Villoslada de Cameros

At 1,072 m the air thins enough to make a Londoner pause. Villoslada de Cameros sits on a shelf above the Leza valley, its stone roofs glinting like wet slate even when the sky is clear. Summer evenings hover around 14 °C; locals keep fleece jackets on restaurant chairs the way Mediterraneans leave sunglasses. The village is small—three streets, one bakery with erratic hours, 360 permanent residents—and the first thing visitors notice is the hush: no motorway drone, no souvenir-shop playlists, just the Iregua river turning pebbles over 80 m below.

Stone, timber and a church that remembers snow

Houses are built in the Cameros style: chunky granite blocks, timber balconies stained dark by altitude, Arabic tiles too heavy for the Atlantic storms that sometimes climb this far south. The 16th-century Iglesia de San Pedro has walls a metre thick; step inside and the temperature drops another five degrees. Sunday mass still draws the same families whose surnames appear on Civil War memorial stones outside. Photography is tolerated, but flash feels intrusive when the priest is preaching to twenty parishioners and a handful of baffled hikers.

There is no ticket office, no audio guide, no gift shop. That applies to the whole settlement. If you want a fridge magnet you’ll have to drive 45 km to Logroño.

Walking straight into a natural park

The Sierra de Cebollera begins where the tarmac ends. way-marked paths leave from the last lamppost: yellow-and-white stripes for the easy valley loop, red-and-white for the 19-km ascent to Pico Cebollera (2,168 m). British Ordnance Survey habits die hard, so bring a 1:25,000 print-out—phone signal vanishes after the first kilometre. Spring brings carpets of martagon lilies; October turns the beech woods copper so bright it looks artificial. Goshawks circle overhead, and red kites tilt like paper planes. Binoculars are more use here than in the hides of the Norfolk Broads.

Winter is a different contract. The LR-223 is cleared daily, but a sudden norte can dump 20 cm between lunch and tea-time. From December to March the Guardia Civil turn away cars without chains or M+S tyres. When snow lies, locals switch to snow-shoes—Decathlon’s Spanish website delivers here in two days, but the village shop does not stock them, so plan ahead.

Food that turns up when the hunters do

Mealtimes are dictated by season, not by tourist footfall. Wild-boar stew appears the weekend after the first autumn hunt; weekend only, and when it’s gone the menu reverts to patatas a la riojana (potatoes, mild chorizo, not the blow-torch heat of Andalusian versions). Vegetarians get menestra, a spring vegetable medley sharpened with white wine. The only nightly constant is chuletón—a 1.2 kg rib of beef for two, cooked rare on an open grill at the Camping Los Cameros bar. Ring before 18:00 or the owner buys just enough for the regulars.

There are two bars. Both shut at 23:00 sharp; the barman will finish your sentence if you try to order after last orders. No-one accepts cards. The nearest cash machine is 26 km away in Torrecilla en Cameros—fill your wallet before you climb.

Why you should stay overnight—and how to do it

Day-trippers from Bilbao or Zaragoza often arrive at 11:00, photograph the church, drink a coffee, and are gone by 15:00. They miss the light slanting across hay meadows at 19:00, the smell of pine resin cooling after sundown, and the absurd starscape that justifies Spain’s astronomical observatories. Book one of the eight rooms at Posada El Camerano (doubles €80, breakfast included) or the smarter Los Cameros campground log-cabins (from €65, shared kitchen). Both places will store rucksacks if you want to walk on departure day.

Check the calendar before you choose dates. The third weekend of July hosts the Romería de la Virgen de Lomos de Orio: a procession up to a 17th-century hermitage, brass bands, free bowls of borona stew handed out by the parish. Beds sell out six weeks ahead; if you hate communal singing, pick another weekend.

The honest downsides

The village is tiny. “Evening entertainment” means choosing which bar to sit in. If it rains for two days the forest trails turn to chocolate mousse and there is no museum, no covered market, no spa. Mobile data drops to 3G on Vodafone and disappears entirely on EE outside the main square. And the drive matters: Logroño is 70 minutes along switch-backs; Bilbao is 2 h 30 min in good weather. If you land at 15:00 and need to return the hire car by 22:00, stay somewhere else.

Getting there without the grief

From the UK the painless route is: fly to Bilbao, pick up the car, motorway to Logroño, then LR-223 into the hills. Fill the tank at the city’s last hypermarket—mountain petrol is 12 c more per litre. If you prefer public transport, twice-daily buses link Logroño with Villoslada (Mon-Fri only; 1 h 30 min, €4.55). Saturday and Sunday there is no service, so taxi from Logroño costs €90—another reason to stay overnight.

Pack as if you were heading to the Brecon Beacons in late October: fleece, waterproof, hat, gloves even in June. Altitude sun is fierce; a Scottish Highland midgie net would look odd but would work against the occasional July mosquito. And remember the Spanish timetable: lunch 14:00–15:30, dinner 21:00 onwards. Arrive hungry at 19:00 and you will be eating crisps.

Villoslada de Cameros does not do “wow” moments. It does quiet so deep you can hear your own pulse, forests that smell of thyme after rain, and a night sky that makes the Milky Way look like a motorway. If that sounds worth a 900-metre climb and a cash-only bar bill, put it on the map. If you need latte art and Uber, stay in Logroño.