Padiernos

At 1,103 metres above sea level, Padiernos sits high enough for the air to feel thinner, the clouds closer, and the sun somehow sharper. Morning light here doesn't so much rise as unfurl—spilling across the Valley of Amblés like liquid brass, turning wheat stubble and oak scrub into a single, glowing sheet. By midday the heat can be brutal: 35 °C is routine in July, and shade is a currency. Come dusk, temperatures plummet. Even in August you'll want a jumper once the wind picks up, and in January the mercury regularly dips below –5 °C, glazing the granite door-knockers with a film of ice that cracks under your glove.

This is Castilla y León without the city break gloss. No souvenir shops, no tasting menus, no coach bays—just 280-odd residents, a church, a single bar that opens when it feels like it, and miles of empty track heading out across the old lakebed of a vanished Tertiary sea. The valley floor is broad and mostly flat, so cyclists can tick off neighbouring villages—Burgohondo, Villatoro, Hoyocasero—without climbing more than 150 m. Walkers have a harder time: footpaths follow livestock trails that suddenly tilt upwards onto the sierras, where griffon vultures tilt on thermals and the only sound is the crunch of your boots on quartz-flecked granite.

Stone, Smoke and Oak-Beam Bones

Every building here is made from the same grey stone, hacked out of local quarries and laid without mortar fancier than mud and lime. The church of Nuestra Señora de la Asunción squats at the top of the single main street, its tower more fortress than belfry—handy when bandits rode these uplands. Look closer and you'll spot the date 1737 chiselled above the south door, though the font inside is older by centuries. Around it, houses shoulder together as if for warmth: wooden balconies mellowed to the colour of burnt honey, oak doors two metres thick, chimneys that dribble wood-smoke from November to March. Many are weekend retreats now, their owners locked up in Madrid or Valladolid, but a handful still keep the old two-door system—one for people, one for livestock—evidence of the time when the family cow slept under the same beam as the family bed.

Walk past at twilight and you'll smell encina (holm oak) burning, a sweet, resinous scent that drifts down the lanes and clings to your coat. The village still observes the ancient right to gather dead wood from the commons; piles of it stack up against walls like makeshift barricades against winter. If you're staying at Los Campos Salobral— Booking.com's sole offering, rated 9.1/10 for its location and immaculate bathrooms—you can borrow a wicker basket and fill it yourself. The owners, a Madrid couple who bought the farmhouse in 2004, will show you which fallen branches are legal to take and which still belong to the council. A basket costs nothing; the hot shower afterwards is included.

Walking the Dry Amphitheatre

Geographers call the Valley of Amblés a "tectonic basin", which sounds dramatic until you realise it just means a giant, grassy bowl ring-fenced by low sierras. From Padiernos the rim looks walkable in an hour; allow three. The PR-AV 48 way-mark sets out from the cemetery gate, crosses the Arroyo de la Dehesa (usually a trickle you can step over), then climbs 250 m through holm-oak scrub to the ridge above Burgohondo reservoir. The going is easy until the final scramble, where granite scree shifts underfoot and the wind arrives like a slammed door. From the top you can see the entire valley laid out—wheat, barley, fallow patches the colour of lion hide—and count at least six villages, each one a pale cube against the gold.

Bring water; there are no fountains after the first kilometre, and the only bar en route is in Burgohondo, 7 km away, which closes on Tuesdays. A decent map is advisable: mobile signal dies in every hollow, and the way-marks are vandalised as often as they're replaced. In summer start early; by 11 a.m. the thermometer on the stone bridge reads 38 °C and the path offers no shade. In winter the same route turns slick with frost; micro-spikes aren't overkill in January, and you'll still meet locals in espadrilles who think you're soft.

Beans, Beef and the Politics of the Pig

Padiernos has no restaurant. The nearest proper sit-down meal is in El Barraco, 12 km south-west, at Asador María where a chuletón de Ávila for two weighs in at €42 and arrives still hissing on the plancha. But eating here isn't about tablecloths; it's about knowing someone. If the bar is open—look for the metal shutter half-up any evening after seven—you can order a caña and a plate of patatas revolconas (potatoes mashed with spicy paprika and pork fat) for €3.50. Mention you're staying overnight and the owner may produce a slab of morcilla he made during the November matanza, nutty with rice and scented with cinnamon. Refuse once out of politeness; accept the second time or it disappears forever.

Serious foodies time their visit for the first weekend of October, when the nearby town of El Barco de Ávila hosts its bean festival. Judías del Barco—buttery, thin-skinned white beans—sell for €8 a kilo from hessian sacks, and every household has a recipe that involves pig's ear, chorizo and two hours of simmering. Padiernos itself stages its fiestas around 15 August: a single marquee in the plaza, a brass band that plays Queen covers badly, and a communal paella cooked in a pan the size of a satellite dish. Visitors are welcome but not announced; turn up with your own plate and someone will ladle you a portion. Don't ask for vegetarian options—there aren't any.

Getting There, Staying Sane

Public transport is theoretical. There is a bus from Madrid's Estación Sur to El Barraco at 15:30 daily (€11.25, 1 h 40 min), but it arrives too late for the connecting local service, which only runs on market days anyway. Rent a car at Madrid airport and you're on the A-5 westbound for 90 minutes; exit at junction 108, follow the AV-540 through pine plantations, then climb the AV-931 for the final 9 km. The road narrows to a single lane in places; meet a tractor and someone has to reverse. In winter the last stretch is gritted sporadically; carry chains if snow is forecast, and don't trust Google Maps' timing—add 20 minutes for caution and sheep.

Accommodation is limited to the aforementioned Los Campos Salobral (doubles from €85, breakfast €8 extra). There are no cash machines in the village; the nearest is in El Barraco and it charges €2 per withdrawal. Stock up in Ávila if you're self-catering—the village shop opens 09:00–13:00, sells tinned tuna, UHT milk and not much else, and closes for siesta precisely when you realise you've forgotten toothpaste.

When to Cut Your Losses

Come between mid-April and late-May if you want wildflowers and 22 °C afternoons. September is equally kind, with the added theatre of stubble fires sending ribbons of blue smoke across the valley. July and August are furnace-hot, and the village's only spring dries to a trickle—flush carefully. November brings mist that never lifts before noon, and January can imprison the elderly with snowdrifts that the council clears reluctantly. Easter week sees a modest procession: twenty residents, one trumpet, and a statue of the Virgin shrouded in lace that smells of cupboard. It's oddly moving, but if you're after incense and gold, Ávila's cathedral does it better.

Padiernos will never make anyone's must-see list, and that's precisely its virtue. There are no viewpoints with Instagram frames, no artisan ice-cream parlours, no ticketed anything. What you get is altitude, silence, and the smell of wood-smoke drifting across a valley that forgot to modernise. Turn up expecting entertainment and you'll last half a day. Arrive happy to walk, listen and accept whatever the bar owner decides to feed you, and the village might—quietly—let you in.