Villanueva de Cameros

The stone houses of Villanueva de Cameros sit at 900 metres, high enough that even August nights demand a jumper. From the village edge the Iregua valley drops away like a green map, while behind you the forested ridges of the Sierra de Cameros climb past 1,500 m. Seventy-two people live here year-round; in winter the number shrinks to thirty and the silence becomes almost geological.

Stone, Slate and the Smell of Wet Oak

No sugar-cube whitewash here. The Cameros style is slate roofs the colour of storm clouds, hand-cut limestone walls and timber balconies painted ox-blood red. Windows are modest, built to keep out the wind that scours the plateau after October. Walk the single main street at 7 pm and you’ll hear more wood stoves than televisions; the village still buys its logs by the tractor-load from communal pine plantations you can see on the ridge above town.

The 18th-century church of San Martín squats at the top of the slope, its bulky tower visible long before you arrive. Inside, an ebony-and-ivory altarpiece survives from the days when this parish served transhumant shepherds moving flocks between Soria and the Ebro. Finding it open is a lottery; the key hangs in the house opposite the door (brass bell on the wall). Ring once, drop a euro in the tin, and you’ll probably have the place to yourself—TripAdvisor lists only 57 reviews, most posted by Spanish day-trippers who wandered up from Logroño for mushrooms.

Forest Paths that Start at the Back Door

You don’t need a national-park map here. Leave the last house, pass the stone trough where villagers still fill plastic cans for drinking water, and within five minutes you’re on a camino real wide enough for mules, bordered by hawthorn and wild rose. Thirty minutes of steady climbing brings you to a collapsed stone hut, the roof beams now blackened hearths for covens of griffon vultures. The track continues to Puerto de Piqueras (1,490 m), a high pass once used by Merino sheep; if you’ve packed lunch, turn it into a five-hour loop that drops back to the village through beech woods the colour of burnt toffee in late October.

Spring brings lesser spotted woodpeckers drumming on dead pines; summer evenings echo with red deer barks that carry for kilometres. Autumn is mushroom season—boletus, níscalos, trumpet of death—and number-plates from Bilbao fill the tiny car park. Locals are relaxed about foragers, but carry a basket rather than a plastic bag if you want to avoid sideways glances.

What to Eat When the Bar is Actually Open

Los Nogales, the only bar-restaurant, occupies a corner house whose front door is barely wider than a fridge. Opening hours shrink with the temperature: weekends only from November to March, closed Monday-Tuesday the rest of the year. When the green shutter is up, order the chuletón al estilo riojano—a 1 kg T-bone flashed over vine-cuttings so the centre stays ruby while the outside blackens like barbecue brisket. Patatas a la riojana come stewed soft with mild pimentón, no chilli heat, ideal comfort food after a windy ridge walk. Finish with queso camerano, a young goat’s cheese served with local honey; the house tinto, shipped up from El Cigo in refillable bottles, drinks like light Pinot rather than oak-heavy Rioja.

Stock up before you leave Logroño: the nearest supermarket is 25 km away and the village has neither shop nor cash machine. If Los Nogales is shut, the picnic tables at the mirador above the church accept BYO suppers with sunset views thrown in free.

Getting Up Without Getting Vertigo

From Bilbao ferry port it’s two hours on the A-68, then the N-111 south towards Soria. Leave the motorway at Logroño and stay on the national road; sat-navs that try to shave off ten minutes will tip you onto the LR-455 from Aldeanueva—a single-lane concrete ribbon with 15 % hairpins and stone drops that feel like the north face of the Eiger. Ignore them. Turn off at Torrecilla en Cameros, follow the LR-457 for twelve kilometres of bends, and park where the tarmac widens just before the village entrance. Streets are shoulder-narrow; leave the car and walk.

In winter the final 3 km can ice over; carry chains or fit winter tyres if you’re visiting between December and February. The council grades the road at dawn, but late arrivals have been known to spend the night in the lay-by halfway up.

Why You Might Leave After Lunch

Villanueva de Cameros is not a place of blockbuster sights. The church is small, the museum non-existent, and if the cloud base drops you’ll be walking in damp wool for hours. Mobile signal flickers between one bar and none on Vodafone and O2—download offline maps before you set out. When the bar is closed the only evening sound is the river rushing 400 m below, loud enough to feel companionable or lonely depending on your mood.

Yet that spareness is exactly what brings a handful of Brits back each year. They come for the moment when the sun clears the ridge, light sliding across slate roofs like hot metal, and for the realisation that the person who unlocked the church also grew the thyme on your pork chop. If you measure travel by tick-box attractions, stay in Logroño. If you’re content with forest scent, valley views and a village where the church bell still tells the time, Villanueva de Cameros will do nicely—just remember to bring a fleece, even in July.