La Losa

The morning bread van arrives at 10:15 sharp. By 10:20, half the village has appeared outside the stone houses, greeting each other in that particular Castilian way—formal but warm, always with a handshake. This is La Losa's version of rush hour, 1,083 metres above sea level where the Sierra de Guadarrama begins its climb towards the clouds.

Most British travellers heading for Segovia province speed past the turning on the N-603, bound for the aqueduct or the royal palace. Those who do swing left find themselves on a road that winds upwards through pine plantations, the temperature dropping a degree every few minutes. By the time La Losa's church tower comes into view—built from the same granite that ribs these mountains—the Meseta's summer heat has faded to something more forgiving.

The Architecture of Everyday Life

La Losa won't overwhelm anyone with grandeur. The parish church stands solid rather than spectacular, its rough-hewn tower more fortress than spiritual beacon. What catches the eye instead is how the village has managed to keep building in its own materials: granite below, adobe above, timber balconies painted that particular Spanish green that looks almost black in certain lights. Walk the main street at dusk and you'll spot the join between old and new—traditional houses with their tiny windows sitting next to 1990s builds that tried, mostly successfully, to match the stone.

The population hovers around five hundred, though that doubles at weekends when families drive up from Segovia city. You'll notice them immediately: they're the ones who've brought proper coats, even in May. Mountain weather here doesn't read the same forecast as the plateau below. Morning mist can linger until noon. Afternoon storms build quickly over the peaks. Pack layers, always.

Walking Country

The pine forests start where the village ends. No grand declarations, just a track beside the last house that leads into stands of Pinus sylvestris planted generations ago to stop the mountains washing away. These woods saved La Losa's bacon during the Civil War and the hungry years that followed—mushrooms, pine nuts, wild boar when the shooting parties weren't looking.

Today they provide something Britain lost decades ago: proper walking country without permits, fences or entry fees. The paths aren't marked with the obsessive precision of the Lake District. Sometimes they're not marked at all. But follow any track uphill for twenty minutes and you'll find yourself looking across a valley where eagles actually nest, not just appear on tourist brochures.

Serious hikers can link up with the GR-10, the long-distance route that traverses the entire Guadarrama range. More casual walkers might try the circuit to the abandoned caserío of Navalosa—two hours round trip, mostly flat, ending at stone ruins where swallows nest in what used to be somebody's bedroom. Take water. The altitude dries you out faster than you'd think.

Mountain Time

Winter arrives early at this height. First snow usually drops in November, though it rarely stays until Christmas. When it does settle, La Losa becomes something else entirely: silent except for church bells and the occasional 4x4 attempting the road to Segovia. The village has learned to cope. Bread deliveries continue. Someone always has a 4WD. But British drivers should think twice about winter visits unless they're experienced with mountain conditions and carry chains.

Spring makes up for it. April brings wild narcissus to the clearings. By May the nights are warm enough to sit outside, though you'll still want that jumper. This is when Madrid's mountain bikers appear, grinding up the forest tracks on bikes that cost more than most locals' cars. They're friendly enough, if slightly bemused to find anyone else on what they assumed was their private playground.

Eating and Sleeping

Let's be honest: La Losa isn't stacked with options. There's one bar, El Rincón, open Thursday through Sunday. María behind the counter does a decent tostada with tomato and oil for €2.50, served with coffee strong enough to wake the dead. The menu del día—when they do one—runs to roast lamb or perhaps judiones (those massive white beans the region's famous for) with chorizo. Nothing fancy, everything proper.

Accommodation means self-catering. Three holiday rentals operate in converted village houses, booked through Spanish sites that translate badly but work perfectly once you've figured them out. Expect to pay €80-120 per night for somewhere that sleeps four, with stone walls thick enough to survive any weather and WiFi that remembers dial-up fondly. Bring groceries. The village shop closed in 2019.

Getting There, Getting Away

Segovia city sits 45 minutes away by car, Madrid ninety minutes if the traffic gods smile. Public transport exists but requires dedication: two buses daily from Segovia, timed for locals not tourists. The last one back leaves at 17:30. Miss it and you're staying for dinner, whether you'd planned to or not.

Those who do stay find La Losa grows on them slowly. It's not instant love—more an appreciation for somewhere that refuses to perform for visitors. The village has problems: young people leave, houses stand empty, winter feels endless. But it also has that rare thing in modern Europe: a life that continues regardless of whether anyone's watching. The bread van will arrive tomorrow at 10:15. The church bell will ring the hours. The mountains will still be there, holding up the sky.