Villaescusa

The church bell strikes noon and the only reply is a dog barking two streets away. At 827 metres above sea level, Villaescusa’s soundtrack is wind across cereal fields, the click of a gate latch, and—if you time it right—the soft thud of bread landing on the bar counter at Bar Lucho, still warm from the wood-fired oven in nearby Morales. Five thousand souls spread over a grid of earth-packed lanes, the town sits squarely on the zamorana tableland, 42 km south-east of Zamora city and a good hour’s drive from the nearest A-road. Google Maps will get you here, but phone reception drops to a single bar just past the cemetery—plan your playlist before the final roundabout.

Earth, Adobe and the Smell of Rain on Stone

Forget the postcard version of Spain. Villaescusa’s walls are the colour of biscuit dough, not sun-bleached ochre, and the mortar between stones is often the original mud, patched each spring by owners who inherited both house and scaffolding. Adobe keeps the heat out in July and the cold in during January; walk the inner passage of any house older than 1950 and the temperature drops five degrees. The architectural star is the parish church of San Millán, a twelfth-century chunk of Romanesque that lost its south aisle in the 1756 collapse and gained a brick bell-tower the colour of burnt toast. The door is unlocked only for Saturday-evening mass; the rest of the week the key hangs on a nail behind the counter at the grocery co-op—ask politely and they’ll let you in to see the cracked fresco of Saint Isidore that locals swear blinks if you stare long enough.

Surrounding houses are a collage of eras: 1890s stone ground floors with 1970s concrete upper storeys, aluminium windows banged into medieval frames, satellite dishes sprouting above wooden balconies. Nothing is quaint; everything works. The town’s last full-time stonemason, Julián, died in 2018, so modern repairs are done with cement and hope. Still, the place feels lived-in rather than embalmed, especially at 7 a.m. when tractors cough into life and the bakery van does its rounds, leaving a trail of diesel and aniseed.

Walking the Unmarked Grid

There are no signed footpaths, but the agricultural lanes fanning from the north edge make for flat, way-mark-free circuits. Head out past the football pitch—goals without nets—and within ten minutes you’re between wheat plots the size of Heathrow’s runways. In late April the green is almost luminous; by mid-July the stubble glows bronze and cracks underfoot. Keep walking and you’ll reach the abandoned railway halt of La Guareña, 4 km out: a single platform, a rusted scale, and a waiting room where 1960s timetables still cling to the wall. Return via the dirt track that shadows the Arroyo de Valdemonge; storks use the telegraph poles as dinner tables, and if you’re quiet you’ll see bustards flop down like grey laundry bags.

Cyclists appreciate the width of these farm roads—grain lorries need space to pass each other, so bikes fit fine. Surface is compacted grit, rideable on 32 mm tyres; take water because fountains are seasonal and bars non-existent after the hamlet of Villarino de Cebollino. A loop south to Monte la Reina vineyard adds 18 km and ends with a glass of tempranillo poured in the winery’s garage-style tasting room (€3, cash only, ring ahead).

Food that Forgives a Long Morning

Daily menus are served at two places: Bar Lucho and Mesón La Guareña. Both open at 13:30 sharp and close the kitchen once the rice pot is empty—usually around 15:00. Expect clay bowls of sopa de ajo thickened with egg and paprika, shoulders of lamb slow-roasted in bread ovens, and judiones (giant butter beans) stewed with pig’s ear. Vegetarians get pimientos del piquillo stuffed with goat’s cheese, though you must ask; it isn’t advertised. House wine arrives in a glass that costs €1.20 and tastes like blackberries with the stems still on. Pudding is optional; most locals skip straight to coffee and the communal porrón of orujo that makes the rounds until someone heads back to the fields.

Shopping is limited. The co-op sells tinned tuna, tinned tomatoes, and tinned peaches—arranged in that order. Fresh produce rolls in on Tuesday and Friday mornings from the travelling market: one greengrocer van, one fishmonger with a plastic tray of calamares, and a butcher who parks his refrigerated van outside the pharmacy and hands out slices of chorizo as business cards. Stock up on queso zamorano at the dairy in neighbouring Roales; the farm gate price is €12 a kilo, half the city cost.

When the Town Remembers How to Party

Fiestas patronales begin on the last weekend of August and run for four days. Population doubles as emigrants return from Madrid, Barcelona, even Swindon. The schedule is pinned to every lamppost: Friday night foam party in the square (bring goggles), Saturday morning running of the heifers down Calle Real (stand behind the hay bales), Sunday dawn chupinazo rocket followed by communal tortilla fry-up using 1,500 eggs. Monday is the water fight—locals hose down strangers without warning, cameras included. Accommodation within the town is impossible; book in Zamora or sleep in your car like half the returning diaspora.

Other dates matter less to visitors but keep the social glue sticky: bonfire night on 17 January when every street competes for the tallest fogueira; Holy Thursday procession lit only by oil lamps; and the summer verbena that relocates the disco to the cemetery gates in honour of the departed who always loved a good rumba.

Getting Here, Getting Out

By car: From Valladolid take the A-62 to Toro, then N-122 to Zamora. Exit at km 76 onto the ZA-642, follow signs for El Perdigón, then take the ZA-651 straight into Villaescusa. Total 110 km, 80 minutes. Petrol at Villaralbo (last cheap stop) or pay an extra 12 c/litre at the village pump.

By bus: Zamora–Villaescusa line, three services daily, Monday to Friday only. Departs Zamora bus station 07:30, 13:00, 18:00; journey 55 minutes, €3.85. No weekend service, no bank-holiday extras.

By train: Nearest station Zamora (AVE to Madrid 1 h 10). Taxi from Zamora to Villaescusa is fixed €55—book through the WhatsApp group “Taxis Guareña” or face a two-hour wait at the rank.

The Catch

Winter is sharp. Thermometers slide below –5 °C at night and houses bleed heat through single-glazed windows. Bars still open but close by 21:00 when the last bus leaves. Summer flips the coin: 38 °C at 15:00, shade scarce, siesta mandatory. August weekends attract day-trippers from Zamora city; the central square fills with hatchbacks and Bluetooth speakers. Come on a weekday in late September and you’ll have the place to yourself, plus the risk that both food stops are shut because the owners are harvesting. Ask first, bring bread, and don’t expect Wi-Fi passwords—there isn’t any.