Préjano

The first thing you notice is the lungs. At 710 metres, Prejano sits high enough for the air to feel sharpened, as if someone has turned up the contrast on the landscape. The second thing is the hush. Two hundred-odd residents, a handful of stone houses, and a single church tower are enough to fill the silence without breaking it.

Up Among the Dry-Farmed Fields

This is cereal country. From the village edge, the land rolls away in ochre waves of wheat stubble and sun-browned vines, stitched together by dry-stone walls and the occasional holm oak. The Cidacos valley lies 200 metres below, a green ribbon of poplars and irrigated veg plots that looks almost irrationally lush from above. On a clear morning you can pick out the church spire of Arnedo, 15 km to the south-east, and the ridgeline of the Sierra de Moncalvillo turning from violet to rust as the sun climbs.

The altitude does more than provide views. Nights stay cool even in July, when the valley floor is gasping above 35 °C. Daytime walkers should still carry water—shade is scarce once you leave the narrow streets. In winter the position flips: the village catches the full force of the continental northerly, and snow can block the LR-250 approach road for a day or two. Spring and early autumn are the sweet spots, when the thermometer hovers around 20 °C and the paths firm up after rain.

A Church, a Shield, and a Timber Eave

Prejano’s geography is its main attraction, yet the parish church of San Martín de Tours still rewards a pause. Built in the twelfth century and patched through the Baroque, it keeps its original Romanesque doorway tucked under a later porch. Step inside (the door is usually open between 10 a.m. and 1 p.m.) and the retablo glints with gilded seventeenth-century woodcarving—over-the-top for a congregation that rarely tops fifty, but that is village pride for you.

The streets around it take ten minutes to master, unless you dawdle. Look up and you will spot a coat of arms carved above door number 14 on Calle Mayor, and nineteenth-century iron balconies that have sagged with the weight of geraniums. The stone is the local tawny limestone; when the evening light hits it, the walls glow like low-burning charcoal. There is no souvenir shop, no interpretive panel, and only one bench strategically placed for the view. The lack of infrastructure feels refreshing until you need the loo—plan accordingly.

Trails Without Signposts

A dirt lane leaves the upper end of the village, signed simply “Caseríos”. Within five minutes the tarmac is gone and the track narrows into a traditional sheep drift. Follow it south-east and you skirt the Cerro de San Cristóbal, gaining another 150 metres of height. The reward is a widescreen sweep of the Riojan foothills: a mosaic of vineyards, almond groves and the dark scars of recent wildfires. Total distance to the ridge and back is 7 km; allow two hours and carry at least a litre of water per person.

Maps? The IGN 1:50,000 sheet “Logroño/Arnedo” (sheet 28) marks the footpaths, though locals still refer to them by the farms they once served: “el camino de los Llanos”, “la vereda del Carrascal”. Mobile coverage is patchy once you drop off the crown of the hill—download your track before leaving the village bar. Speaking of which, do not expect waymarked loops or QR codes on fence posts. The philosophy here is simple: you are welcome to walk, but you are expected to know where you are going.

What Appears on the Table

Food service is weekend-only for most of the year. La Posada del Laurel, the stone-fronted inn on the main square, opens its dining room on Friday evening, Saturday and Sunday lunch. A three-course menú del día costs €18 and runs to roast lamb shoulder, Riojan-style migas (fried breadcrumbs laced with grapes and chorizo) and a glass of crianza from nearby Albelda de Iregua. Vegetarians get pisto—a thick pepper-and-aubergine ratatouille topped with a fried egg. Book a table before 8 p.m. the night before; the kitchen buys meat fresh on market day and will not over-order for drop-ins.

Outside those hours, the only edible commerce is the bakery on Calle San Roque, open 9–11 a.m. Buy a loaf of mollete (soft-crumbed breakfast bread) and a portion of mantecados—crumbly lard biscuits that taste better than they sound. There is no grocery store; the nearest supermarket is a ten-minute drive down to Arnedo, so self-caterers should stock up before the climb.

Getting Up and Staying Over

Public transport is theoretical. The Autobuses Ciudad de Arnedo line runs a school service at 7:30 a.m. from Logroño on weekdays, returning at 2 p.m.—useless for most visitors. A hire car from Logroño airport (45 min on the A-12) is the practical choice. The final 6 km climb on the LR-250 is single-track with passing bays; reverse into them when you see oncoming traffic and you will avoid the traditional limestone scrape along the passenger door.

Accommodation is limited to five guest rooms above La Posada del Laurel. Expect beamed ceilings, wool blankets rather than duvets, and a small balcony that catches the sunrise over the cereal fields. Doubles are €55 mid-week, €70 at weekends, including coffee and mollete downstairs. There is no reception desk—ring the bell in the bar and someone will appear with a key and a set of house rules (quiet after 11 p.m., front door locked at midnight). Cheaper beds can be found in Arnedo, but then you miss the night sky: at this elevation the Milky Way competes with the church bell tower for dominance.

The Small Print

Come with modest expectations and Prejano delivers. Arrive expecting cafés, craft shops and signed hiking circuits and you will leave within the hour. The village is a place to switch off the engine, silence the phone and walk until your calves remind you of the altitude. Bring water, a map and a sense of self-sufficiency; the silence is generous, but it does not hand out favours.