Navalperal de Pinares

The village petrol station doubles as the cash point, the bakery shuts when the bread runs out, and the loudest noise at 10 p.m. is the church clock striking the hour. Navalperal de Pinares, perched on the lip of the Sierra de Gredos, doesn’t so much welcome visitors as allow them to eavesdrop on ordinary mountain life. At 1,275 m, the air is thin enough to make a Londoner puff on the short climb from the stone houses to the pine ridge, and cool enough that even in August you’ll reach for a fleece once the sun drops behind the granite outcrops.

The Forest Starts at the Edge of Town

No scenic drive is required: step out of the single guesthouse on Calle Real and you are already in the woods. Scots pines, planted long ago to stop the Castilian plateau blowing away, press in from three sides. Their needles muffle footfalls, so the first sound is usually your own breathing, followed by the crack of a branch as a jay flits overhead. Waymarks are discreet—small yellow dashes on bark or stone—yet the web of tracks is logical: follow the valley floor for an easy 45-minute loop, or climb south-west to the Collado de la Silla where the view opens onto the Alberche gorge and, on a clear morning, the faint blue wall of the Central Range beyond Madrid.

Walkers who expect signed mileage and refreshment kiosks will be disappointed. What you get instead is space: a single valley may hold only a handful of weekend cyclists and the odd shepherd on a quad bike moving his cattle between high and low pasture. Maps.me works offline if downloaded the night before; Vodafone customers should not bank on a signal once the path leaves the forestry track.

Granite, Beef and Beans

The village architecture is as sturdy as the landscape: dark grey stone, slate roofs, timber balconies just wide enough for a ham leg to catch the mountain breeze. Flowerpots are optional; firewood stacks are not. The church of Nuestra Señora de la Asunción sits square in the centre, its bell tower the tallest thing for kilometres. Inside, the cool darkness smells of wax and stone, a reminder that this building has been reheating Castilians since the 16th century.

Food is built for altitude. Lunch at the Mesón de los Ángeles starts with judiones—giant white beans stewed with chorizo and morcilla, mild enough for timid British palates—followed by chuletón de Ávila, a beef chop the size of a Sunday roast, served rare on a hot plate that continues to sizzle. Two people can share one portion; tackle a whole chop solo and you’ll need a siesta longer than the drive from Madrid. Pudding is usually ponche segoviano, a sweet slab of sponge and marzipan that travels better than sticky toffee pudding and makes a respectable souvenir if the bakery has already sold out of mantecados.

Vegetarians survive on tortilla and salad; vegans should self-cater. Shopping options are limited to a single SPAR-style shop that opens 9–1 and 5–8, so stock up in Sotillo de la Adrada, fifteen minutes down the N-502, before the final climb.

When the Snow Line Drops

Winter arrives early. By mid-November the night temperature can dip below zero and the road from the plains may be white at dawn. Navalperal becomes a launch pad for Nordic skiing rather than hiking: track is set on the forest roads towards Navalguijo, 6 km west, whenever snow depth passes 15 cm. Snowshoes are overkill for the village itself but useful higher up; the local rental outlet is the Guardia Civil office—yes, really—where officers keep a cupboard of kit for school groups. Adults can borrow for a donation to the village fiesta fund.

Driving requires winter tyres or chains at least once most seasons. The regional government is prompt with ploughs on the N-502, but the final 8 km to Navalperal is treated only after the main artery is clear. If the forecast mentions “cota de nieve 1.000 m”, plan to arrive before dusk or risk spending the night in the car with the shepherd’s dogs for company.

A Festival that Belongs to the Locals

Fiestas patronales in mid-August turn the solitary plaza into a dance floor. A cover band belts out 90s Spanish rock until 3 a.m.; teenagers ride bumper cars where the morning market sells honey; and the priest blesses livestock in front of the church before the bingo begins. Visitors are welcome but not catered to: there is no tourist office, no multilingual programme, no craft stall selling fridge magnets. If you want to know when the fireworks start, ask the man next to you at the bar and buy him a caña for the trouble.

The smaller winter fiesta, around 17 January, is more intimate. Residents process behind a statue of San Antonio, then share bowls of caldillo—beef broth sharpened with paprika—ladled from a cauldron in the square. Photographers hoping for colourful Andalusian pageantry will find instead the muted tones of sheepskin jackets and determined practicality. Dress warmly; the thermometer rarely climbs above 6 °C at midday.

Getting There, Staying Over

Fly to Madrid, hire a car at Terminal 1 and aim west on the A-50 for 90 minutes. Leave at junction 108, pass through Sotillo de la Adrada, then climb 400 m of switchbacks. Public transport exists—a twice-daily bus from Ávila—but the last leg from the nearest stop at El Barraco involves a 20 km taxi ride that costs more than the entire car rental for the weekend.

Accommodation is limited to three small guesthouses, collectively offering perhaps twenty rooms. La Quinta de los Encuentros is the most comfortable: underfloor heating, beamed ceilings, a honesty shelf of local red wine at €9 a bottle. Book weekends well ahead for autumn fungus season; mid-week in March you can usually arrive unannounced and still get a bed. Prices hover around €70 for a double, breakfast of toast, olive oil and strong coffee included. Wi-Fi is adequate for email, hopeless for Netflix—download a film before you leave the motorway.

What You Won’t Find

There are no souvenir shops, no yoga retreats, no artisan gin distilleries. Night-life is a choice between the bar with the television showing football or the one without. Mobile coverage is patchy, the nearest cash machine is 15 km away, and if you arrive after the bakery closes you will eat supermarket sliced bread for breakfast. Navalperal de Pinares is not a “discovery”; it is simply a high place where Castilians have lived with their cattle and their pines for centuries. Come for the silence between the trees, stay for the chop on the plate, and leave before the snow blocks the pass if you need to be back at your desk on Monday.