Torre de Don Miguel

The cheese arrives on a dented metal tray, still warm from the dairy across the lane. It tastes of thistle flowers and sheep’s milk, and it will be gone by tomorrow because the maker only produces twice a week. That is the first lesson of Torre de Don Miguel: nothing waits for the tardy traveller.

Vertical village, horizontal quiet

The houses climb a granite ridge at the western edge of Sierra de Gata, 559 m above sea level but feeling higher because the valleys drop away on three sides. Even in July the nights dip below 20 °C; in January you can wake to frost inside the car. The altitude squeezes the chest on the first walk uphill, yet it also keeps the summer mozzies half-asleep and turns the surrounding oaks a sharp, clean green you rarely see on the parched plateau of central Extremadura.

Stone rules here: low walls bound every tiny garden, slabs roof the bread ovens, and the parish church of Nuestra Señora de la Asunción is buttressed with the same grey rock. Follow any alley and it ends in a footpath rather than a road. Within ten minutes the last television aerial is behind you and the only sound is your boots on chestnut leaves. The village is compact—five hundred souls, one grocer, no cash machine—so distances are measured in vertical metres, not kilometres.

Walking without way-marks

Maps exist but locals trust their noses. A sensible morning circuit heads south-east along the Camino de las Eras, climbs past abandoned grain terraces, then swings back on the forest track that contours above the Alagón gorge. Allow two hours, carry a litre of water, and expect to meet nobody except a goatherd who will raise a hand without breaking stride. Cloudless days give views across the Portuguese border forty kilometres away; after rain the same ridge is a succession of private waterfalls.

For a longer day, drive ten minutes to the Puerto de Honduras and follow the GR-14 long-distance footpath west towards the medieval synagogue at Hervás. The return leg can be shortened by phoning the local taxi (Eduardo, WhatsApp only, €15 to Torre). Winter walkers should pack micro-spikes—snow is rare but the paths turn to polished slate.

What you’ll eat (and when you won’t)

The grocer’s opening hours are 09:00-14:00, 17:00-20:30, closed Sunday. Bread arrives from the next village at ten; by evening only the rock-hard barra is left. The alternative is to drive 10 km to Robledillo where a wider shop accepts cards and sells fresh milk. Eating out is simpler than it sounds: there are two cafés, one restaurant, and neither keeps predictable mid-week hours. Phone ahead. If the kitchen is open, order migas extremeñas—fried breadcrumbs laced with garlic, paprika and scraps of chorizo—followed by quesado de la Sierra, the mild fresh cheese that needs nothing more than a drizzle of local honey. House red from the Sierra de Gata co-op costs €4 a bottle and tastes like Beaujolais that has spent a year in Spanish sun.

Staying under the stars

Rural houses dominate the accommodation list. El Corral de la Higuera bundles four en-suite rooms around a 17th-century courtyard with a salt-water plunge pool; week-long lets drop to €90 per night outside school holidays. Smaller parties can book Casa Rural El Vínculo, a two-bedroom stone cottage whose wood-burner devours a week’s supply of kindle in an evening. Both owners leave a welcome pack: coffee, milk, bottle of red, and a map annotated with the walking times locals actually walk, not the optimistic ones printed by the tourist office. Whichever house you choose, switch off the patio lights around midnight—Torre’s altitude and minimal street lighting make the Milky Way brighter than any city screen saver.

The mistakes everyone makes

Arriving on a Sunday with an empty boot. The village shop is shuttered, the cafés run out of beer by lunch, and the nearest filling station is 25 km away on the CC-154.
Trusting Google’s drive-time from Madrid. The final 60 km along the EX-204 twist like a dropped rope; add thirty minutes and keep the fuel tank half-full.
Assuming mobile data will fill the gaps. Coverage is patchy in the valleys; download offline maps while you still have 4G on the main road.
Planning a day-trip to Cáceres. The mountain road is beautiful but exhausting; two hours each way leaves little appetite for stone corridors and Roman walls. Better to combine Torre with villages inside Sierra de Gata—Hervás, La Alberca, even the Portuguese border town of Sabugal.

When to come, when to stay away

April brings orchards of wild cherry and temperatures perfect for walking before lunch. May can be wet, but the payoff is a hillside dyed crimson with poppies. October is the sweet spot: 22 °C afternoons, chestnut husks splitting on the trees, and chanterelles pushing through the leaf litter if the rains have been kind. August is hot, yet the altitude makes nights bearable; still, avoid the midday valley tracks and carry more water than you think necessary. December to February is crisp, often sunny, but daylight evaporates by 18:00 and most cafés close for the season unless you phone the day before.

Leaving (and coming back)

The return journey always feels shorter. Perhaps it is the knowledge that beyond the last ridge the motorway straightens and the radio regains its signal. Torre de Don Miguel does not clutch at sleeves; it simply resumes its conversation with the mountains. Yet the cheese tray will be refilled on Wednesday, the goatherd will still expect a wave, and the night sky keeps an appointment you did not know you had made.