Camprovín

At 667 m above the Najerilla valley, Camprovin’s streets end where the vines begin. Stand at the last stone house on the western edge and the ground drops away into a chequerboard of tempranillo plots, their trellises glinting like guitar strings in the late-afternoon light. The village is small—171 souls, one bakery, two bars—yet the horizon feels enormous.

High-plateau pace

The air up here is thinner and cooler than down on the A-68, only 25 km away but a world apart in mood. Mornings smell of wet earth and dough; evenings carry wood-smoke and cow-bells from the next ridge. Because the houses are built tight to the lane, traffic volume is negligible—good news for walkers who like to set off straight from the door without dodging delivery vans. The gradient is gentle enough for ordinary trainers, but bring a light fleece even in July: once the sun slips behind the Sierra de la Demanda the temperature can fall ten degrees in half an hour.

Winter sharpens everything. Snow arrives earlier than in Logroño, and the LR-206 approach road is salted rather than gritted—fine with winter tyres, but chains are sensible after January storms. In compensation you get crystalline skies and empty paths; the same vineyard tracks that buzz with cyclists in May feel like private balconies in February.

A church, a bakery, and what lies between

The parish church of La Asunción closes more often than it opens, yet its sandstone tower is the best compass in town. Face it, turn 180 degrees, and you’re looking straight towards the ruins of the 10th-century monastery of San Millán de Suso, 12 km south—a handy landmark for hikers piecing together the “monastery circuit” that threads western La Rioja. Between tower and horizon the architecture is domestic rather than monumental: lime-washed walls the colour of weak tea, timber balconies painted ox-blood red, and the occasional ironwork date-stamp—1926, 1943—pressed into a lintel like a maker’s mark.

Most visitors cover the grid of streets in twenty minutes, then wonder what to do next. The answer is to slow down further. The bakery (Calle Mayor 17) sells a sweet, brioche-like pan de leña that tears apart in sheets; arrive before 11 a.m. or the last loaf walks out with a local. Eat it on the stone bench outside the ayuntamiento and study the stone gutter running down the middle of the lane—still the village drainage system, still scrubbed every Saturday by the housewives two doors along.

Vineyards without the tour-bus soundtrack

Camprovin sits inside the Rioja DOCa, yet no large bodega has set up shop here. Instead family-owned plots supply cooperatives in nearby Azofra and San Asensio. The upside is silence: you can follow the signed 5 km Ruta de los Cazadores at 9 a.m. and meet nothing noisier than a tractor. Yellow arrows lead past caseríos where grapes ripen on overhead trellises, the bunches hanging like opaque green lightbulbs. Mid-September is harvest; if you’re offered a handful of mazuelo straight from the basket, expect sharp skins and a mouth-puckering grin.

Serious walkers can stitch together a 14 km loop north-east to Cirueña, crossing the 1,000 m contour for views of the Obarenes mountains. The path is way-marked but phone signal evaporates on the ridge—download the free La Rioja Turismo pdf before leaving home, or pick up a paper copy from the tourist office in Santo Domingo de la Calzada (open 10–14 h, closed Monday).

Where to sleep and how not to go hungry

Because the village never geared up for coach parties, accommodation is limited to a handful of casas rurales. The pick is Casa Rural La Parra, a three-bedroom cottage on the southern fringe with under-floor heating and a breakfast tray that includes homemade quince jam. Guests walk straight out onto vineyard tracks; previous British visitors praise the “excellent homemade breakfast” and the owners’ mud-free walking notes. Two self-catering flats above the Bar Centro offer simpler digs—handy for midnight crisps, less handy on Mondays when both ground-floor bars shut and the village goes eerily quiet.

There is no cash machine; fill your wallet in Santo Domingo de la Calzada before the final 25-minute drive. Petrol follows the same rule—nearest pump is in Azofra, 20 km back towards the A-68. Restaurants are essentially the two bars: Bar Centro does a reliable menestra de verduras (a light spring-veg stew) for €8, while Bar La Plaza adds a decent patatas a la riojana whose chorizo is mild enough for timid British palates. Order the local rosado rather than a heavyweight crianza—it’s chilled, inexpensive (€2.50 a glass) and tastes of strawberries with the acidity sliced out.

The Monday problem, and other honest truths

Camprovin works best as a two-night pause within a longer loop—link it with hill-top San Vicente de la Sonsierra or the monastery at Cañas. Stay longer and you may run out of menu options, especially if the weather turns and the lanes become slick red clay. Summer midday heat is fierce; there is almost no shade on the vineyard tracks, and the bars don’t open again until 19 h. Bring a hat and a paperback. Finally, English is thin on the ground: learn “pan recién hecho, por favor” and you’ll walk away with still-warm bread; try to discuss tasting notes in depth and conversation stalls.

Yet for walkers who measure a day by the number of kites hovering over the ridge rather than the number of sights ticked off, Camprovin delivers. The village is not hidden, nor a gem, nor any of the other guidebook staples—it is simply elevated, in every sense. Come for the altitude, the vineyard silence, and the realisation that Rioja can still feel like a working landscape rather than a wine-themed theme park.