Grandes y San Martín

The cereal fields roll on forever. At 1,000 metres above sea level, Grandes y San Martín sits suspended between earth and sky, where the Castilian plateau flattens everything except the church towers that still mark time for 34 permanent residents. Switch off the engine here and the absence of sound arrives like a physical presence—no distant motorway, no aircraft, just wind moving through wheat that stretches to every horizon.

This is La Moraña, the breadbasket province of Ávila, where villages exist as brief interruptions in an ocean of agriculture. Grandes and San Martín—two settlements sharing one town hall—don't offer much in the way of obvious attractions. That's precisely the point. These places survive on routine rather than tourism, and their rhythms follow the agricultural calendar with a stubbornness that predates smartphones and weekend breaks.

Adobe Against Altitude

The architecture speaks of practicality over ornament. Thick adobe walls, the colour of sun-baked earth, rise from streets that were never designed for vehicles wider than a donkey cart. These structures understood sustainable building centuries before the word became fashionable—cool in summer, warm in winter, built from materials that lay within walking distance. Some grander houses still display stone coats of arms, reminders that land ownership once concentrated wealth here before mechanisation reduced the need for agricultural labour.

The parish churches of both nuclei stand as vertical punctuation marks in an otherwise horizontal landscape. Neither spectacular nor ancient enough to warrant coach parties, they serve instead as waypoints for anyone walking the agricultural tracks that link settlements across the plateau. Their bell towers, visible from kilometres away, function as medieval GPS—crucial navigation aids before the plateau's vastness swallows perspective.

Walking Without Waymarks

Serious hikers might find the terrain disappointingly flat. The surrounding paths—really just farm tracks—offer kilometre after kilometre of gentle walking without a waymark in sight. From Grandes y San Martín, routes extend to neighbouring villages like El Barco de Ávila or Burgohondo, distances that require proper planning rather than casual strolling. The compensation comes through solitude: hours can pass encountering nothing more than the occasional tractor and the sky larks that rise singing from the wheat.

Summer walking demands early starts. Shade exists only where scattered holm oaks have survived centuries of ploughing, and the plateau's altitude amplifies UV exposure. Carry more water than seems necessary—the dry air disguises dehydration. Spring and autumn provide more forgiving conditions, when temperatures hover around pleasant rather than punishing, and the fields cycle through green shoots or golden stubble rather than the baked earth of high summer.

Birds, Binoculars and Blistering Heat

The flat expanses support steppe bird species that have disappeared from most of Europe. Great bustards, little bustards and Montagu's harriers patrol the fields, particularly during spring and summer breeding seasons. Winter brings different visitors—flocks of larks and finches that feed on spilled grain. Don't expect hides or information boards. Successful birdwatching here requires patience, decent binoculars, and the ability to sit motionless while nothing appears to happen for extended periods.

The plateau's elevation creates its own weather systems. Morning mist frequently blankets the fields before burning off to reveal crystalline air that makes the Sierra de Ávila seem close enough to touch, despite lying 40 kilometres south. Afternoon storms build quickly during summer months, with spectacular lightning displays that emphasise the landscape's exposure. Winter brings different challenges—when snow falls, it drifts across the flat fields, cutting villages off for days at a time.

No Restaurants, No Problem

Practicalities require planning. The municipality contains no restaurants, bars or shops. The nearest proper meal involves driving to neighbouring villages—Muñogalindo or El Hoyo de Pinares both offer basic bars serving Castilian staples like roast lamb and local bean stews. More reliable options lie in Ávila city, 35 minutes south-east via the N-502. Self-catering works better: pack provisions and enjoy picnics among the wheat, though remember that wind turns even simple sandwich consumption into a battle against flying crumbs.

Accommodation options within the village itself remain limited to the occasional casa rural rental. These restored village houses offer authentic stays but book well ahead—there aren't many, and weekend availability disappears quickly during bird-watching season or local festivals. Alternative bases include the larger town of Arévalo, 25 minutes north, which provides hotels and better infrastructure while maintaining easy access to Grandes y San Martín's surrounding countryside.

When Emigrants Return

The population swells briefly during summer festivals. San Martín celebrates around 25 July, Grandes follows in mid-August. These aren't tourist events but homecomings—descendants of emigrants return from Madrid, Barcelona, even South America, for long weekends of shared meals and reminiscence. Visitors are welcome but peripheral; the festivals exist for reunion rather than revenue. Processions wind through streets too narrow for traffic, brass bands play with more enthusiasm than accuracy, and temporary bars serve beer chilled precisely to Spanish preferences—cold enough to hurt teeth.

The rest of the year proceeds quietly. Wheat planting begins in autumn, harvesting starts late June, the cycle repeats with minor variations for weather or crop prices. New residents arrive rarely—young people continue leaving for education and employment opportunities that flat agriculture cannot provide. Whether these villages survive another generation remains uncertain, though rural depopulation grants them a poignant rather than depressing atmosphere.

Getting there requires commitment. Madrid lies 90 minutes south via the A-6 and regional roads—hire cars essential since public transport stops at Arévalo, still 25 kilometres distant. The final approach involves navigating country roads where wheat meets tarmac at field edges, and oncoming traffic consists primarily of agricultural machinery during busy seasons.

Grandes y San Martín won't suit everyone. Instagram opportunities remain scarce, facilities basic, entertainment non-existent beyond what visitors create themselves. Yet for those seeking space rather than stimulation, where horizons expand rather than compress, this high plateau village offers something increasingly rare: the chance to experience Castile as it existed before tourism arrived, and to understand why some Spaniards still choose this demanding landscape over coastal convenience.