Segovia

The coach brakes hiss on Avenida de Fernández Ladreda and there it is—an 800-metre granite backbone rearing 28 metres high without a scrap of mortar. Segovia’s two-millennia-old aqueduct doesn’t creep up on you; it simply arrives, like a guest who refuses to remove his coat. British visitors step off the Madrid shuttle, phones already raised, and still manage to misjudge scale: those arches look smaller in photographs, yet in person they throw afternoon shadows wide enough to park a double-decker.

Stone, Sky and a City that Breathes

Segovia sits at a cool thousand metres on the northern lip of Spain’s central plateau. The air is thin, the sky an almost insultingly bright blue, and the wind carries a whiff of resin from the Sierra de Guadarrama. What the city lacks in size—barely 4 km from aqueduct to fortress—it repays in vertical surprise. Every cobbled lane that slips away from Plaza Mayor ends in either a stiff climb or a sudden drop. Comfortable shoes aren’t a fashion statement; they’re the difference between enjoying the evening pig roast and limping back to the bus stop.

The stone here is a warm blond granite that turns honey-coloured at dusk. It’s the same stone the Romans quarried, the same the Moors reused for walls, and the same the Catholic Monarchs later dressed into Gothic spires. Locals call it “piedra de sillería”; photographers call it murder on white balance. Either way, it explains why the whole old town gleams even under cloud, and why winter sunsets can feel almost over-lit.

A Morning Circuit Without the Crowds

Start early—Spanish early, which means 09:30—and you’ll have the aqueduct’s Plaza del Azoguejo almost to yourself. Walk under the arches, then duck up Cervantes street for a coffee at El Sitio (€1.80, cigarette machine in the corner, excellent tortilla). From there it’s a gentle incline to the Alcázar ticket office; buy the €9 “Pulsera Turística” bracelet if you intend to climb the tower. The bracelet also covers the cathedral and two minor churches, and lets you bypass the snaking queue that forms after 11 a.m.

The Alcázar’s tower climb is 152 tight spiral steps, narrow as a Oxford turret and twice as draughty. Halfway up, a slit window frames the cathedral’s sandstone needles against the mountains—worth pausing even if your thighs protest. At the top, the plateau falls away on three sides; the Eresma and Clamores rivers meet in a gorge so deep that vultures circle beneath eye level. Guides repeat the Disney legend—this fortress supposedly inspired Snow White’s castle—but the real story is more interesting: a fifteenth-century artillery school, a royal prison, and a 1862 fire that left only the stone shell. Disney never mentioned the gunpowder stains.

Back at ground level, follow the outer wall south until you reach the Judería. Segovia’s medieval Jewish quarter never feels museum-like; laundry still hangs from iron balconies and the smell of toasted cumin drifts from kitchen windows. Peek into the Centre for the Interpretation of the Jewish Quarter (free with bracelet) for a ten-minute film in English that explains why the 1492 expulsion halved the city’s population overnight. Exit onto Calle de la Sinagoga and you’ll spot a tiny shop selling marziparrones—soft almond buns dipped in dark chocolate. Buy one; they’re 90 cents and disappear after two bites.

Roast Pig and Other Midday Hazards

By 13:30 the day-trippers have landed, and every mesón within sight of the aqueduct sprouts a laminated photo of cochinillo. The roast suckling pig is Segovia’s edible emblem, but it pays to choose carefully. Locals eat at family-run Restaurante José María on Cronista Lecea; ask for a media ración (half portion, €22) and you’ll still receive enough crackling for two. The waiters bring the pig to the table first, then snap the plate theatrically—more Heston Blumenthal than grandma’s kitchen, but the meat is silk-soft and the skin shatters like a well-fired pork scratching.

Vegetarians aren’t abandoned: judiones de La Granja are butter beans the size of 50-p pieces, stewed with bay and smoked paprika. Pair them with a glass of local Rueda (€3.20) and you’ll understand why Castilians regard beans as seriously as Yorkshire folk regard gravy. Finish with ponche segoviano, a slab of sponge set with almond and soaked in rum, branded with the city’s double-eagle stamp. One portion feeds two; the sugar hit is strong enough to fuel the afternoon climb back to the aqueduct.

Afternoon Light and Other People’s Coaches

Segovia’s cathedral closes between 14:00 and 17:00, so use the lull to walk the city walls. Access is via Puerta de San Andrés (bracelet again); the ramparts give side-on views of the aqueduct and a surprisingly honest angle on the modern suburbs beyond. From here you can trace the old perimeter to the Mirador de la Pradera de San Marcos, a meadow that drops away toward the Eresma. Evening flood-lighting switches on around 21:00 in summer, 19:00 in winter; the castle glows gold against pine-dark hills, and the only sound is the river below. Coaches leave at 18:30, so the meadow empties fast—stay ten minutes longer and you’ll have the postcard to yourself.

If legs still function, descend the signed path to the Roman causeway at the valley floor. The perspective reverses: aqueduct on skyline, cathedral towers poking above cliffs, swifts cartwheeling overhead. The loop takes 35 minutes and gains 120 metres on the return—enough to remind you that Segovia was built for defence, not cardio. Winter visitors should note that the path ices over; the city occasionally ropes it off after November rain.

Getting There, Getting Out

Madrid’s Moncloa bus station runs coaches every 30 minutes; journey time is 75 minutes and costs €5.45 each way if bought online. Trains from Chamartín take 28 minutes on the new AVANT service, but the station is a 25-minute walk from the aqueduct—fine in April, less fun in January sleet. Overnighting buys you the city after dark: Parador de Segovia sits on the opposite hill, rates from €110 mid-week, pools open May–October. A cheaper option is Hotel Infanta Isabel, literally on Plaza Mayor, where rooms with cathedral views start at €75 and breakfast delivers proper black pudding.

Leave space in the suitcase; the tourist office beside the aqueduct sells vacuum-packed cochinillo (€28 per kilo) that survives the flight to Luton. Security will ask what it is; reply “roast pork” and hope they don’t confiscate the crackling.