Palazuelos de Eresma

The first surprise isn't the fifteenth-century castle towering over the houses. It's the smell of malt drifting across the main road, carried on the breeze that sweeps down from the 1,030-metre ridge above town. Palazuelos de Eresma has been distilling whisky since 1958—long before most Scots had heard of Spanish single malt—yet the village still registers as a blank on most British itineraries. That's starting to change, and not just because the DYC distillery runs the only whisky tour in Spain where you leave with a proper dram rather than a thimble.

A castle you can't enter and a river you can't miss

The Castillo de los Arias Dávila squats on the highest outcrop, its limestone walls the same honey colour as the older houses below. Private owners mean the keep is off-limits, but the building still earns its keep as a compass: wherever you wander, a glance uphill tells you which way is north. From the plaza, a three-minute climb brings you to a track that circles the base; early evening light turns the stone deep gold and gives photographers the classic silhouette without paying entry fees.

Below, the Río Eresma does what mountain rivers do—shifts mood with the season. In May it rushes, brown and loud, carrying snowmelt from the Sierra de Guadarrama. By September it's a polite ribbon, shallow enough to hop across on stepping stones. Either way, the water anchors the village. Kitchen gardens crowd the banks, and elderly residents still fill plastic jugs at a stone fountain built in 1894 rather than pay for tap water at home.

Whisky, golf and other unlikely imports

The distillery tour lasts 75 minutes and ends in a panelled tasting room that could be transplanted from Speyside—until you notice the temperature gauge reading 38 °C outside and realise the air-conditioning is working overtime. Guides explain why Spanish oak sherry casks accelerate ageing; the climate here is closer to Delhi than Dufftown in summer. Booking is mandatory (only 25 visitors per slot) and the last English-language group leaves at 17:00 on weekdays. Cost: €14, including three generous pours and a miniature to take away. Drivers can swap for a half-bottle of 5-year-old; the local police set up breath-test checkpoints on the N-601 most Saturday nights.

Three kilometres south-west, Golf de la Faisanera sprawls across cereal fields and holm-oak scrub. José María Olazábal's design squeezes eighteen holes into a tight 5,650 metres, but the real draw is the green-fee: €55 midweek, less than half the price of a middling UK municipal. Club hire costs another €35 and the halfway house serves surprisingly good chuletón—a T-bone the size of a satellite dish that defeats most single-handicappers.

Between sierra and meseta

Palazuelos sits exactly where the mountains flatten onto the Castilian plateau. That geographical hinge creates two distinct micro-climates within a ten-minute drive. Up at the Puerto de Navacerrada pass (1,860 m) you can still find snow patches in April; down in the village, almond trees are already in blossom. The altitude also means nights stay cool even in July—pack a fleece if you're staying over—and winter mornings can start at –8 °C. When that happens, the distillery chimney becomes the tallest frost-covered sculpture in town.

Walking options reflect the same split. A flat 7-km loop follows the river south to the abandoned textile village of Revenga, returning on an old drove road used until the 1970s for moving sheep to winter pastures. For something stiffer, drive ten minutes to the trail-head at Fuenfría; from there a way-marked path climbs 600 m through Scots pine to the ridge, giving views that stretch—on very clear days—to the Madrid skyscrapers 70 km away. Both routes start directly from tarmac, so lightweight trail shoes suffice; boots are overkill unless you're heading into the high summits.

Lunch without the coach-party queue

Segovia's aqueduct may be fifteen minutes away, but so are its coach-loads of day-trippers. Eat in Palazuelos and you dodge both the queues and the mark-ups. El Chorrillo, on Calle Real, will split a roast suckling pig (cochinillo) into a half portion—enough for two hungry walkers and far more manageable than the whole baby pig restaurants insist on in town. Price: €22 per person including judiones (butter beans stewed with chorizo) and a half-bottle of local Verdejo that tastes closer to Sauvignon Blanc than heavy Rioja. They open Sundays; most kitchens in the village don't.

If the whisky tasting has blunted your appetite, La Casona del Mesonero does a grilled beef T-bone (chuletón) to share, served with proper chips—not the undercooked Spanish default—and a green peppercorn sauce that wouldn't feel out of place in a British steakhouse. House red is drinkable, but ask for the DYC & cheese pairing board instead; the mild sheep's cheese is an easy introduction for timid British palates.

Practicalities without the brochure-speak

Getting here is straightforward once you accept there's no station. Fly to Madrid, take the half-hourly Cercanías train to Segovia-Guiomar (30 min, €8.50), then a taxi to Palazuelos (10 min, fixed €18). The hourly local bus 11 costs €1.35 but stops at 21:30; miss it and you're walking or paying. Car hire at the airport adds €40 per day, but frees you from Spanish shop hours—everything shutters 14:00-17:00 except the distillery gift shop.

Accommodation is limited. The three-star Hotel Los Arcos has 48 rooms, underground parking and a pool that catches the afternoon sun; doubles from €70 midweek, breakfast €9. Book the distillery tour online before you reserve the room—weekend slots sell out a fortnight ahead. Alternatively, stay in Segovia and use Palazuelos as a lunch stop; buses run every hour and the last return leaves at 21:00, late enough for a long Spanish meal.

When to come, when to stay away

April-May and late September-October give warm days, cool nights and green countryside without the July furnace. August tops 35 °C most afternoons; the river path offers shade but the castle walk becomes a sun-trap. Winter is crisp and often empty—perfect if you want the distillery to yourself, but check the forecast: the N-601 can ice over and the local council is sparing with grit.

Bank-holiday weekends see Madrid families descend; what feels like a sleepy 5,000-strong village suddenly doubles. Restaurants run out of cochinillo, green-fees spike to €75 and the whisky tour switches to Spanish-only to cope with demand. Book nothing on spec during those dates, or simply come mid-week when Palazuelos returns to its default rhythm: church bells at eight, malt in the air, and a castle that still keeps watch even if no one pays it much attention any more.