who haven't hired a four-wheel-drive may find themselves extending their stay involuntarily. On clear winter days, the views stretch 50 kilometres to the Picos de Europa, but the wind at this altitude carries a bite that makes Scottish Highland breezes feel positively Mediterranean.

Where to Eat (Spoiler: Not Here)

Villameriel hasn't had a proper restaurant since the last one closed during Spain's banking crisis. The village bar opens sporadically – think British pub opening hours circa 1987, then halve them. This isn't a problem, it's advance planning. Stock up in Palencia city before you drive up, or better yet, phone ahead to Casa Macario in Boedo, twenty minutes away by car. Their lechazo asado (roast suckling lamb) feeds two hungry hikers adequately, three if you've been existing on cereal bars.

The Sunday market in Aguilar de Campoo, half an hour's drive north, sells local morcilla that's essentially black pudding's Spanish cousin but better. Buy some, plus a lump of queso de Valdeón that'll make your car smell like a rugby changing room for the journey home. Pair it with a bottle of the local cider – not Asturian, but the Castilian variant that's drier and works surprisingly well with strong cheese when you haven't got biscuits.

Practicalities Your Sat Nav Won't Mention

Mobile reception in Villameriel depends on which way the wind's blowing. Vodafone users might manage a text message from the church square. Orange customers should drive back down to the main road. Everyone else should embrace the digital detox or invest in smoke signals.

The nearest petrol station is a 25-minute drive in Aguilar de Campoo – factor this into calculations if you're planning day trips. The mountain road from Palencia (the N-611 then CL-625) is perfectly driveable but includes enough hairpin bends to test passengers prone to travel sickness. In winter, carry snow chains even if the forecast looks clear. Mountain weather here changes faster than British train timetables.

Accommodation options are limited to three self-catering houses rented out by families who've moved to bigger towns but kept their ancestral properties. They're comfortable enough, with proper heating and decent kitchens, but don't expect Nespresso machines or Egyptian cotton sheets. Booking requires phoning Señora Carmen directly – her English extends to "hello" and "booking yes" but she understands dates and credit card numbers perfectly.

The village wakes early. By seven o'clock, someone's already sweeping their doorstep. By eight, the day's main conversations have happened in the plaza. By nine, it's empty again as people get on with whatever rural living requires. Visitors who sleep in miss the daily performance of village life, though the church bell will wake you anyway – it chimes every quarter hour, all night, every night. Ear plugs aren't just recommended, they're essential equipment.