San Felices de los Gallegos

The stone walls appear first, rising from wheat-coloured fields like the ramparts of a forgotten kingdom. Then the castle tower materialises, square and uncompromising, surveying a border that has shifted with treaties and tempers for eight centuries. San Felices de los Gallegos sits 658 metres above sea level on Spain's western edge, a fortress village where 355 inhabitants still lock their medieval gates each night—not for show, but because the hinges have worked since 1492.

A Walkable Fortress

Two kilometres of granite wall wrap the village in an uneven hexagon. You can climb perhaps half of it, boots skimming weathered merlons while the Águeda river glints below, marking the Portuguese frontier. Access is free and unstaffed; the only safety briefing comes from swifts that screech past your ears. After rain the stone gleams silver and treacherous—good treads essential, vertigo sufferers beware. The tourist office lends a photocopied map but no hard hat; this is heritage without handrails.

Inside the walls, lanes follow the contour of the hill. Houses grow out of the same grey granite, their wooden doors painted ox-blood or indigo, iron studs rusting like dried blackberries. Look up and you'll spot semicircular towers incorporated into domestic walls—former family strongrooms now converted into spare bedrooms. Electricity cables have been buried so the skyline reads 1490 rather than 1990, a detail that film crews appreciate; episodes of Game of Thrones and The Crown have borrowed these streets for "anywhere-before-1800" scenes.

The Castle That Refuses to Fake It

The fifteenth-century castle keeps its drawbridge permanently down these days, yet entry still feels like a privilege. A heavy key, collected from Daniel in the tourism office, unlocks a studded door. Inside: rubble, swallows, and arguably the best €2 view in Castilla y León. Six small exhibition rooms explain, in decent English, how the tower once housed a Portuguese garrison, then a Spanish one, then goats. Climb the narrow spiral—rope handrail, 67 steps—and the roof terrace delivers a 360-degree sweep over almond groves, cork oak and, on clear days, the distant Sierras de Francia. Closed Tuesday and Wednesday outside August; ring +34 923 40 30 02 the day before to avoid a wasted journey.

Food Fit for Border Guards

Hunger is best tackled in the Plaza Mayor, a rectangle of arcades watched over by a sixteenth-century pillory where debtors were once chained. Casa del Castillo serves a no-nonsense €12 menú del día: judiones (buttery butter beans), grilled pork shoulder, chips cooked in mild local olive oil, and flan that wobbles like a nervous tourist. House red costs less than bottled water; ask for "vino de la casa tinto" and you'll get a carafe straight from the barrel. If you prefer picnic fare, the bakery on Calle Rúa sells hornazo, a pork-and-egg pie that travelled well with medieval muleteers and still survives a morning in a rucksack.

Vegetarians face slim pickings—expect tortilla, salad and repetition. The single supermarket (open 09:00-14:00, 17:00-20:30) stocks fruit, tinned tuna and the local queso de oveja, a tangy sheep's cheese that crumbles like Caerphilly. Stock up before Sunday lunchtime; shutters roll down at 14:00 and won't rise until Monday.

Walking the Smugglers' Mile

Three way-marked trails start from the village, none longer than 12 km. The most evocative follows an old contraband route down to the Águeda river, where Portuguese tobacco once changed hands under moonlight. The path drops 300 m through rockrose and wild lavender; knee-saving walking poles help on the return haul. Griffon vultures circle overhead, and if you're quiet you'll hear cowbells long before you see the free-roaming cattle that graze the dehesa. Carry water—fountains are decorative rather than functional—and download an offline map; phone signal evaporates among the granite boulders.

Cyclists can join the Camino de Hierro, a green-way built on a disused mining railway. Tunnels begin five minutes outside the walls; lights essential. The track runs 50 km to the town of Ciudad Rodrigo, mostly downhill, with a bar every 15 km or so for restorative cañas (small beers).

When to Come, When to Stay Away

April–May turns the surrounding plains emerald and sparks the village fiesta: neighbourly processions, free paella in the square, and fireworks that bounce off the stone walls like rifle shot. Accommodation is limited to two small casas rurales and two private rooms; book early or base yourself 25 km away in Ciudad Rodrigo where hotels proliferate.

Mid-summer bakes. Temperatures nudge 38 °C and the granite radiates heat long after sunset. Many bars close in August while families head for the coast; if you must visit, plan morning walks and siesta like the locals. Winter is crisp, often snowy, and oddly atmospheric—think woodsmoke, empty lanes, castle tower poking through low cloud—but the SA-324 access road ices over; carry chains and a full tank. The village's altitude keeps nights chilly even in June; pack a fleece for those sunset rampart strolls.

Money, Maps and Other Mundanities

No cash machine exists within the walls; the nearest ATM is a 30-minute drive to Lumbrales. Cards are accepted at the restaurants, but the bakery and the castle ticket desk deal only in euros. UK mobiles flip between Spanish and Portuguese networks; stand in the Plaza Mayor for the strongest Spanish signal, or inadvertently roam and wish you hadn't.

Parking inside the fortress is free and unrestricted—drive through the Portillo de San Juan and squeeze into any bay not blocked by a tractor. Salamanca's sandstone wonders lie 110 km east (1 h 40 min on the A-62); Portugal's leafy Douro vineyards start 40 km west. San Felices works as a one-night detour between the two, or as a deliberately slow destination for anyone who measures travel in centuries rather than selfies.

Leave before darkness falls and you'll miss the best moment: when stone glows amber, swifts give way to natterjack toads, and the border feels less like a line on a map than a state of mind. Stay, and the gates will still be open—though nobody will make a fuss if you choose to close them behind you.