Espirdo

The stone houses of Espirdo sit exactly one kilometre above sea level, high enough that the night air carries a nip even in July. Stand on the ridge south of the village at sunset and the Sierra de Guadarrama cuts a jagged silhouette against an almost violet sky, while behind you the wheat plains of Old Castile roll away like a yellow ocean. It is a view that costs nothing, demands no queue, and explains in thirty seconds why Segovians have been coming here for Sunday lunch since the 1950s.

A Plateau Village That Still Works

Espirdo is not a film set. Its 1,500 inhabitants still argue over parking spaces, still hang washing across the narrow lanes, and still close the lone corner shop for two hours at lunch. The place functions, which is precisely its charm after the postcard perfection of Segovia's aqueduct ten minutes down the road. Here the stone is chipped, the geraniums are watered with bathwater, and the church bell rings the hour slightly late – a living village rather than a museum.

The architecture is what Spanish planners call "serrano": thick walls of granite and mortar built to survive both the furnace of August and the minus-ten dawns of January. Rooflines sit low, eaves project just far enough to shelter the odd sleeping cat, and every third doorway still has the iron ring where a horse would once have been tied. Walk Calle Real early enough and you'll meet the baker delivering barra loaves by hand; walk it after ten at night and the only illumination comes from the flickering television in the bar opposite the church.

That church, dedicated to Saint Eutropius, is the single compulsory stop. The tower is 16th-century, the nave was given a Baroque facelift in the 1700s, and the south door still shows the scratches where someone's crusader ancestor sharpened his sword before heading south. Inside, the alabaster font is cool enough to make you linger even if you have no baptismal interest, and the guide leaflet (Spanish only, €1 in the sacristy) contains a floor plan accurate to the centimetre – the sort of detail British church-crawlers appreciate.

Walking Without the Crowds

Espirdo sits on the hinge between cereal steppe and mountain forest, which means you can choose your landscape at breakfast. Head north along the signed footpath past the cemetery and you are into open country within ten minutes; larks, hares the size of cats, and the occasional tractor whose driver will raise two fingers from the steering wheel in rural salute. Walk south and the pine and holm-oak scrub of the Guadarrama closes around you, the path climbing gently to a fire-road that links eventually with the GR-10 long-distance trail. Neither route is dramatic – this is not Snowdonia – but both are empty, and both give the sierra in panorama without paying for a chair-lift.

Spring and autumn are the comfortable seasons. Summer walking starts cool at 7 a.m. but becomes furnace-hot by eleven; in winter the same trails can be hard with frost, and the wind that barrels across the plateau has knife edges. Snow proper arrives only two or three times a year, yet when it does the village briefly becomes a cul-de-sac: the local council dispatches a single gritter, and residents simply wait their turn.

Cyclists like the loop that drops from Espirdo to the Eresma reservoir then swings back via the wine hamlet of Revenga. The gradient never tops six per cent, traffic is a tractor an hour, and the roadside poplars give shade. Mountain-bikers can cut up the forest tracks toward the Venta de la Perra pass; the surface is gritty rather than technical, so a hybrid bike suffices if you do not fancy lugging full suspension from Gatwick.

Eating and Drinking: Bring an Appetite

Gastronomy here is Castilian rather than fancy: roast suckling pig, judiones (butter-fat white beans), and the local answer to bread-and-butter pudding, ponche segoviano. The village itself has only one bar, La Plaza, where coffee still costs €1.20 and the owner will apologise if the croissants are not "de hoy". Close at eight, earlier if custom is thin.

For a sit-down meal you drive three kilometres to Venta de Espirdo, a roadside inn that predates the motorway. They will sell you a media ración of cochinillo – enough for two – with a glass of local Tierra de Castilla wine for under €25. The skin arrives crisp enough to crack with a spoon, the meat beneath salty and tender; British visitors who find Rioja too punchy usually like the house red, light and chilled like a Beaujolais. Book ahead at weekends: half of Segovia has the same idea.

Self-caterers should shop in the capital before arrival. Espirdo's tiny provisions shop stocks UHT milk, tinned tuna and not much else; fresh fish appears once a week, lettuce permitting. The nearest supermarket is a Carrefour in the Segovia retail park, twelve minutes by car, where you can also refill the petrol tank – rural stations close on Sunday afternoons without warning.

When (and Why) to Come

May brings the fiesta of San Eutropius: a procession, a brass band that has clearly practised, and a street stall selling churros thick as a broom handle. August hosts the summer fiesta – marginally louder, with evening concerts that finish politely at midnight because the village has work the next day. Both periods book up the handful of rental houses; outside them you can secure a three-bedroom stone cottage with wood-burner and parking for €90 a night, less for a week.

British families use Espirdo as a cheaper, quieter base for Segovia's aqueduct and Alcázar. The drive into town takes fifteen minutes, parking at the aqueduct is free after six, and you return to silence rather than to a hotel overlooking the ring-road. Conversely, couples looking for tapas trails and jazz bars will be happier staying in the city itself; Espirdo rolls up its streets early, and the only nightlife is the occasional dog barking at a fox.

Getting There, Getting Out

Madrid-Barajas to Espirdo is 95 km of fast toll road: exit T1, follow the M-40 to the A-6, peel off onto the AP-61 (€6.50 in coins) and watch the Sierra appear in the windscreen. Allow an hour, more if landing at rush hour. Public transport is hopeless: one bus a day from Segovia at 14:35, returning at 6 a.m. – times aimed at villagers with medical appointments, not at tourists. A hire car is therefore non-negotiable; the upside is that petrol is cheaper than in the UK and the roadside service stations serve surprisingly good coffee.

Mobile signal inside the old houses is patchy – WhatsApp messages sometimes require you to lean out of an upstairs window. Wi-Fi is standard in rentals, but bandwidth shrinks when everyone streams after dinner; download the Sunday papers before you arrive rather than after breakfast.

Worth It?

Espirdo will never feature on a coach tour. It offers no souvenir shops, no audio guides, no Instagram frames. What it does give is the Spain that exists between the monuments: a plateau village where the bread is fresh, the sierra fills the windscreen, and Segovia's Roman aqueduct is close enough for lunch but distant enough to forget. Come for three nights, bring walking shoes and a Spanish phrasebook, and you will understand why Castilians themselves escape here when the city grows noisy.