Castañar de Ibor

The village shop shuts for three hours every afternoon and all day Sunday, the cash machine works when it feels like it, and the nearest traffic light is forty minutes away. Castañar de Ibor, at 773 m on the north flank of the Villuercas range, does not apologise for any of this; it simply expects visitors to adjust to rural time.

Stone houses with Arabic-tile roofs line lanes barely wide enough for a tractor. Quartzite ridges rise behind them, their colour shifting from steel grey after rain to biscuit in the July sun. The name translates loosely as “Chestnut Grove on the River Ibor”, and the trees still outnumber people by a healthy margin. When the leaves turn in late October, whole hillsides glow copper, and the village calendar pivots on when the fruit hits the ground.

A Parish Church, a Pig and a Plate of Crumbs

The 15th-century Iglesia de San Vicente squats at the top of the main street, its masonry walls patched after the French passed through in 1809. Inside, the retablo mayor carries a 17th-century relief of the Last Supper that local children swear includes a ham leg on the table—Extremadura’s quiet rebellion against Lenten abstinence. Sunday Mass is at eleven; visitors are welcome, but the priest still delivers his homily in the rapid local accent that even Madrilène Spanish speakers struggle to follow.

Walk downhill five minutes and you reach Bar Solaire, the only place that stays open after 22:00. Order migas extremeñas—breadcrumbs fried in olive oil with diced bacon and peppers. British guests tend to compare it to a crispy stuffing mix; locals call it breakfast. A plate costs €7.50 and arrives with a glass of Cañamero white that tastes faintly of green apples. The barman will ask if you want a fried egg on top; say yes.

Tracks Where Your Phone Gives Up

Four way-marked footpaths fan out from the southern edge of the village. The shortest (PR-CC 23, 5 km) loops through sweet-chestnut coppice to a quartzite outcrop called El Chorrito, where griffon vultures use the thermals to gain height before drifting east along the ridge. The longest (PR-CC 24, 12 km) descends 600 m to the River Ibor, climbs through holm-oak scrub and emerges on the road to Guadalupe. Both routes are stone underfoot and rough on ankles; walking boots are advisable, and you should carry water because the only bar en route is a seasonal hut that opens randomly at weekends.

Spring brings orchids in the valley bottoms, but also the heaviest rains. Sections of path can slide away without warning; check with the Geopark office beside the town hall before setting out. Mobile coverage disappears within 300 m of the last house—download your map while you still have 4G.

Chestnuts, Cheese and the Only Hotel in Town

The Fiesta de la Castaña falls on the last weekend of October. On Saturday morning the cooperative brings a mobile roaster to the plaza; by midday the air smells of burning husks and caramelising sugar. You buy a paper cone of hot chestnuts for €2 and try not to scorch your fingers. In the evening half the village queues for ponche castañero, a sweet, chestnut-based spirit that tastes like Christmas pudding liqueur. Bring a designated driver; the road back to the hotel is unlit and the guardia civil do patrol.

If you prefer protein, ask for queso ibores—a raw goat’s-milk cheese with a russet rind rubbed with paprika. British tasters usually compare it to a firm, tangy Cheshire. The hotel restaurant serves it drizzled with local honey as a starter; the combination works better than it sounds.

Accommodation choices fit on one hand. Hotel Restaurante Solaire has 18 rooms, a small pool and a terrace that catches the last sun over the ridge. Doubles run €70–€85 B&B, less out of season. The other three options are village houses converted into casas rurales; expect stone floors, wood-burning stoves and the neighbour’s cockerel as your alarm clock. None has a reception—key codes are texted the day you arrive, assuming the signal reaches you.

Getting There, Getting Cash, Getting Fed

The simplest route from the UK is to fly into Madrid, pick up a hire car and head west on the A-5. After 160 km leave at Navalmoral de la Mata, then follow the EX-118 south for 35 km. Total driving time from Barajas is two and a half hours, toll-free. Public transport is fiction: the weekday bus from Cáceres reaches the next village, 7 km away, at 19:00 and returns at 06:00. A taxi from Navalmoral rail station costs €45—book the day before.

Fill your wallet before you arrive. The solitary ATM swallows cards for sport and is often empty by Monday morning. Bars prefer cash, the village shop refuses anything under a fiver, and the nearest functioning machine is a 25-minute drive to Cañamero.

Supplies: the Alimentación Lourdes opens 09:00–13:00, 17:00–20:00, closed Sunday. Stock up on milk, cereal and loo roll on Saturday if you are self-catering. Fresh fish arrives frozen in a van on Thursday; locals queue early. For anything more exotic than tinned tuna you will need to drive to Navalmoral’s Carrefour.

What the Brochures Leave Out

Summer nights are cooler than the Meseta plain—expect 16 °C at 02:00 even in July—but the village water supply sometimes fails after prolonged drought. The ayuntamiento posts updates on Facebook, assuming you have data. Winter brings sharp frosts; the EX-118 is treated with grit but can still close briefly after snow. Carry a blanket in the car from December to February.

Sunday lunch is sacred. Try to order before 14:30 or the kitchen shuts. English is rarely spoken; a phrase-book and a smile go further than perfect grammar. Photographers should ask before pointing lenses at villagers—many are related and protective of their privacy.

Castañar de Ibor will never feature on a “Top Ten Tapas Trails” list. It offers instead the small pleasure of a place where the harvest still dictates the rhythm of the week and where the night sky remains dark enough to spot Orion without squinting. Come prepared, tread quietly and the village might just share a few of its chestnuts.