San Vicente de la Sonsierra

San Vicente de la Sonsierra spills down a sandstone ridge like wine poured from height. One moment you’re threading stone alleys between timber-balconied houses; the next you’re on the roof of La Rioja, the Ebro glinting below and row upon row of tempranillo disappearing into the haze towards Navarre. It is the sort of place that makes map-readers blink: a thousand souls, two streets, three medieval gates, and a view worth several Michelin stars. Yet even in September, when the harvest convoy of tractors clatters through, you can count the foreign cars on one hand.

Why the hill matters

Everything here begins with the slope. The Arabs picked the crest first, then the Castilians beefed it up in the thirteenth century, and today the ruined keep still acts as the village thermometer. If the wind is tolerable up top, T-shirts suffice in the lanes; if not, winter has arrived early. A five-minute climb from the main square (turn right at the Iglesia de Santa María, mind the uneven drain cover) delivers you to the parapet locals call el mirador de las tres comunidades. On a clear evening you can make out the stone terraces of Álava, the cereal plains of Castilla, and, straight below, the river that once marked the frontier. Bring a jumper; selfies are compulsory but hypothermia isn’t.

The castle is free, open all hours and entirely unmanned. There is no gift shop, no QR code, just a waist-high chain discouraging anyone from cartwheeling off the battlements. English Heritage would implode; most Brits grin.

A church you have to earn

Santa María la Mayor sits halfway up the same incline, its bell tower doubling as the village clock. The Renaissance altarpiece inside is attributed to Juan de Beaugrant, a French master who wandered in during the 1540s, but the real novelty is access: ring the priest the day before (his number is pinned to the tourist-office door) and he’ll appear with an enormous iron key. If you forget, you’ll have to content yourself with the south portal’s carved grapevines—fitting horticultural graffiti for a place that lives off the vine.

Sunday Mass is at 11:30. Visitors are welcome; flash photography is not. The hymn numbers are chalked on a board, and someone will always nudge you when to stand. Dress code runs to jeans and decent shoes; trainers acceptable, flip-flops an excommunication offence.

Below ground, above ground

San Vicente’s other cathedral is subterranean. Around 300 family wine cellars are tunnelled into the hill’s northern flank, their doors timber, their walls black with century-old mildew. Some still ferment in the original stone lagares; others have been converted into respectable sitting rooms complete with Wi-Fi and central heating. Two owners offer tastings by appointment—Bodegas Amézola de la Mora and Carlos Moro–Viña Alicia—both within five minutes’ walk of the castle ticket office that doesn’t exist. Expect to pay €12–15 for three wines, bread and olive oil. You will almost certainly meet the winemaker; you may also meet his dog.

Back in daylight, stroll downhill to the five-arched Roman bridge. The river path is level, shaded by poplars, and ideal for working off the chuletón you’ll doubtless consume later. Anglers stand hip-deep in the pools, after barbel and trout; herons queue upstream like disciplined commuters. The bridge itself has been rebuilt so many times that only the footings are Roman, but the angle from the water gives the classic postcard shot—castle, church, village—without a telephoto lens.

What to eat, when to eat it

Riojan cooking is built for Atlantic weather that somehow landed in Spain: warming, paprika-heavy, unapologetically meaty. The local staple is patatas a la riojana, a brick-red stew of potato, chorizo and roasted peppers. Portions are bluntly honest—order one between two unless you’re post-hike ravenous. If you’re splashing out, the chuletón al estilo rioja is a Flintstone-sized rib-eye cooked over vine cuttings; specify medium if you flinch at blood. For pudding, torta de San Vicente is a dense almond cake invented, they claim, by a convent on Calle Mayor before Henry VIII had even thought of closing the monasteries.

Kitchens shut between 16:30 and 20:30, a timetable that catches many Brits mid-siesta. Plan a late lunch (14:30 is civilised) or stock up on pinchos morunos from the bar opposite the fountain. Tap water is perfectly drinkable—fill your bottle at the square’s lion-mouthed spout.

Crowds, quiet and the crucifixion question

August feels busier than it is because the streets are only shoulder-wide. Even then you’ll share the viewpoints mainly with madrileños weekending in second homes. Easter is another matter: on Good Friday the village hosts the Picaos, a penitential rite in which hooded flagellants queue outside the church for brief public flogging. It is medieval, solemn and definitely not a photo-op—cameras are discouraged and applause would be unforgivable. Accommodation disappears months ahead; if you’re merely after Rioja ambience, pick a different weekend.

Winter brings sharp night frosts and the clearest skies. Bars keep log burners stacked, and locals play cards under woollen flat caps. Snow is rare, but the north wind can slice through a Barbour like a scythe. Bring layers and don’t trust the car thermometer until you’ve descended to the river plain.

Getting there, getting out

There is no railway. From the UK the easiest route is a two-hour flight to Bilbao, then a 75-minute hire-car dash south on the A-68. Logroño is closer (45 min) but lacks direct UK flights; Bilbao’s baggage hall is also faster than Madrid if you’re hand-luggage only. Parking in San Vicente is free on the eastern approach road; ignore the gravel patch opposite the school—tow trucks lurk on fiesta days.

Most visitors pair the village with Haro (ten minutes by car) or loop through the Sierra de Cantabria afterwards for more bodegas per square mile than anywhere else on earth. That said, if you book one of the new attic rooms overlooking the castle, dawn light on the vines can delay departure until checkout—and beyond.

San Vicente de la Sonsierra will not keep you busy for a week. It may, however, spoil every other Riojan view you ever see. Come for the panorama, stay for the honesty, leave before someone builds a gift shop.