Aldealengua de Pedraza

The church bell strikes seven and the only other sound is a slate tile slipping somewhere down the lane. At 1,200 m in the Sierra de Guadarrama, Aldealengua de Pedraza measures the day by sunlight, wind direction and the slow drift of vultures rather than by phone signal. Mobile coverage flickers in and out; the village’s 78 registered souls seem perfectly content with the arrangement.

Stone houses huddle shoulder-to-shoulder, their dark schist roofs angled to shrug off winter snow that can cut the hamlet off for a day or two. Summers, by contrast, are crisp rather than fierce: night-time temperatures dip to 12 °C even in July, so pack a jumper however hot the hire-car thermometer reads down on the Meseta. The altitude also means the air thins noticeably on the short climb from the small car park to the church; first-day headaches are common if you’ve flown in from sea-level that morning.

Walking tracks that used to move sheep

Shepherds’ paths radiate from the upper edge of the village like spokes. The easiest, way-marked with faded yellow dashes, follows an old drove road south-east towards the Cega valley – a gentle 5 km loop through pine and Pyrenean oak that returns via a spring locals swear makes the best coffee water in Spain. Take a metal cup; the flow is brisk even in September. For something stiffer, the 12 km ridge walk to Puerto de la Quesera gains 400 m and gives views north to the stone-wall silhouette of Pedraza, three kilometres away as the vulture flies, fifteen minutes by the twisty SV-221.

Maps are advisable: forest tracks split and re-split, signposts vanish at pasture gates, and the summer grazing rotation means cattle grids appear where none existed last season. The tobacconist in Segovia sells 1:25,000 sheets; the village bar (open weekends only) will happily unfold them for you over a caña, provided you accept that the landlord’s suggested route may lengthen the walk by an hour and invariably ends back at his counter.

Mushroom rules are taken seriously

October brings cars with Madrid plates and wicker baskets. Níscalos (Lactarius deliciosus) flush under the pines two ridges west of the church, and the regional government dispatches forest guards to check permits. Picking more than 3 kg a day is fined on the spot, and plastic bags are banned – use breathable mesh or expect a €60 lecture. If you’re unsure which orange-capped fungus is which, tag behind the elderly couple who arrive on the 10:15 bus from Segovia: they’ll ignore you politely but their knife technique is textbook.

A neighbourly fiesta with no wristbands

Aldealengua’s patronal fiesta happens on the second weekend of August, when emigrants return and the head-count swells to perhaps 200. There is no stage, no programme, no entry fee. Someone wheels a sound system into the square, the priest blesses bread at eleven, and by midday half the village is peeling potatoes for the communal stew. Outsiders are welcome provided they bring plates and don’t expect a menu. The evening ends with folk songs that pre-date Franco and a lottery where first prize is a ham; runners-up take home courgettes the size of cricket bats from somebody’s allotment. If you need accommodation that weekend, book El Bulín de Aldealengua months ahead – it has two bedrooms, five TripAdvisor reviews and a wood-burning stove that works even when the electricity doesn’t.

Eating: where the smoke drifts

The hamlet itself offers no restaurant. Walkers usually refuel in Pedraza’s Plaza Mayor, ten minutes down the road. Mesón de la Villa fires oak logs under Segovia-style suckling pig; order a quarter portion (£18) unless you’re ravenous. Closer, and cheaper, Bar de la Plaza hands out free tapas with every drink – morcilla on toast one round, crisp-fried lamb’s ear the next. Vegetarians do better at lunchtime in the nearby arts-and-crafts village of Valsaín, where La Posada del Candil does a roast-pepper stew fortified with local cheese (£12). Drivers should note: the Guardia Civil set up breath-test checkpoints on the SV-221 most Sunday evenings.

Winter versus summer access

Between December and March the SV-221 is salted but never priority: a 15-cm snowfall can close the final 3 km stretch overnight. Chains are rarely obligatory, yet rental companies in Madrid charge £7 a day for them and you’ll queue at the service area on the A-1 if a storm is forecast. Spring brings meltwater streams that wash grit onto the tarmac; low-slung sports cars scrape. July and August are plain busy – coaches disgorge day-trippers into Pedraza from ten till four, but they rarely climb the extra kilometres to Aldealengua, so evenings regain the hush. September light is golden, mushroom permits are available, and the thermometer hovers around 22 °C at noon – many locals’ favourite month.

Getting here without the grief

Public transport demands patience. From Madrid’s Moncloa station, hourly buses reach Segovia in one hour (£4.50). One afternoon service continues to Pedraza (40 min, £2.30); from there it’s a 45-minute uphill walk on the old cart track, or phone Radio Taxi Segovia (+34 921 44 55 66) for the €18 hop to Aldealengua. Timetables shrink at weekends and the last return bus leaves Pedraza at 19:10 – miss it and you’re looking at a €70 cab fare back to Segovia. Hiring a car at Madrid airport remains simplest: take the A-1 north for 90 minutes, exit at km 109, follow the N-110 to Pedraza, then the SV-221. Fuel at the Repsol in Boceguillas; the next garage is 40 km away.

What to bring, what to leave

Walking boots with ankle support beat trainers on slate-strewn paths. A refillable bottle saves buying plastic at altitude. Cash is king – the nearest ATM is in Pedraza and it runs out of notes on market Saturdays. Leave drone batteries at home: the area lies within the Sierra de Guadarrama National Park buffer zone and flights require permits that take weeks to process. Most importantly, leave the hurry. Aldealengua measures distance in bell tolls, not in minutes saved. Miss the rhythm and you’ll wonder why you came; match it and you may still be on the square when the next tile slips, listening for the echo to fade into the valley.