Narros del Puerto

The sheep outnumber the humans by roughly eight to one. At 1,150 m above sea level, Narros del Puerto keeps only twenty-six permanent residents, yet the evening bell still rings from a stone church the size of a London flat. Winter arrives early here; the first frost can land in mid-October and the last may not lift until May. That stubborn climate is why the walls are a metre thick, the windows the width of a paperback, and the fireplaces large enough to roast an entire lamb—something that still happens on feast days.

A Village That Works for Its Living

There is no postcard-perfect plaza fringed with orange trees. Instead, the heart of Narros is a sloping patch of concrete where the tractor turns. Houses are arranged for shelter, not for selfies; they huddle along lanes just wide enough for a hay baler, their eaves stained woodsmoke-black. A handful have been restored as weekend refuges by families from Madrid, but most remain working dwellings, with feed sacks stacked in the corrals and Wellington boots outside the door.

The name translates loosely as “Narrows of the Mountain Pass,” and geography still dictates the rhythm of the day. When the northerly wind funnels through the Puerto del Pico, villagers lash shut the wooden shutters. When cloud caps the Sierra de Ávila, they know the valley road to the capital may close. Schoolchildren already make the 30-km run to Ávila by seven each morning; if snow drifts across the AV-933, classes are cancelled and the village simply stays home.

Walking Tracks That Expect You to Know the Way

Maps here assume you can read contours. Paths strike out from the last houses and climb straight up oak scrub towards the pass. There are no way-marked loops, no souvenir wooden signposts, just the occasional splash of faded paint on a boulder. The most straightforward ascent follows the drove-road to Puerto del Pico (4 km, 350 m gain). From the col you can see south to the Gredos cirque, snow-gilded until late June, and north across the wheat plains that fade into the horizon like a fawn-coloured sea.

Take water: the ancient fountains marked on the 1:25,000 sheet may be dry by July. A phone signal flickers in and out; download the track before leaving the tarmac. Stout boots are advisable—thistles thrive in the grazed clearings, and the local cows have sharp horns and zero interest in Instagram.

Birdlife is abundant if you stand still. Griffon vultures wheel overhead, and in April the nightjar churs from the stone-pine ridge behind the cemetery. Bring binoculars, but leave the drone at home; the livestock spook easily and the mayor has little patience for rescue call-outs.

Where to Lay Your Head and Fill Your Stomach

Accommodation is limited to one large casa rural, La Serrota, a seven-bedroom villa on the western edge of the village. It comes with under-floor heating, a pool that stares straight at the Sierra, and a price tag that drops to €140 a night for the whole house in low season—astonishing value if you can assemble a group. Smaller cottages scatter through the neighbouring hamlets of Muñana and La Hija de Dios, but none is inside Narros proper.

There are no restaurants. The three bars—El Chema, El Puerto, El Salva—open when the owner’s cousin has finished lambing. Expect plastic chairs, a television muttering the previous night’s football, and a handwritten menu that begins and ends with cocido stew or roast suckling lamb. Prices hover around €12 for a feed; wine by the glass is €1.50 and arrives in a chunky tumbler. Cards are viewed with suspicion—carry cash, preferably in small notes. If you need supplies beyond crisps and tinned tuna, the nearest supermarket is a 12-minute drive south in Serranillos.

Seasons That Decide Whether You Get In—or Out

Spring is the sweet spot. Daytime temperatures nudge 16 °C, meadows glow yellow with cowslips, and the track to the pass is firm underfoot. Easter can still deliver a dusting of snow, so pack layers. Summer brings relief from the baking plains below; nights cool to 12 °C even in August, making Narros a cheap alternative to the crowded Gredos campsites. Autumn smells of wet earth and singed vine prunings; wild mushrooms appear from mid-October, but check regulations—collection is limited to 2 kg per person per day and you must carry ID.

Winter is serious. The AV-933 is cleared after storms, but ice lingers in shadowed cuts and the final 3 km into Narros are barely two cars wide. Chains may be required from December onward. If you do arrive, the reward is silence so complete you can hear the blood in your ears. The villa owners fire up the chimney and leave a bottle of local red on the kitchen table; you will drink it curled under a blanket while the thermometer outside drops to –8 °C.

A Calendar Measured in Saints and Sheep

Festivities are short, intense, and largely private. The patronal fiesta clusters around the third weekend of August: one evening street dance with a hired sound system, a mass, a communal paella, and a football match against the next village that ends when the ball bursts on the concrete. Visitors are welcome but not catered to—bring your own chair and don’t expect a bilingual programme. The only other date that matters is 13 June, San Antonio, when animals are blessed in front of the church. Farmers lead their mules through a wreath of flowers, and the priest sprinkles holy water from a plastic colander. It lasts twenty minutes; then everyone goes back to work.

Getting There Without Tears

From the UK, fly to Madrid-Barajas, pick up a hire car in Terminal 1, and head north-west on the A-6 and AP-6 for 110 km. Leave the motorway at junction 108, follow the N-110 to Serranillos, then turn right onto the AV-933. The last 15 km twist through oak woodland; watch for black Iberian pigs that wander across the tarmac. Total driving time is 90 minutes, but add half an hour if you stop for photographs—inevitable once the valley opens below.

Public transport exists only on paper. The Autobús Muñoz Prado will run if you phone 24 hours ahead; the single daily departure from Ávila bus station leaves at 14:30 and returns at 07:00 next morning. A pre-booked taxi costs €45 each way—cheaper than a night in the city if you are a group of three.

Parting Shots

Narros del Puerto will not change your life. It offers no souvenir shops, no sunrise yoga, no Michelin stars. What it does provide is a place where the night sky remains unlit, where the bread van toots its horn at ten each morning, and where the mountains answer back when you shout into the void. Come prepared, tread gently, and the village might—just might—still be this quiet when you return.