Encinas De Arriba

The church bell strikes midday and the only other sound is a tractor grinding through low gear somewhere beyond the stone houses. At 960 metres above sea level, Encinas de Arriba sits high enough for the air to carry a winter bite even when Salamanca—half an hour west on the A-66—is already shrugging off its coat. The village name translates roughly as “Upper Holm Oaks,” though only scattered pockets of the original forest remain, replaced by a rolling checkerboard of wheat and barley that turns from emerald to biscuit-gold with the harvest.

This is the Spain that guidebooks forget. No souvenir stalls, no hop-on-hop-off bus, just one café-bar with its door propped open and a single shelf of crisps behind the counter. Order a caña and the barman will lift an eyebrow in greeting, the universal rural shorthand for “foreigners welcome, but you’ll have to speak first.”

Stone, Silence and the Smell of Woodsmoke

The village grid is three streets deep and five wide; you can walk every cobbled lane in fifteen minutes and still have time to read the brass plates on the granite doorways. Most houses are built from the same honey-coloured stone quarried near Béjar, their wooden balconies painted ox-blood red or left to weather silver. Roof tiles curl like stale toast; in October the chimneys puff continuously, feeding on off-cuts from local olive groves. Heating works—British visitors have noted radiators “hot enough to dry hiking socks overnight”—but bathrooms can carry a faint whiff of damp plaster. Bring shower gel; rural lets assume you travel with your own.

Architecture buffs will enjoy spotting the transition from 16th-century plinth corners (chunky granite blocks) to 1950s cement patches. The parish church, Nuestra Señora de la Asunción, is locked most days, yet the stone bell-tower still rules the skyline. Stand in the plaza at dusk and you’ll see why the place photographs best in sideways light: long shadows exaggerate every balcony and wrought-iron grille until the whole village looks like a theatre set waiting for actors who never appear.

Walking Without Waymarks

There are no signed trails, which is either liberating or unnerving depending on your map-reading nerve. Head east past the last house and a farm track plunges between wheat stubble and oak scrub. After twenty minutes the path peters out on a low ridge; from here you can see the entire Sierra de Béjar unfolding like a rumpled duvet, its highest crests snow-dusted from December to March. Spring brings calandra larks and the smell of wild thyme; autumn smells of freshly split chestnut. Take water—fountains are for livestock, not hikers—and remember that midday sun at this altitude burns even in April.

Cyclists can follow the quiet SA-301 towards El Tejado, climbing 400 m over 12 km of switchbacks before a grin-inducing descent back towards the motorway. Road surfaces are decent, drivers courteous, and the only hazard is the occasional loose dog that considers the tarmac its personal sofa.

How to Eat When There’s Only One Bar

The café-bar opens at seven for coffee and industrial pastries, shutters again at midday, then re-emerges at eight for beer and toasted sandwiches. That’s your safety net. For anything more ambitious, drive ten minutes north to Villoria where a roadside venta serves cocido stew thick enough to hold a spoon upright, or continue into Salamanca itself. In the city’s old town you can jump from Romanesque to molecular gastronomy in the space of one plaza; the contrast makes the return to Encinas feel like flicking off a radio.

If you’re self-catering, stock up in Salamanca’s covered market before you leave. Local specialities worth bagging are hornazo (a meat-stuffed brioche that travels like a Cornish pasty), ibérico chorizo cured for twenty-four months, and quesito de oveja, a tiny sheep’s-milk cheese wrapped in chestnut leaves. Back in the village kitchen, pair them with a €4 bottle of Arribes red and you’ve spent less than a single London pint.

When to Come, When to Stay Away

April and May green the fields and daytime temperatures hover around 20 °C, perfect for walking without the sweat factor. September repeats the trick, adding grape-harvest scent drifting up from the Duero valley. Mid-winter is crisp, often sub-zero at night, but bright; snow rarely blocks the main road for more than a morning. August is the month to avoid—daytime 35 °C heat sends even the swallows searching for shade, and the village’s lone bar shortens its hours further.

Fiestas wake the place up for three days around 15 August. Visitors who time it right will get fireworks launched from a metal frame in the football field, communal paella dished out at midnight, and a brass band that rehearses in the street because nowhere owns a rehearsal room. Accommodation doubles in price those nights; book early or stay in Salamanca and drive in for the spectacle.

Getting Here Without Tears

No UK airport flies direct to Salamanca; the fastest route is Madrid-Barajas, then either the ALSA coach (2 h 15 min, €22) or a Renfe train (1 h 40 min, €28) west to Salamanca. Hire cars sit directly outside the coach and rail stations; from there it’s 30 km up the A-66, exit 380, followed by ten minutes of country road. Public buses do reach Encinas—on Tuesdays and alternate Fridays. Miss one and a pre-booked taxi from Salamanca costs about €45, roughly the same as a day’s car hire plus fuel.

The Honest Verdict

Encinas de Arriba will never elbow its way onto a “Top Ten Spanish Villages” list, and that is precisely its appeal. Come expecting polished boutiques and you’ll last half an hour. Come prepared for silence, dusty corners and a sky so wide it feels impertinent, and you might stay longer than planned. The view at sunset really is fantastic; just remember to wipe the dead flies off the terrace table before you pour the wine.