Ortigosa del Monte

The morning mist clings to the pines at eye level. From the church tower of San Bartolomé, you can watch it burn off across the valley while the village below wakes to the sound of a single delivery van and someone's hunting dogs. At 1,040 metres above sea level, Ortigosa del Monte doesn't do rush hour.

This isn't one of those Spanish villages that tourism forgot – it's one that never particularly wanted remembering. Six hundred residents, give or take, live in stone houses that have been absorbing the mountain weather for centuries. Their walls are thick enough to keep July heat at bay and January cold from creeping through. The roofs are tiled in the local style: heavy slabs of grey slate that would bankrupt most British roofing contractors.

The Reality of Mountain Village Life

Ortigosa functions as it always has, just with better mobile reception. The butcher opens when the butcher arrives. The single bar does double duty as the village's social centre and unofficial information office. If you need directions, ask here. If you need anything more complicated than bread, milk, or beer, you'll be driving to Segovia.

That twenty-minute drive to Segovia matters more than you'd think. The provincial capital's Roman aqueduct and Disney-perfect castle draw coach parties from Madrid, but they rarely venture this high into the Sierra de Guadarrama. What they miss is the transition from golden stone to granite grey, from flat plains to forested slopes, from tourist menus to whatever's being served at the Venta Vieja on Thursdays.

The Venta Vieja occupies a 17th-century building with walls nearly a metre thick. Inside, it's all wooden beams and the smell of lamb slowly roasting in the wood-fired oven. The menu reads like a Castilian cliché – cochinillo, cordero, judiones – but the prices don't. A three-course lunch with wine runs to about £18, and they'll apologise if the lamb's been overcooked. It hasn't been.

Walking Through Living Forests

The pine forests start where the village ends. Not the regimented plantations of Scotland, but proper Mediterranean woodland where resin drips from bark and wild boar root through the undergrowth. The senderos here aren't engineered for Instagram. They're tracks that started as animal paths, widened by locals collecting firewood, now waymarked just enough to stop you walking in circles.

Three main routes radiate from the village. The shortest, a 5km loop through the Pinar de la Dehesa, takes ninety minutes if you stop to watch the birds. Longer routes climb towards the Puerto de la Quesera, where the views stretch across the Segovian plain to the distant outline of the Gredos mountains. Spring brings wildflowers. Autumn brings mushrooms and the sound of gunfire as hunting season starts.

The altitude changes everything. Summer mornings start cool enough for a jumper, even in August. By midday, the sun's fierce enough to burn through factor fifty. Winter arrives properly – snow, ice, the works – from December through March. The road stays open, but you'll want winter tyres and a scraper. British drivers who've only tackled the odd Cotswold hill should probably practice their hill starts first.

When Spanish Families Arrive

August transforms the village. The population triples as Segovian families escape the city heat for their grandparents' houses. Suddenly the plaza has children in it. The bar runs out of tables. The bakery extends its hours. Prices don't budge – this isn't tourist pricing, it's just what happens when demand meets limited supply.

The fiesta de San Bartolomé lands at the end of August, four days of processions, brass bands, and dancing that finishes when the last teenager gives up. The village square becomes an outdoor kitchen. Whole lambs turn on spits. Wine flows from plastic jugs. British visitors who stumble across it tend to look slightly shellshocked by the noise, the food, and the fact that nobody's checking ID.

The rest of the year returns to something approaching silence. Weekends see the occasional walking group or cyclists tackling the mountain passes. Midweek, you might share the forest paths with a local collecting pine cones for his boiler. The village's single accommodation – rural houses converted from old farm buildings – rarely fills completely outside August and the Christmas fortnight.

Practical Truth About Staying Here

You'll need a car. Not want. Need. The nearest supermarket is 15 kilometres away in Carbonero el Mayor. The bus service that theoretically connects to Segovia runs twice daily, except when it doesn't run at all. Taxis exist, but you'll pay €35 for the journey from Segovia station.

The rural houses come fully equipped – British guests particularly rate El Pinar de Ortigosa for its garden and pool – but they're self-catering for a reason. The village shop stocks basics: tinned tomatoes, pasta, UHT milk, beer. Fresh fish arrives Tuesday and Friday. Bread's baked daily except Monday. If you're planning a dinner party, shop in Segovia.

Mobile signal varies by provider and weather. Vodafone works best. EE customers should prepare for digital detox. The village has fibre broadband, but it's in the process of being installed. Check with your accommodation whether WiFi actually reaches the bedrooms.

Winter bookings require flexibility. Heavy snow can cut power. The road gets gritted, but not obsessively. Your host will probably have a generator and definitely snow chains. They'll also have stories about the winter of 2021 when the village was cut off for three days. Listen to them.

Ortigosa del Monte doesn't sell itself as a destination. It's simply a place that exists, high in the mountains, where life continues at an altitude that keeps the summer heat tolerable and the winter nights properly cold. Come for the walking, stay for the lamb, leave before you start thinking that maybe rural Spain isn't so complicated after all. Just remember to fill up with petrol before you leave Segovia. The village pump closed in 1998, and nobody's missed it yet.