Santa Colomba de Somoza

The church bell strikes twice and nobody looks up. At a thousand metres above sea level, time in Santa Colomba de Somoza is still governed by daylight and livestock rather than the wristwatches of passing walkers. One minute later a straggle of pilgrims drops their rucksacks outside the only open bar, boots powdered with the ochre dust of the Meseta. They have left Astorga at dawn, crossed 17 km of wheat plains without a sliver of shade, and are pleasantly surprised to find espresso that doesn’t taste of petrol.

A single street, two cafés, no cash machine

The village stretches along the N-VI for barely 400 m. Slate-roofed stone houses, built broad enough for mule trains, now serve as tiny albergues or weekend bolt-holes owned by families from León. There is no bank, no pharmacy, no filling station. The last ATM lurks 19 km east in Astorga; if you arrive after 9 p.m. you will need the euros in your pocket for both dinner and bed. Mobile coverage is fickle: EE usually works, Vodafone wilts on the high street, Three gives up entirely. Ask for the Wi-Fi code before ordering; passwords are long and the barman types them from memory.

Walkers who expect a pilgrim circus like Roncesvalles or Sarria will be disappointed—or relieved, depending on mood. By six o’clock the day-trippers have pressed on to Rabanal and the place falls silent, save for the clatter of a tractor heading out to hay. Evenings smell of woodsmoke and wet slate; night skies are close enough to trip over the Milky Way.

Why the meat arrives before the soup

Order the cocido maragato at Casa Pepa and the sequence feels backwards: plate of morcilla, chorizo, shoulder of pork, then chickpeas, and finally a small bowl of thick soup. The custom made sense for muleteers who left before dawn, needed calories fast, and might not return for hours. Half-raciones are cheerfully served—ask for “media ración, por favor”—handy if you still have 12 km to walk after lunch. Vegetarians can usually negotiate an egg-and-pepper scramble, but give notice; the kitchen shuts at 4 p.m. sharp.

The wine list is short and honest: young Tierra de León tintos sold by the litre for less than bottled water. British palates generally compare it to Beaujolais without the advertising budget. Pudding is optional; most locals skip straight to coffee and a mantecada, a crumbly bun tasting of lard and lemon. It sounds alarming, tastes better than it ought to, and survives happily in a rucksack pocket for the following morning.

Stone, slate and stories of freight

Architecture here was practical, not pretty. Ground-floor arches once admitted laden mules; wooden balconies allowed owners to check the weather before loading. Granite cornerstones still bear masons’ marks, handy for identifying your house in a blizzard. The parish church of Santa Colomba, rebuilt piecemeal since the twelfth century, squats on the highest rock and orients you faster than any compass. Inside, the font is scallop-shell deep—large enough to immerse a weary pilgrim, though these days it only gets use during the occasional baptism.

If you have an hour before the bus, follow the lane behind the church into the chestnut woods. A 25-minute climb leads to a stone cross where freight routes from Salamanca and Galicia once converged. The view south reveals the flat Meseta shimmering like pale toast; northwards the Cantabrian ridge bruises the horizon. In October the slopes burn copper and rust; by February they may be iced solid and the path fit only for boots and walking poles.

Weather that forgets which province it belongs to

Altitude keeps Santa Colomba cooler than León city in summer, but that still means 30 °C at noon in July. Carry two litres of water on the stretch from Astorga; the fountain in tiny Castrillo de los Polvazares, 7 km back, is the last reliable source. Afternoon storms build quickly: a blue morning can collapse into hail by four. Spring and autumn are kinder—mild days, chilly nights, and empty dormitories.

Winter brings snow that lingers on north-facing slopes, sometimes cutting the road for half a day. The lone daily bus from León still runs unless drifts top two metres; drivers carry shovels and expect applause when they clear a drift by hand. Accommodation prices drop by 30 % between November and March, but confirm heating is included—night-time thermometers can read –8 °C and stone walls were designed for animals as well as people.

Beds, buses and booking ahead

Pilgrim hostels charge €8–€10 for a mattress; the Xunta de Galicia albergue opens April–October and turns the lights out at 22:00. Private options are El Molinero and La Casa del Peregrino—both spotless, both booked solid by 2 p.m. in May. If you’re travelling with luggage rather than a rucksack, note there is no left-luggage office; the bar will mind a small bag for the price of two coffees.

Non-walkers can reach the village on the ALSA service from León (€4.65, 50 min). Timetables shrink outside summer: the last departure back to town is 19:10, after which your choices are a €35 taxi or an unplanned night under slate. Car hire is possible at León railway station; the drive along the A-6 is fast but watch for sudden fog banks after kilometre 375.

What you won’t find (and might not miss)

There is no souvenir shop, no interpretive centre, no audio-visual experience. Evening entertainment amounts to a second beer and, if you are lucky, a local practising bagpipes on a doorstep. Children from the primary school—total roll: nine—sometimes stage a play in the square; visitors are welcome, applause is enthusiastic, and nobody photographs your shoes.

If that sounds bleak, stay in Astorga and visit on a day trip. If it sounds like permission to switch the phone off, book a night. The village will not entertain you, but it may remind you what evenings were like before streaming, and why people once measured distance in days rather than kilometres.