Cilleros de la Bastida

The only traffic jam in Cilleros de la Bastida happens when someone's goats decide the lane is sunnier than their pen. At 1,067 metres above sea level, this granite knot of houses sits high enough to make Madrid's summer heat feel like someone else's problem. Twenty-one permanent residents, one church bell, zero shops—yet the place refuses to feel abandoned. Doors stay unlocked because the nearest stranger is probably a wild boar.

The arithmetic of altitude

Everything here works on mountain maths. Nights drop ten degrees below the valley whatever the season; pack a fleece even in August. The village well still runs because granite filters rain like a natural Brita. Oak woods start at the back door and roll north until they bump into the River Quilamas, 600 metres down. That descent takes ninety minutes on the old mule track; the return climb demands a litre of water and thighs that remember stairs.

Spring arrives late. While Salamanca's plains turn green in March, Cilleros waits until late April for the first oak buds. When colour finally breaks, it's sudden—whole hillsides flick from charcoal to acid green overnight. By mid-May the slopes are loud with nightingales; British birders recognise woodlark song drifting up from the heather. Autumn is the mirror image. October brings copper and rust, plus mushrooms if the rains align. Locals head out at dawn with wicker baskets; outsiders need a permit from the regional office in Béjar (€6, printed same day) and must weigh hauls at the village scales—anything over five kilos incurs a supplemental fee that funds forest upkeep.

Winter is serious business. Snow can cut the access road for two-three days; the council keeps a miniature plough in nearby Sotoserrano but it prioritises the milk lorry route. Chains live in car boots from November onwards. If the white stuff arrives while you're visiting, the price of a bed triples down in the valley—assuming you can reach it before nightfall.

Stone that remembers

No one has bothered to smooth the granite cobbles, so wear shoes with grip. Houses are built from the same rock they stand on, roofs weighted with slabs the size of tea trays. Look closely and you'll see former owners' initials chiselled beside doorways—an inheritance tax dodge from the 1840s that left a handy genealogy carved in stone. The church tower leans two degrees west; engineers blame frost heave rather than faith.

Inside, the single nave smells of candle wax and oiled wood. The font is fifteenth-century, still used. On the wall a British flag hangs discreetly: a thank-you from the 93rd Highland Regiment who sheltered here after escaping from Salamanca's military prison in 1812. Their graffiti—regimental number and date—survives in the sacristy if you ask the key-keeper, María (weekends only, no charge but she appreciates tinned custard).

Round the back, a threshing circle has been repurposed as a star-viewing platform. At new moon the Milky Way reflects off the slate so clearly you can walk without a torch. Bring a tripod; astro-photographers measure light pollution at 21.6 mag/arcsec²—darker than most Scottish Highlands.

Walking without waymarks

Forget coloured arrows. Paths here pre-date GPS and aren't giving up their anonymity. The most useful map is the 1:25,000 sheet sold at Salamanca's provincial shop (Calle de los Jesuitas, €9.50); Google blobs out the contour lines. Three routes are walkable from the door:

• Arroyo de la Dehesa: 4 km loop following a dry stream through holm oak. Wild rosemary scents the air; keep an eye out for Iberian ibex on the crags above.
• Puerto de Chorrero: 9 km there-and-back to a mountain pass used by smugglers until the 1950s. Elevation gain 420 m; views north to the distant plains of Portugal.
• Villavieja descent: 12 km linear trail dropping to the Quilamas river, returning by the farm track. Arrange a pick-up unless you fancy the 600-metre climb back.

None are technically difficult, but mobile signal dies within 500 metres of the village. Download the GPS track before setting off and tell someone your ETA—normally María, who keeps a written log on the bar door.

Eating when the bar opens

Weekend-only opening is not marketing; it's survival. The single bar (no name, just a green door opposite the church) raises its shutters Saturday at 11:00 and Sunday at 10:00. Out of season that's your lot. Inside, three tables, one hand-pump for Estrella de León, and a chalkboard that changes according to whatever José has shot. Rabbit stew €7, mountain beans with chorizo €5, coffee €1.20. Vegetarians get tortilla or cheese; vegans should bring supplies.

For more choice, drive 18 km to Guijuelo, centre of Spain's ibérico ham industry. The SPA hotel there does a three-course menú del día for €14 including wine; British visitors praise the lentils as "Heinz-plus-garlic". If you're self-catering, Salamanca's Mercadona sells vacuum-packed judiones—butter beans the size of conkers that swell to soup portions.

How to arrive without tears

Public transport is theoretical. The Monday and Friday bus from Salamanca reaches the village at 19:08; it leaves again at 07:18, which means either a two-night minimum or a very early bed. Car hire from Madrid airport takes 2 h 30 min via the A-50 to Béjar, then the SA-220 mountain road. Petrol stations are scarce after Navalmoral; fill up. The final 12 km twist like a dropped skipping rope—first-timers should allow 25 minutes and expect oncoming tractors.

Accommodation is the deal-breaker. No hotels exist inside the village. Closest options:

• Hotel Spa Abadía de los Templarios, Guijuelo – 18 km, indoor pool, English-speaking reception, doubles €75 B&B.
• Hospedium Hotel La Fuente, Béjar – 25 km, small 3-star, parking secure, breakfast buffet €8, reviewed by Brits for "proper tea bags".
• Casa rural EntreRobles, Sotoserrano – 12 km, two-bedroom cottage, wood burner, €90 per night whole house, Wi-Fi patchy.

Camping is tolerated beside the threshing circle if you ask at the ayuntamiento in Sotoserrano first (free, no facilities). Fires banned July-September.

The bill and the bottom line

A weekend for two, travelling from London in May, runs roughly: flights £120, car £70, fuel £40, two nights in Guijuelo €150, food and drink €80. Total £370—cheaper than most UK national-park breaks and you get better darkness plus goat cheese. What you don't get is reliability. Bars shut without WhatsApp warnings, weather closes roads, and the village's idea of entertainment is watching the sun hit the slate roofs at precisely 18:43. If that sounds like a poor return, stay away. If it sounds like breathing space priced at twenty-one residents, book the hire car and bring custard for María.