Castropodame

The chestnuts arrive first. Mid-October, when morning mist clings to the valley and the Montes Aquilianos turn bronze, locals emerge with woven baskets to collect the fallen bounty. It's a ritual that predates the village's stone houses, predates even the medieval church whose bell tolls across the vineyards at seven each evening. In Castropodame, population 1,500 and climbing to 5,000 when surrounding hamlets are counted, autumn's harvest still dictates the rhythm of daily life.

Stone, Chestnut and Wine

At 750 metres above sea level, this Leonese village sits where Galicia's green fingers reach into Castilla y León. The altitude matters. Summers arrive two weeks later than Ponferrada, 25 kilometres east, and winter's first frost can appear overnight in early November. The stone houses huddle accordingly—thick walls, narrow windows facing south, wooden balconies painted the same ox-blood red you'll find from here to Santiago.

Walk the main street at 11am and you might wonder if the village has been abandoned. It's merely the Spanish hour of indoors, when women prepare the day's main meal and men gather at Bar Central for a cortado and discussion of yesterday's football. The silence is deceptive. Behind wooden doors, life proceeds at its own pace, one that hasn't altered substantially since the mines closed and agriculture reclaimed its dominance.

The Camino de Invierno passes through here, winter's alternative route when snow blocks O Cebreiro's high pass. Pilgrims appear sporadically—German cyclists in October, Korean walkers in March—stopping just long enough to stamp credentials at the church and photograph the stone horreos raised on mushroom-shaped pillars. They're welcome but not essential. Castropodame's economy runs on chestnuts, wine and the retirement pensions that arrive monthly from Bilbao and Barcelona.

Walking Through Layers of Time

San Pedro's church dominates the small plaza, its Romanesque base visible beneath 16th-century additions and a bell tower rebuilt after lightning struck in 1897. Inside, the altarpiece gilded during El Bierzo's brief mining boom sits alongside primitive carvings rescued from an earlier, simpler chapel. The building tells the village story: agricultural wealth, mineral dreams, return to the soil. Sunday mass at noon attracts thirty regulars, their voices rising in the same Latin-tinged Spanish their grandparents spoke.

Behind the church, a lane climbs past abandoned wine presses carved from single granite blocks. These lagares once processed the mencía grapes that still stripe surrounding hillsides. Now they serve as flower planters or simply weather slowly, lichen spreading across centuries-old toolmarks. The path continues upward through sweet chestnut woods, where trees older than the Spanish Republic drop spiky green cases containing mahogany-coloured nuts. Forty minutes of steady climbing brings you to a ridge offering views across the Bierzo valley—vineyards checker-boarding the floor, villages appearing as stone clusters every few kilometres.

The descent follows an ancient track connecting Castropodame to its smaller neighbour, Carracedelo. Stone walls separate smallholdings where elderly farmers still cultivate plots by hand. This walk, roughly two hours door-to-door, requires decent footwear but no special equipment. The route isn't always marked—locals know it by heart, visitors should download offline maps before setting out.

When Hunger Strikes

Bar Central opens at 7am for workers heading to the vineyards. By 10am they're serving coffee to the retired, by noon offering beer and tapas to whoever appears. The menu never changes: tortilla española cut thick as your thumb, pimientos de Padrón fried until blistered, chorizo cooked in cider. A plate of each, plus bread and two drinks, costs €8. They don't take cards.

For something more substantial, Casa Marcial in neighbouring Congosto (6km by car, 10km on foot via the old railway line) serves botillo on Saturdays—local pork stuffed into pig's intestine, smoked over oak, then simmered with potatoes and cabbage. It's heavy enough to fuel agricultural labour, which historically it did. The restaurant fills with extended families at 3pm sharp; arrive late and they'll have run out.

Wine arrives by the carafe, usually from a cooperative in Cacabelos. The mencía grape produces something lighter than Rioja, more interesting than standard house red. Ask for "vino de la casa" and you'll get last year's production, probably from vines you walked past earlier. White wine drinkers should try godello, increasingly fashionable but still half London prices at €12 per bottle in the village shop.

Seasons of Silence and Celebration

Spring brings cherry blossom and the sound of tractors preparing vineyards. Temperatures hover around 18°C in April, perfect for walking before summer heat arrives. May sees the village's population temporarily double as returned emigrants arrive for the Romería de San Isidro, a picnic-with-religious-overtones held in countryside 3km from the village centre.

June's feast of San Pedro fills the plaza with brass bands and temporary bars serving octopus boiled in copper cauldrons. It's traditional rather than touristic—young people who've moved to Madrid return with city habits and regional accents, creating a generational tension played out over three days of celebration. Visitors are welcome but peripheral; this is the village talking to itself.

July and August empty Castropodame as families decamp to A Coruña or the Cantabrian coast. What remains is shuttered and sun-baked. Temperatures reach 32°C but nights cool to 15°C—bring a jacket even in midsummer. September's grape harvest brings activity, though most families now sell to cooperatives rather than pressing their own wine.

Winter arrives suddenly, usually overnight in early November. The first frost blackens tomato plants overnight; smoke rises from chimneys as central heating remains rare. Snow falls perhaps twice each winter, closing the mountain pass to Galicia and reminding villagers why the Camino de Invierno exists in the first place.

Getting There, Getting Away

Ponferrada, 25 minutes east by car, offers the nearest train station with direct services to Madrid (5 hours) and León (1.5 hours). From Ponferrada, two daily buses serve Castropodame at inconvenient times—11:30am and 7:30pm. Hiring a car transforms the experience, allowing exploration of mountain villages where public transport never penetrated.

Accommodation remains limited. Casa Rural A Carballeira offers three rooms in a converted stone house, €60 per night including breakfast featuring local honey and fresh bread. Alternatively, base yourself in Ponferrada and visit for the day, combining with Carracedelo's monastery ruins and Congosto's railway museum.

Castropodame won't change your life. It offers no Instagram moments, no boutique hotels, no Michelin stars. What it provides is something increasingly rare—a Spanish village that exists for itself, not for visitors. Come for the chestnuts in October, the wine harvest in September, or simply for a quiet afternoon when walking seems preferable to sightseeing. The village will still be here, proceeding at its own pace, when you're ready to return.