Jerte

Sixty kilometres west of Plasencia the road tilts upwards, the temperature drops four degrees, and the traffic thins to tractors and the occasional Madrid-plated hatchback. At 604 m above sea-level Jerte hangs on a shelf above its own river, a bruised-green wedge of valley that smells of wet slate and woodsmoke when the sun goes in. The village is small – barely 1,200 permanent souls – and it behaves like it: shops roll down their shutters at 14:00 sharp, dogs sleep in the middle of the lane, and the loudest sound at 22:00 is usually the church bell counting the hour.

When the valley turns white

Between mid-March and mid-April the surrounding slopes briefly become Spain’s answer to Japan’s sakura season. Roughly 1.5 million cherry trees erupt at slightly different altitudes, so the blossom is never a single fireworks display; it ripples uphill over three weeks, and guessing the peak is a local sport. Spanish weekenders arrive before breakfast, so anyone hoping for empty lanes of white petals needs to be on the road from Plasencia at dawn. A calm weekday in late March can still deliver the postcard, but arrive on a Sunday in early April and you’ll queue to park behind coaches from Seville.

The trees themselves belong to working farms, not the tourist board. Expect netting, pick-up trucks and the occasional tractor reversing across the tarmac. That mix of agriculture and aesthetics is what keeps the place honest – blossom time here is a harvest calendar marker, not a festival with entrance fees.

River walks, mountain corkscrews

Outside blossom season Jerte reverts to a hiking base. The Ruta de los Pilones follows the river downstream for four kilometres, clambering over smooth granite slabs that have been bored into natural swimming holes. Water temperature hovers around 16 °C even in July; the Spanish shriek, most Brits cope. Trainers with grip are essential – the stone is polished to an ice-like finish by millions of sandals.

For a full day, the circular Garganta de los Infiernos trail climbs through sweet-chestnut woods to a glacial cirque where vultures turn overhead. The 16 km loop gains 700 m of height, so by early November the upper section can be laced with frost while the village below still hits 18 °C in midday sun. Snow shuts the high paths two or three times most winters, but the valley road is rarely blocked for long.

What you’ll eat (and when you won’t)

Cherries appear fresh for barely six weeks, usually mid-June to late July. The prized variety is picota – dark, stalkless, the size of a squash ball. Farm-gate stalls sell five-kilo boxes for around €8; take a cool-bag if you’re driving back to Madrid. Outside that window you’ll find cherry jam, cherry liqueur and cherry ice-cream that tastes like a Ben & Jerry’s flavour that never made it past market research.

Meat is the default in most bars: chuletón (a two-finger-thick beef or pork chop) arrives sizzling on a slate, seasoned only with rock salt and the smell of charcoal. Vegetarians survive on patatas revolconas – smoky paprika mash topped with crispy pork scratching that can, at a push, be scraped off. Good luck finding a vegan main within the valley; Plasencia, 25 minutes away, is the nearest safe harbour.

A village that still keeps shop hours

Jerte’s grocery opens 09:00-14:00 and 17:30-20:30, six days a week. Bread sells out by 11:00, milk by noon. On Sunday the shutters stay down, so stock up in El Barco de Ávila on the way up. Credit-card stickers are rarer than wi-fi passwords – carry cash for coffee, church donations and the municipal car park that still charges €1.50 a day even when the blossom circus is in town.

Accommodation is mostly small guesthouses, many converted from 19th-century stone houses with slate roofs and internal wooden galleries. Expect uneven stairs, low doorframes and bathrooms added as an afterthought. Rooms cost €60-€90 in shoulder season; blossom weekends jump to €140 if you book late. There is no five-star option, and only one hotel has a lift.

Getting there, getting out

Madrid-Barajas to Plasencia is two and a half hours on the A-5 and EX-A1; after that the EX-203 twists up the valley for 30 minutes. Buses run twice daily from Madrid’s Estación Sur to Jerte, but they arrive at siesta time and leave before dawn, so a hire car from Plasencia station is the practical choice. Petrol stations are scarce once you leave the main road – fill the tank while you can.

Leave the valley by a different route and the landscape flips: north over the Puerto de Tornavacas drops you into the sheep-cheese country of La Vera, while the old N-110 east to Ávila crosses the Gredos foothills where wild ibex stare down from the crags. Either road reminds you that Jerte is only an hour from proper wilderness – handy if the village starts to feel too gentle.

The quiet months

November brings chestnut hunts and fire-smoke curling from chimneys. January can be razor-cold at night – the thermometer touched –8 °C last winter – but midday sun still draws locals onto the plaza benches. Bars keep their Christmas lights up until Three Kings, and the valley road is empty enough to hear your own tyres on the tarmac. There is no blossom, no fresh fruit, no festival programme, yet the place feels most itself: a mountain village that happens to grow cherries, not the other way round.

Come expecting postcard perfection every day and Jerte will disappoint. Come prepared for stone cottages, sudden weather changes and the smell of woodsmoke on a cold evening and the valley delivers something better than perfect – it feels alive.