Santa María de Huerta

At 762 metres above sea-level, Santa María de Huerta is high enough for the air to feel thinner, but not so high that the ears pop. The village unfurls along a sandstone ridge above the Jalón river, 40 minutes south-east of Soria, and the first thing a driver notices is the colour shift: wheat-coloured stone against cereal plains that stretch all the way to the Moncayo massif on the horizon. Then the sound drops away, replaced by the low hum of the A-2 somewhere in the distance and, every other hour, the freight-train horn that rattles the windows of the single-storey houses.

Everything here revolves around a single building. The Cistercian monastery of Santa María de Huerta occupies half the village footprint; its church tower is the highest point for kilometres and the cloister bell still dictates meal-times for the dozen monks who live behind the grille. They are not part of the scenery – they are the reason the place exists. Founded in 1162, the abbey owned the surrounding grain fields, the water mills and, for a while, the souls of most villagers. Today it owns the car park too, which fills up only on feast days and the occasional coach tour from Zaragoza.

Stone That Changes Colour

The standard visit lasts 75 minutes and starts in the Renaissance cloister, two storeys of perfectly proportioned galleries designed by Juan de Herrera’s workshop. Morning light hits the lower arches first, turning the stone from oatmeal to deep honey; by late afternoon the upper gallery glows pink. Guides speak Spanish only, but the desk hands out a folded A4 sheet of serviceable English notes. Photography is banned inside the church – not for copyright reasons, but because the monks insist silence should extend to camera clicks. The rule is enforced by a lay brother who appears from nowhere the moment a lens is raised.

The highlight is the refectory, a 13th-century hall as high as a London church nave. A wooden pulpit halfway up the wall allowed a monk to read aloud during meals; acoustics are so sharp that a whisper carries to the far end. Look up and you will see why: the stone vault is carved like a giant ribcage, each rib chiselled with a groove that throws sound sideways rather than upwards. Medieval audio engineering, still working nine centuries on. Beyond the kitchen – a cavernous space with a smoke-blackened chimney wide enough to roast an ox – lies the Sala de Conversos, where lay labourers once slept on straw. The floor dips in the centre where centuries of sandals have worn away the flagstones.

What You Can and Can’t Do

Visitors sometimes expect to wander at will; they are brusquely corrected. Only four rooms are open to the public, and you must stay with the guide. The rest of the complex – monks’ cells, library, vegetable garden – is strictly cloistered. Tours run on the hour from 10:30 to 12:30 and reopen at 16:00; nothing moves during the office of Sext at 13:00. Arrive on a Sunday without checking the timetable and you will find the grille drawn and the gift-shop shutter locked.

That shop, tucked into the former stables, is worth the schedule juggling. Shelves hold quince jelly set in squat jars, honeyed figs soaked in monastery brandy, and a surprisingly drinkable Garnacha from vines the monks keep outside Borja. Prices are modest – €4 for jam, €9 for wine – and everything fits into carry-on luggage. Cards are hit-and-miss; bring cash.

Beyond the Walls

Once the gate clangs shut, the village takes all of twenty minutes to cross. Stone houses line a single main street wide enough for mules, not SUVs; many still display the carved coat of arms of families who managed the abbey’s land rents. The square contains a 16th-century well and two plane trees that drop sticky seed pods in June. On the far side, the medieval bridge gives the best vantage of the monastery façade – five asymmetrical arches framed by poplars turning yellow in October.

Walking options are flat rather than dramatic. A farm track follows the Jalón south for 4 km to the hamlet of Aldealateja, between irrigated fields of alfalfa and the odd heron. Cyclists can loop north on the quiet SO-192 towards Ólvega, a 25 km circuit through cereal steppe that smells of chamomile after rain. For proper altitude, the Moncayo is 45 minutes by car: park at San Martín del Moncayo and climb through black-pine forest to the 2,313 m summit – feasible between May and October, but take a jacket; the temperature drops ten degrees at the top.

Eating and Sleeping

Santa María has two bars and no hotels. El Pozo, opposite the petrol station, serves a €12 menú del día: lechazo (milk-fed lamb) carved with a plate edge, chips, and a quarter-bottle of house wine. Service is quick; the owner speaks enough English to explain that “crío” means suckling, not crying. The bakery, open 07:00–13:00, stocks Soria butter biscuits – brittle, lightly salted, perfect with tea if you carry a travel kettle. For anything fancier, drive 20 minutes to Burgo de Osma where the parador occupies a 16th-century seminary and does a respectable roast suckling pig.

Overnight stays are possible in two refurbished village houses booked through the Soria tourism board, but most travellers treat the village as a 90-minute halt between Madrid and Zaragoza. That is realistic: after the tour, a coffee and a river stroll you have seen what the place offers. The upside is solitude; even on Assumption Day you will share the cloister with no more than fifteen people. The downside is closure fatigue – arrive five minutes late and the entire morning is shot.

When to Go, How to Get There

Spring and autumn give sharp light, mild air and the chance of hearing monks chant if you linger near the church at 19:00. Summer is dry and 4 °C cooler than the Meseta, but bring water; the single village fountain dried up in the 2017 drought. Winter is bleak: the plain turns monochrome, the wind funnels down the Jalón valley and occasional snow blocks the Soria road.

Public transport is skeletal: two buses daily from Soria, none on Sunday, arriving with comic precision five minutes after the morning tour has started. Driving remains the sensible option. From Madrid take the A-2 to Medinaceli, then the N-111; total time 2 h 15 m. Petrol is cheaper at the village pump than on the motorway, and the car park is free but unsigned – look for the gravel patch behind the monastery wall.

Leave before the light fades and the stone turns grey again. Santa María de Huerta does not shout for attention; it simply continues the routine it has kept for eight centuries, and whether that feels soothing or mildly frustrating depends on how tightly you pack your itinerary. Either way, the monks will still be there at 04:30 for Vigils, long after the last visitor has turned the ignition key.