Segura de Toro

The granite bull stands motionless in Segura de Toro's tiny plaza, its flanks polished smooth by countless hands. At 636 metres above sea level, this solitary sculpture serves as both village mascot and meeting point for 177 residents who've made their home in the folds of the Sierra de Béjar. The bronze plaque claims it's a symbol of strength, but locals joke it's actually waiting for the bus to Cáceres that only runs twice daily.

Stone Stories and Slate Roofs

Every building here speaks the same geological language. Granite walls, hewn from nearby quarries, support roofs of dark slate that have kept families dry since the 16th century. The effect is monochromatic but far from monotonous – each house has its own quirks. One features a balcony barely wide enough for a flower box, another has a doorway so low that visitors duck instinctively. These aren't museum pieces. Washing hangs from windows, woodpiles lean against walls, and the smell of wood smoke drifts from chimneys even in June.

The Church of Nuestra Señora de la Asunción squats at the village's highest point, its Romanesque bones clothed in later additions. Inside, Baroque altarpieces gleam with gold leaf that catches the afternoon light filtering through plain glass windows. The priest only visits twice a month now; the rest of the time, the building serves as a cool refuge for hikers and a meeting spot for the village's dwindling congregation.

Walking the streets requires concentration. Cobbles, smooth as river stones from centuries of wear, create an irregular surface that turns ankles used to paved British footpaths. The lanes climb steeply, following the natural contours of the mountainside. Turn a corner and you might find yourself face-to-face with a donkey, still used by some farmers to access olive groves too steep for tractors.

The Chestnut Economy

Come October, the village transforms. Ancient chestnut trees, some predating the discovery of America, drop their spiky green bounty onto forest floors. The Castaño del Temblar, an 800-year-old giant, stands as testament to generations who've harvested its nuts. Local families still practise the traditional method – gathering, scoring, then roasting the chestnuts over open fires until the shells split with a satisfying crack.

The economic importance of chestnuts can't be overstated. When phylloxera devastated local vineyards in the 19th century, chestnuts prevented starvation. Today, they provide a modest income. Prices fluctuate wildly – a kilo might fetch €2 in a bad year, €6 when French buyers arrive. Most villagers supplement this with government pensions or work in Plasencia's hospitals and schools, commuting along roads that twist like discarded ribbon.

The chestnut route, a three-hour circular walk from the village square, passes through groves where wild boar root for fallen nuts. Signage is minimal – painted yellow arrows on rocks that weather quickly. The path climbs steadily to 900 metres before dropping into a valley where an abandoned hamlet slowly crumbles. Stone walls still stand, but roofs have long since collapsed, their beams repurposed in Segura's newer houses.

Mountain Living, Mountain Prices

Practicalities matter here. There's no cash machine, no petrol station, and the nearest supermarket sits 25 minutes away in Hervás. The village shop opens erratically – sometimes at 9 am, sometimes not until the owner's finished his coffee. Stock up before arrival. Essentials include: euros (many bars reject cards under €10), sturdy footwear (those cobbles), and a Spanish phrasebook. Almost zero English is spoken, though villagers appreciate attempts at their language, however mangled.

Accommodation options are limited. Three houses offer rooms to tourists, booked months ahead for August fiestas. Expect to pay €40-50 for a double room with shared bathroom. Breakfast might include homemade quince jelly and bread baked in a wood-fired oven. The village's single bar serves coffee from 7 am, switching to beer at 10. Food runs to hearty extremes – migas (fried breadcrumbs with pork) or caldillo (paprika soup with egg). Portions challenge even hungry walkers.

The natural swimming pool, twenty minutes' walk along a stony track, provides summer relief. Mountain water, cold enough to make British seaside seem tropical, fills a stone-lined basin. No chlorine, no entry fee, no facilities. Bring everything – towel, water, snacks – and carry rubbish out. Local teenagers leap from rocks into the deepest section, emerging breathless and laughing. The brave join them; sensible types ease in gradually, gasping at the shock.

Seasons of Silence

Winter brings a different Segura. Snow falls occasionally, lying thick enough to silence the village completely. Roads become impassable; residents stockpile food and fuel like survivalists. The upside? Crystal-clear air reveals views across three provinces. On the clearest days, the towers of Salamanca cathedral glint 80 kilometres distant. Heating costs soar – most houses rely on bottled gas or wood, neither cheap. Electric heaters strain the village's antiquated wiring.

Spring arrives late at this altitude. Cherry blossoms appear in May, weeks after Cáceres plains have finished flowering. Wild asparagus pushes through roadside verges; villagers harvest it for tortilla fillings. The village wakes slowly – shutters open, elderly men emerge to play cards in the plaza's single patch of sunlight.

Summer attracts Spanish families returning to ancestral homes. Children who've grown up in Madrid or Barcelona rediscover the freedom of mountain villages. They roam in packs, unsupervised, returning only for meals. The population swells to perhaps 300, still tiny but enough to support the bar's extended hours. Evenings stretch late – dinner at 11 pm seems reasonable when temperatures hover around 30°C at midnight.

The Reality Check

Segura de Toro isn't picturesque in the chocolate-box sense. Houses need repainting, streets need repair, and the young continue leaving for city opportunities. WiFi exists but crawls. Mobile signal disappears entirely in some spots – Vodafone users should switch to Movistar for any chance of connectivity. The village doctor visits weekly; serious medical issues mean a 45-minute drive to Plasencia's hospital.

Yet something persists here. Perhaps it's the way afternoon light turns granite walls golden, or how the village bell (still hand-rung for funerals) echoes across valleys. Maybe it's simpler – the realisation that communities can survive, even thrive, with minimal modern conveniences. Visitors seeking nightlife or shopping should stay away. Those content with mountain silence, star-filled skies, and conversations conducted in gesture-heavy Spanish will find Segura de Toro offers something increasingly rare: authenticity without artifice.

Leave before dusk if you're driving. The road to Hervás, carved into cliff faces, demands full attention. Pull over at the first viewpoint instead – watch lights flicker on in the village you've just left, clinging to its mountainside like lichen to stone. The granite bull will still be there tomorrow, waiting patiently for company that may, or may not, arrive.