San Pedro de Gaíllos

The morning mist lifts at 990 metres to reveal a village where resin-scented air replaces traffic fumes. San Pedro de Gaíllos, population 314, sits high enough in the Segovian uplands that mobile phone reception becomes patchy long before you arrive. This isn't altitude sickness territory – London's Shard towers higher – but the thin air sharpens everything: church bells carry further, pine needles crunch louder, and the silence between sounds feels almost physical.

The Forest That Pays the Bills

These aren't ornamental pines planted for weekend walkers. The resinero forests surrounding San Pedro de Gaíllos represent one of Spain's last commercial pine-tapping operations, where trees still bleed white gold for industrial use. The practice explains the village's relative prosperity compared to other Castilian settlements of similar size. Look closely at tree trunks and you'll see V-shaped scars dating back decades, each mark a small contribution to someone's mortgage or daughter's university fund.

The forestry heritage shapes daily rhythms. Dawn starts with the resin workers' vans heading into the plantations, returning by midday when temperatures make the sap run too fast. Their routes double as walking paths for visitors – broad tracks where getting lost requires genuine effort. Roe deer watch from plantation edges, though wild boar remain heard rather than seen, their rustling giving away night-time raids on local vegetable plots.

Walking here demands proper preparation. The altitude means sunburn arrives faster than coastal Spain, while shade temperatures drop sharply under dense canopy. Carry water: once past the village edge, fountains exist only on maps drawn by optimists. Mobile coverage vanishes within 500 metres of the last house – download offline maps before setting out, or rediscover the novel experience of navigating by tree shape and mountain silhouette.

Stone, Adobe and Subterranean Secrets

Village architecture reveals medieval building codes adapted to climate rather than aesthetics. Two-storey houses mix granite bases with upper walls of adobe brick, the stone preventing damp rising from frozen winter ground while lighter materials reduce weight on timber beams. Many retain original wine cellars carved into earth beneath – heavy wooden doors set at street level lead to underground chambers where families once pressed grapes and stored cheese through harsh winters.

The Church of San Pedro Apóstol dominates the small plaza without particularly trying. Constructed in phases between the 16th and 18th centuries, its weathered sandstone walls show where different stone sources met shifting budgets. Inside, baroque additions sit awkwardly beside earlier romanesque elements – the architectural equivalent of Victorian terraced houses with 1970s UPVC windows. The altarpiece deserves attention, carved from local pine by craftsmen who understood their medium's tendency to warp in centrally-heated churches.

Residential streets reveal generational divides. Some houses display immaculate restoration: new roofs, fresh lime wash, designer ironwork on restored balconies. Others slump quietly, their wooden balconies sagging like tired eyelids, awaiting inherited decisions about whether renovation costs justify keeping ancestral properties. Property prices hover around €40,000 for habitable houses requiring work, rising to €120,000 for fully restored examples – still cheaper than a London parking space.

When the Forest Delivers Dinner

October transforms the village into mushroom headquarters for central Spain. Cars with Madrid registration plates line verges each weekend as families disappear into plantations with wicker baskets and grandfather's knife. The local níscalo (saffron milk cap) fetches €18 per kilogram at Segovian markets, making a morning's foraging genuinely profitable. But regulations matter: collectors need permits from the regional government, available online for €12 annually, with Forestry Patrol vehicles checking baskets and paperwork.

The village itself offers limited dining options – one bar serving tortilla and basic raciones, closing unpredictably when custom proves insufficient. Practical visitors base themselves in nearby Carbonero el Mayor (12 kilometres) or arrange half-board with village households through the local council tourism office. Breakfast typically features strong coffee with chorizo from pigs fattened on forest acorns; evening meals might include lechal (milk-fed lamb) roasted in wood ovens that double as village heating during long winters.

Local wine comes from DO Rueda, 90 minutes west, though many households still produce small quantities of red for family consumption. The altitude and continental climate actually suit tempranillo grapes – several families have planted small vineyards on south-facing slopes, selling surplus to cooperatives while keeping enough for annual bottling traditions that predate written records.

Four Seasons, Four Different Villages

Winter arrives early at this altitude. First frosts appear mid-October, snow by December. The village population effectively doubles as Madrid families open weekend houses, drawn by cross-country skiing possibilities in nearby Navafría. Roads remain passable – the N-110 main route gets gritted – but secondary routes become treacherous without winter tyres. Electricity outages happen during storms; restored houses increasingly feature wood-burning stoves as backup heating.

Spring delivers the transformation that makes high-altitude villages worthwhile. May sees pine forests glowing almost yellow with new growth, while meadows between plantations burst with wildflowers. Temperatures reach 22°C by day but drop to 8°C at night – pack layers rather than relying on single heavy jackets. This proves ideal hiking weather: warm enough for t-shirts on exposed tracks, cool enough under forest canopy to keep walking through midday sun.

Summer brings biblical dryness. Rain becomes theoretical between June and September, with humidity levels dropping below those of Moroccan deserts. Forest fire risk dominates local consciousness – barbecue bans arrive automatically, smoking outside village limits carries €600 fines. The compensation? Night skies of extraordinary clarity. At 990 metres with minimal light pollution, the Milky Way appears genuinely milky, while shooting stars become too common for wishes.

Autumn delivers the village's finest moments. September maintains summer warmth but adds forest colours. Mushroom season peaks, local wine flows, and the resin workers finish annual tapping before winter preparations begin. Visitor numbers drop after Spanish bank holidays in October – those arriving midweek find village life continuing largely unchanged by tourism, whatever that means in settlements where strangers remain noteworthy events.

Getting here requires accepting Spanish public transport realities. Buses connect Segovia to Carbonero el Mayor twice daily, from where taxi services cover remaining kilometres for around €20. Car hire from Madrid Barajas takes 90 minutes via the A-1 autopista – budget €25 in tolls each direction. The final 15 kilometres wind through pine forests where GPS systems lose satellite contact; traditional map-reading skills suddenly become valuable again.

San Pedro de Gaíllos won't change your life. It offers no postcard moments, no Instagram opportunities requiring hashtag innovation. Instead, it provides something increasingly rare: a place where forests outnumber people, where silence costs nothing, and where the modern world's demands feel temporarily negotiable rather than mandatory. Bring good walking boots, abandon expectations of sophistication, and discover why some Spanish villages survive by refusing to become anything else.