Hoyos

Above the Heat, Below the Radar

Four hundred metres up a granite ridge, Hoyos catches the breeze that Extremadura's lowland towns can only dream about. While Cáceres swelters at 40 °C, the village thermometer often stops five degrees lower, the air carrying resin from holm-oak dehesas and, after rain, the sharp scent of schist warmed by sun. It is the sort of place where you notice the altitude less in your lungs than in the light: clearer, thinner, throwing the Sierra de Gata summits into sharp relief across the River Árrago valley.

That extra breathing space makes Hoyos a sensible base for walkers who want the Sierra's cork-oak trails without the coach-party parking wars of neighbouring Gata. It also means winter arrives early. Between December and February the EX-390 can frost over; locals fit chains for the 20-minute crawl down to the plain. Come April the same road is flanked by rockrose and lavender, and the village's stone houses glow the colour of pale honey.

Granite, Iron and a Plaza that Still Works

Hoyos grew rich enough on border trade—Portugal lies 25 km west—to rebuild itself entirely in granite. Parish church, manor arches, even the benches in Plaza Mayor are hewn from the same grey block, so the whole centre feels carved rather than constructed. Wrought-iron balconies, painted the deep green of bottle glass, throw lace-like shadows across the cobbles at sundown. Nothing is staged: the bar under the portico opens at seven for field hands, the chemist still shuts for siesta, and the evening paseo follows the same clockwise circuit it has for decades.

Walk five minutes uphill and the houses thin out; dry-stone walls take over, topped with wild asparagus in spring. At the ermita of San Sebastián the ridge drops away; you look south across oak pasture that stretches uninterrupted to the Monfragüe hawks' hunting grounds. Sunset here is worth timing: the sierras bruise from limestone white to mauve while swifts cut black arcs across the sky.

Trails that Start at the Doorstep

Maps are sold in the ayuntamiento foyer for €3—cash only, office hours 09:00-14:00—and show six waymarked circuits. The easiest, a 5 km loop to the Árrago pools, follows an old drove road where mercury-green lizards scatter across sand. In May the river still runs deep enough for a swim; by late August you may find only tea-coloured puddles between granite boulders. Locals advise early starts: vultures ride thermals by ten, and there is no shade until the alder grove two kilometres in.

For a full day, the PR-CC-170 climbs 600 m into the Sierra de Gata proper, passing abandoned chestnut terraces and a shepherd's hut whose roof has long since become pasture. The return drops via the hamlet of Perales del Puerto, where Bar Tino will fry a two-egg tortilla and serve it with a caña for €6—provided you arrive before the 15:00 shutter comes down.

After heavy rain the granite gullies turn into miniature torrents; the town hall tweets route closures @HoyosSierraGata. Between November and March the higher paths can ice over; carry lightweight crampons if you plan to cross the 1,200 m Puerto de Honduras.

What Turns Up on the Table

Evenings smell of oak smoke and rendered pancetta. Migas—breadcrumbs tossed with garlic, pepper and scraps of chorizo—appear at every fiesta, but most visitors eat them in the mesón attached to Hotel Rural El Redoble. The owners buy bread from a baker in Villafranco del Guadiana, cube it, dries it for two days, then fries it in olive oil pressed from their own groves. A plateful costs €8 and is enough to cancel any thought of pudding.

Spring brings caldereta de cordero, slow-cooked until the bone marrow dissolves into the sauce; the meat is so tender you can portion it with a spoon. If that sounds heavy for 30 °C heat, order the local goat's-cheese salad instead: a soft queso de oveja crumbled over lettuce sharp enough to cut the fat. Vegetarians should ask for "patatas a lo pobre"—potatoes, green pepper and onion stewed until they confit in their own oil. It is listed as a side dish but arrives in a soup bowl.

Monday is still slaughterhouse day; several bars close because there is simply no fresh meat to serve. Plan ahead or drive 18 km to Coria, where supermarkets stay open.

When the Village Doubles in Size

For fifty weeks of the year Hoyos keeps its 878 inhabitants to itself. Then, mid-September, the fiesta of Nuestra Señora de los Remedios fills every guest bed within a 30 km radius. Brass bands march at dawn, fireworks ricochet off granite walls, and the plaza becomes an outdoor kitchen where women ladle migas from pans the size of tractor wheels. Accommodation triples in price; if you want spectacle, book early. If you want silence, arrive the week after, when the streets are swept and the only sound is the church bell practising for Sunday mass.

January brings a quieter, colder celebration: the romería of San Sebastián. Locals walk the two kilometres to the ermita behind a single drum, share anise-laced coffee from thermos flasks, and return for a lottery whose top prize is a ham. Entry is free; visitors who bring firewood are welcomed with the courtesy extended to distant cousins.

Cash, Clocks and Getting Here

No railway line climbs this ridge. From Madrid Barajas it is 230 km on the A-5 and EX-390—count on three hours with a coffee stop in Navalmoral de la Mata. Porto is slightly closer but involves Portuguese tolls; fill the tank before the border to avoid card-machine headaches. Buses reach Coria twice daily from Madrid; from there a local taxi charges €35 to Hoyos, and you will need to book it the day before.

Once in the village everything is walkable, but services run on agricultural time. Bars open 07:00-11:00, close until 17:00, then serve until 22:00. Lunch outside these windows is impossible; dinner starts at 20:30 and kitchens shut promptly at 23:00. The only ATM is in the Cajamar office on Plaza Mayor—when it works. Bring euros or risk washing dishes; neither hotel accepts cards for extras under €20.

Mobile coverage is patchy inside stone houses; the town hall offers free Wi-Fi on the plaza between 08:00 and 20:00. Rain or shine, the signal is strongest by the bandstand—locals joke it is the only place you can both upload a photo and hear a nightingale.

Worth the Detour?

Hoyos will never compete with Cáceres' walled palaces or Trujillo's conquistador squares. That is precisely its appeal. Come for cool mountain air, for trails that start at the church door, for a plaza where old men still debate the price of pigs rather than property. Come prepared for closed doors on Mondays, for cash-only menus scrawled in chalk, for silence so complete you will hear your own footfalls echoing off granite. Stay two nights—three if you intend to walk—and you will leave with the Sierra de Gata ridge line printed on your eyelids and a new respect for villages that refuse to turn themselves into souvenirs.