Villacastín

The first thing you notice is the smell. Before the granite bell-tower of San Sebastián even comes into view, before the A-50 slip-road has finished curling down from the motorway, the scent of wood smoke and pork fat drifts through the car's air vents. Villacastín announces itself with roast meat, not road signs.

At 1,010 m above sea level, this Segovian crossroads sits exactly halfway between Madrid and the Galician border – a fact the Spanish motorway authority underlines by placing every possible service area just outside the town limits. Drivers who ignore the bright-new Repsol stations and push on for another two minutes are rewarded with something the roadside giants can't offer: lunch that didn't spend the morning under heat-lamps.

Lunch Break, Spanish-Style

The Plaza Mayor is a plain, almost austere rectangle of granite houses and arcaded balconies. Nothing here has been prettified for weekenders; the benches are occupied by locals in work boots who've knocked off early for a menu del día. Yet the square fills up fast with Madrid-number-plated cars at 14:00 sharp. Their occupants have done this run often enough to know that Villacastín's asadores turn out cochinillo (suckling pig) with crackling so thin it shatters like toffee, and cordero asado (roast lamb) that actually tastes of pasture, not freezer.

Casa José, on the north side of the square, still uses the 1950s wood-fired oven built into the back wall. A half-portion of cochinillo costs €22 and feeds two modest British appetites; if that feels steep, remember you're paying for Segovian D.O. pork that never saw an industrial shed. Order the judiones (butter beans with chorizo) as a starter – they're mild, smoky and reassuringly close to a Lancashire hot-pot without the potatoes. House wine is a young tempranillo served in short, heavy glasses; at €2.50 a glass it's cheaper than the airport lounge coffee you didn't have time for.

Sunday is gridlock. Spanish families arrive straight from mass, fill twenty tables at once and linger over coffee and cigars. Arrive before 13:30 or after 16:00 if you want to eat without queuing. Weekday lunchtimes are quieter: you can be in and out within an hour, handy if you're still 300 km from your night's stop in León.

What the Motorway Doesn't Let You See

Leave the square on foot and the town shrinks fast. Two minutes uphill brings you to the Renaissance bulk of San Sebastián, its stone the colour of burnt butter. Inside, the nave is unexpectedly wide and calm; the only sound is the wind rattling the medieval bell ropes overhead. There's no ticket desk, no audio-guide, just a printed A4 sheet asking for a €1 donation towards heating. If you've been queueing for entry at the Alcázar in Segovia earlier in the trip, the silence feels almost illicit.

Behind the church a narrow lane climbs to the remains of the town wall. From here the view is pure Castilian plateau: wheat stubble stretching to a horizon so straight it might have been drawn with a ruler. The only verticals are the concrete pillars of the A-50, glinting in the distance like a faintly embarrassing piece of modern sculpture that nobody quite knows how to remove.

Walk ten minutes further and you hit the dehesa – the cork-oak pasture that still supplies acorn-fed pork to the town's kitchens. A signed footpath, the Cañada Real Segoviana, sets off south-east towards Navafria. It's an easy 8 km there and back on a track firm enough for trainers, not boots. Expect to see red kites overhead and, in late May, wild strawberries the size of your thumbnail along the verges. The altitude keeps the air cool even when Madrid is baking at 36 °C, but there's zero shade; take water and a hat.

Winter Versus Summer

Because Villacastín earns its living from passing traffic rather than overnight guests, most restaurants stay open year-round. January's feast of San Sebastián brings processions and free stew for locals, but daytime temperatures hover just above freezing and the wind whips across the meseta with nothing to stop it. Unless you're driving south from Santander in search of snow-free roads, there's little reason to stop in mid-winter.

Spring and autumn are the comfortable seasons. Night-time lows still drop to 6 °C in April – perfect sleeping weather if your accommodation has thick stone walls, chilly if you've picked a modern apartment geared to Madrid second-home owners who expect central heating. By late May the local strawberry fields open for u-pick; cardboard punnets cost €3 and the fruit is sweet enough to eat unadorned, though the Spanish still drown them in whipped cream.

August nights can surprise newcomers. At 900 m the air should cool down, yet the surrounding granite stores the day's heat and releases it slowly. Several British visitors complain online about sleepless nights in rural rentals with no air-conditioning. If you're overnighting, check for ceiling fans or ask for a room on the north side.

Using It as a Base

Villacastín works best as a pit-stop rather than a hub. Segovia is 45 minutes east on the A-50; Ávila is 35 minutes west. Salamanca makes an easy day-trip if you don't mind 200 km of largely empty motorway. The parador at Tordesillas is 70 minutes north, handy for breaking the long haul to Santiago.

Accommodation within the town itself is limited: two small guesthouses and a handful of Airbnb flats above the shops. Prices sit around €55–€70 for a double, breakfast not included. Beds are comfortable, walls are thin; expect to be woken by delivery vans unloading beer barrels at 07:30. The upside is parking on the doorstep and a two-minute stagger back from dinner.

If you need a pool, the nearest hotels are out on the industrial estate beside the motorway – functional, soulless and €20 cheaper. Choose according to whether you want to walk to dinner or save money and drive back after wine.

The Honest Verdict

Villacastín will never feature on a Spanish postcard rack. It has no honey-coloured alleys, no Renaissance palaces open to visitors, no artisanal pottery shops. What it does have is an unforced authenticity: a place that feeds travellers because feeding travellers is what it has always done, long before anyone invented the term "foodie stop". Come hungry, allow an hour longer than you intended, and leave before the siesta shutters clatter down at four.