Sena de Luna

The petrol gauge hovers just above empty when the A-66 slip road spits you onto the LE-493. Fifteen kilometres to go, no filling station ahead, and the first houses of Sena de Luna appear only after the car has clawed its way up a series of hairpins that leave ears popping. At 1,139 metres, the village sits higher than Ben Nevis’s summit—and the temperature drops prove it. Even in July, night-time thermometers can read 12 °C; in January, the same thermometer often gives up at –8 °C and the valley stays locked in fog until lunchtime.

Stone, Slate and the Sound of Cowbells

No souvenir stalls greet arrivals, just a single slate-roofed church whose bell tower looks more like a defensive keep than a place of worship. The stone houses shoulder each other for warmth; their wooden balconies still carry last autumn’s drying beans. Roughly 450 people live here year-round, a head-count that swells to maybe 600 when summer returnees reclaim family houses. They are outnumbered by cattle: look over any garden wall and you’ll meet a cow inspecting the lane with the confidence of someone who pays the rent.

The village layout makes sense only on foot. Calle Real, the only through-road, is barely wider than a Tesco delivery van; drivers fold in mirrors and breathe in. Park by the small plaza (GPS coordinates pinned to the only streetlamp) and walk. Five minutes takes you past the 1950s bread oven, still fired once a week, and the communal washhouse where cold water races down a stone trough. Mobile signal reappears here—EE and Vodafone users should stand on the top step, face north, and hope.

Walking Tracks That Start at the Front Door

Maps are unnecessary for the first hour: simply follow the irrigation channel upstream until the tarmac gives way to a dirt lane between hay meadows. This is the start of the Camino de la Lengua variant of the Camino de Santiago; the pilgrim hostel (donation, blankets provided) opens at 4 pm sharp and turns away latecomers. If you are not carrying a scallop shell, continue past the albergue gate and climb the obvious track signed “Puerto de Leitariegos, 9 km”. The gradient is gentle but relentless; at kilometre three, the view opens across the Luna valley and the A-66 traffic becomes a silent ribbon 600 metres below. Oak gives way to beech, and in October the hillside ignites into copper and rust so vivid it hurts the eyes. Allow three hours return, carry water—there are no cafés on the ridge, only wild boar scrapings and the occasional golden eagle.

For something shorter, cross the stone bridge at the village exit, turn left after the last house, and follow the river downstream for twenty minutes to the ruined molino harinero. The mill wheel vanished decades ago, but the stone race is intact and the spot is sheltered enough for a picnic even when the wind howls overhead. Mid-May brings fluorescent-green alder flies that dance above the water like static electricity; the trout rise, and for a moment the valley feels prehistoric.

What You’ll Eat—and What You Won’t

Sena de Luna does not do tasting menus. The only bar, Señorío de Luna, keeps Spanish hours: coffee from 7.30 am, lunch 2–4 pm, evening tapas after 8.30 pm. Try the menestra de verduras if you’ve had enough pork; it’s a simple stew of whatever the family vegetable plot produced that morning. The cecina de León—air-dried beef sliced tissue-thin—costs €9 a plate and tastes like an Iberian answer to bresaola. Vegetarians should specify “sin jamón” when ordering revuelto de setas; mushrooms arrive scrambled with eggs but the kitchen’s default setting involves bits of cured ham. Dessert options are either flan made by the owner’s sister or a house cheesecake that could pass muster in a Leeds café. Payment is cash only; the nearest ATM is ten kilometres away in Villamanín, so pocket notes before you sit down.

Sunday is gastronomic roulette. The baker drives up from La Pola de Gordón at 9 am, sells loaves from a white van, and disappears within twenty minutes. Miss him and breakfast becomes yesterday’s biscuits. The bar may close by 6 pm if custom is slow; self-caterers should shop in León before turning off the motorway.

Winter Lock-Down and Summer Bite

Access changes with the season. From November to March, the LE-493 is salted at dawn but shade keeps ice on the bends until late morning. Chains are rarely mandatory, yet a front-wheel drive with decent tyres is wise. Daylight is short: the sun scrapes over the eastern crest at 9 am and drops behind the opposite slope by 5.30 pm. Accommodation shrinks to two hostales with night storage heaters—ask for extra blankets when you check in, not at 2 am.

Spring brings mud. The same footpaths that were bone-dry in September become shallow streams; gaiters help. By late June, the altitude knocks the edge off Spanish heat—afternoons reach 26 °C instead of the 34 °C baking León 55 kilometres away. August fills the pilgrim hostel and the plaza smells of suncream and coffee grounds; if you want silence, walk before 8 am or after 9 pm when the day-trippers have left.

How Long, How Much, How Far

Most British visitors treat Sena de Luna as a motorway pause rather than a base. That is sensible: one night gives you sunset over the valley, dawn cowbells, and the best of the local food. Two nights allow a full-day hike to the Leitariegos ski station (closed in summer, café still open). Rooms at Hostal Días de Luna start at €55 for a double including breakfast; the other option, Casa Rural La Hortensia, runs €70–€85 depending on season. Petrol, coffee, cash and courage should be topped up before arrival—after the exit ramp, civilisation is measured in hay bales and the occasional Vodafone bar.

Drive away before midday and the village shrinks in the mirror faster than you can say “rural Spain”. Yet the altitude headache lingers, proof that you really did spend the night higher than any peak in England, in a place where the river is called Luna but the landscape answers to no one.