San Asensio

The smell that hits at 6 pm

Walk along Calle Mayor as the afternoon cools and the air changes. It isn’t flowers or bread; it’s fermenting grapes drifting from the calados—tunnel-basements hacked into the rock beneath the houses. In San Asensio the earth itself breathes wine, and by early evening the whole village smells like a glass you’ve only just lifted.

At 560 m above sea-level the nights stay sharp even in July. That cool snap is what lets Tempranillo keep its acidity on the south-facing slopes that ring the houses. The same breeze sends British visitors hunting for jumpers they thought they wouldn’t need after Logroño’s 35-degree heat.

Underground cathedrals built for 300 bottles

The tourist office keeps the keys to the public calado—a sandstone corridor no taller than a London bus. Inside, the temperature sticks to 13 °C year-round; locals once lowered newborn lambs here during winter freezes. Chalky walls are inscribed with harvest dates back to 1892, the numbers still legible because the air barely moves. Ring the bell at the ayuntamiento first; the member of staff who appears is usually the mayor’s cousin and will switch on a single strip-light so you can see the soot marks from the oil lamps.

Private cellars are opened on request by the family-run bodegas dotted around the perimeter road. A twenty-minute tasting at Bodegas Valsacro costs €8 and you’re likely to share the bar with the winemaker’s Labrador. Expect vertical drops in alcohol: the local clarete—a pale pink halfway between red and white—clocks in at 13 % but tastes like summer squash. Buy a bottle for the hotel; it’s €4.50 here, double that in Haro gift shops twenty-five minutes away.

When the village square turns pink

25 July is the Batalla del Clarete. At midday the mayor fires a rocket and everyone sprays everyone else with last year’s pink wine. British visitors turn up in white T-shirts for the before-and-after photo, then discover the stains never wash out. Goggles are sold from a van on the square for €3; by 2 pm the cobbles are so slippery that even teenagers skate barefoot. The bars dish out free slices of tortilla to soak up the alcohol; if you need something stronger than clarete, ask for a corto—a short beer that arrives in a handleless glass the size of an egg-cup.

Book accommodation early. The 24-room Hotel La Capellanía fills by Easter, and its breakfast—Yorkshire tea included—draws repeat visitors from Bath to Inverness. Double rooms start at €95 if you reserve direct; Booking adds 10 %. The building was once the priest’s house; the chapel is now the lounge, so you drink Rioja under a vaulted ceiling painted with faded saints.

Walking off the Tempranillo

Three way-marked footpaths start behind the cemetery. The shortest (4 km, yellow way-markers) loops through viñedos planted in 1972 on terraces held together by dry-stone walls. October turns the leaves traffic-light orange; in March the vines are still skeletal and you can see right across the Ebro valley to the snowy Cantabrian peaks. Wear shoes with grip—the soil is clay and clings like wet Digestives.

Need a longer stretch? Continue to the ruined ermita above the railway tunnel (adds another 6 km return). The gradient is gentle but steady; allow ninety minutes up, an hour down. You’ll meet more roe deer than people, and the view west at sunset takes in four distinct hilltop villages, each with its own medieval church tower. Mobile signal dies after the first kilometre—download the route on Wi-Fi before you set off.

Eating on Spanish time, or not at all

Kitchens open at 14:00 sharp; arrive at 13:15 and you’ll get a coffee and a stare. Casa Marisa grills chuletón—a single rib-eye big enough for two—over vine cuttings. Medium is the default; ask for “poco hecho” if you like it rare. El Botero does a lighter lunch: patatas a la riojana, a paprika-scented stew that won’t trouble delicate palates. Both close at 16:00 and don’t reopen until 20:30; if you want something in between, the petrol-station shop sells cheese and baguettes, but the cheese is idiazabal and smells of sheep.

Evening choices shrink further. After 22:00 only the bar at the petrol station serves food—frozen pizza microwaved while you wait. British visitors used to pub kitchens that run until 21:30 are advised to eat early or stock up in Logroño beforehand.

Getting here, getting out

The village sits 45 km north-west of Logroño. The A-68 is fast until Haro; after that single-track LR-404 meanders through olive groves and you’ll be stuck behind a tractor loaded with stainless-steel tanks. Allow 50 minutes in daylight, an hour after dark when the road is narrower still.

Public transport exists but barely. Weekday buses leave Logroño at 09:00 and 13:00, returning at 14:00 and 18:00. Nothing on Sunday. A pre-booked taxi from Logroño costs €35—cheaper if you share with other travellers at the bus station. Trains no longer stop here; the station building is now a private garage decorated with 1970s destination boards.

The ATM that hibernates

Cash matters. The only cajero locks up at 14:00 on Saturday and stays shut until Monday morning. Cards are accepted at the hotels and the two main restaurants, but the bodegas prefer notes and the ice-cream kiosk is strictly coins-only. Withdraw euros in Logroño before you set out.

Why you might leave early

San Asensio is quiet. After the wine battle the village returns to whisper-level by midnight; there is no nightclub, no late bookshop, no riverside promenade. If you crave evening action, stay in Logroño and visit on a day-trip. But if you want to see how Rioja works when it isn’t polishing its image for export, stick around. The smell at 6 pm will remind you why you came—and why the locals never bother to lock their calados.