Solana de Rioalmar

The church bell strikes noon and nobody stirs. A single tractor idles outside the only bar, its driver inside nursing a caña and watching the door as if expecting half the village to walk through. They won't. Solana de Rioalmar counts barely a hundred souls, and most are out checking livestock or coaxing beans from thin mountain soil.

At 1,120 m on the southern lip of the Sierra de Ávila, the settlement tilts toward the sun above the Almar valley, exactly as its name promises. The altitude buys reliable snow in January and mercifully cool nights in August, a bargain that has shaped life here for eight centuries. Granite walls, a metre thick in places, shoulder the winter cold; terracotta roofs angle steeply enough to shed the sudden spring storms that roll up from the Duero basin.

Walking into a Working Landscape

There is no ticket office, no interpretive centre, not even a leaflet rack. What Solana offers instead is a network of farm tracks that double as footpaths, signed only by the occasional paint splash or the knowledge that if you keep the river on your left you will eventually reach the neighbouring hamlet of Navalmoral, three kilometres away. The route along the Almar is the gentlest option: poplars and willows screen the water, kingfishers flash turquoise and the path never rises above 50 m. Come after rain and the schist turns slick; walking boots with a decent tread are advisable.

Branch east and the ground climbs through dehesa—open oak woodland where black Iberian pigs graze between acorn crops. The ascent to the ridge above the village takes forty minutes and repays the effort: the view stretches south across the provincial boundary into Extremadura, a rumpled carpet of olive green suddenly sliced by the silver ribbon of the Tiétar reservoir. Griffon vultures ride the thermals at eye level; if you sit quietly they pass close enough to hear the air ripping through their primary feathers.

No circular trails exist, so plan on retracing steps or arranging a car pick-up at the far end. Mobile coverage is patchy once you drop off the crest—download an offline map before setting out.

Stone, Mud and the Smell of Woodsmoke

Architecture tourists may leave underwhelmed. The parish church of Nuestra Señora de la Asunción rises barely a storey above the adjoining houses; its granite blocks came from a local quarry long since swallowed by gorse. Step inside and the interior is equally spare: a single nave, a timber roof blackened by centuries of candle soot, a plain stone font where every villager since the 1500s has been christened. No baroque excess, no gilded retablo—just the confidence of a building that knows it belongs.

Residential houses follow the same honest grammar. Ground floor for animals, external staircase to the living quarters, hayloft above. Many still have the original wooden balcony—narrow, almost Georgian in proportion—where yesterday’s laundry dries today. Peek through an open doorway and you may catch the glint of copper pans or the low arch of a fireplace big enough to roast a lamb on a winter night. Few façades are pristine; flaking limewash and the odd satellite dish remind you this is a working village, not a film set.

What You’ll Eat and What You’ll Pay

The only public dining option is the bar attached to the grocery, open Thursday to Sunday. Inside, a hand-written board lists what the owner’s sister has cooked that morning. Expect judiones de la Granja—broad white beans the size of a 50-p coin—stewed with morcilla, perhaps a plate of fried potatoes topped with strips of acorn-fed pork. Prices hover round €9–€11 a portion; bread and a simple salad are extra. Beer comes in 200 ml bottles, wine in 500 ml carafes, both under €3.

If the bar is shut, drive ten minutes to Burgohondo where Casa Paco grills excellent chuletón (beef rib) over holm-oak embers for €28 a kilo. Vegetarians face limited choice: tortilla is usually on offer, but the default protein is meat, meat or meat. Stock up on fruit and emergency sandwiches in Ávila before you head into the hills.

Seasons and How to Reach Them

Spring arrives late; night frosts can linger into April. May is the sweet spot when the broom flowers yellow and daytime temperatures sit in the high teens—perfect walking weather. Autumn brings mushroom foraging and the first woodsmoke; mornings turn crisp, but afternoons often touch 22 °C under a cobalt sky. Winter is serious business: the road from Burgohondo is kept open, yet snow tyres or chains may be required after heavy falls. Summer is tolerable thanks to altitude—expect 28 °C max—but August fiestas mean the village doubles in size for a weekend and every car parks on the single street.

Public transport is non-existent. From Madrid, take the ALSA coach to Ávila (1 h 20 min), then a regional bus towards Burgohondo and ask the driver to drop you at the Solana turn-off, 3 km above the village. A taxi from Ávila costs €45–€50 if you pre-book. Having your own wheels is simpler: the A-50 motorway to Ávila, then the AV-900 regional road, takes under two hours from Madrid Barajas even in heavy traffic.

Accommodation consists of three privately owned village houses restored as self-catering lets (search “casa rural Solana de Rioalmar”). Rates run €70–€90 per night for a two-bedroom dwelling, including firewood and rather slow Wi-Fi. There is no hotel, no pool, no spa—just the sound of cowbells drifting across the valley at dusk.

The Quiet That Stays With You

Leave on a Sunday evening and you will meet cars heading up: grandchildren returning to show new partners where Mum grew up, builders come to patch winter damage, hunters hoping for wild boar. They wave as they pass, not because they know you, but because failing to acknowledge a stranger would feel rude in a place this small. The village recedes in the rear-view mirror, granite walls glowing briefly in the last sun before the road dips into pine forest. Back in Madrid or London the silence you notice most is the absence of that wave.