Pozuelo de Alarcón

At 690 metres above sea-level, Pozuelo de Alarcón sits just high enough for the air to feel thinner and cleaner than downtown Madrid, fifteen kilometres away. Locals claim the breeze carries less diesel and more pine; whether that’s measurable or wishful thinking, the scent of recently-cut grass from the private villas is real. The town isn’t a mountain retreat—no cliffs, no dramatic switchbacks—but the gentle upward slope from the capital is enough to shave two or three degrees off the thermometer on summer nights. Come August, Madrilenians who can’t face the drive to the Sierra swap apartment terraces for a blanket in Parque de las Comunidades and pretend they’re “in the countryside”.

A Surrey Suburb on a Spanish Ridge

British visitors expecting whitewashed walls and geranium-filled plazas usually blink twice. Wide avenues called Avenida de Europa or Reino Unido are lined with gated condominiums, each with its own pool, padel court and security hut. The architecture owes more to Esher than Extremadura: red brick mansions, double garages, satellite dishes angled towards Sky. One estate agent advertises “a detached six-bed with a garden room—perfect for the Wimbledon fortnight”. The comparison isn’t accidental; house prices here match those of Surrey commuter towns and, like Surrey, the postcode attracts ambassadorial families and expat executives who need the International School of Madrid on their doorstep.

Historic Pozuelo still exists, but you have to know where to look. A five-minute walk south of the glassy shopping centre takes you to the original village core: Calle San Roque narrows to single-file traffic, the church tower of San Boal rises above tiled roofs, and elderly residents gossip outside the bakery at 10 a.m. sharp. The entire quarter measures barely four streets by four; blink and you’re back among 1990s apartment blocks. Planning laws protect what’s left—no aluminium balconies here—yet the effect is less “step back in time” than “step into a pocket that survived the developer”. Treat it as a pleasant detour, not the main attraction.

Green Corridors and City Runners

What Pozuelo does deliver is space to move. The municipality strings together half a dozen parks wide enough for proper laps. Parque Forestal Adolfo Suárez, named after Spain’s first post-Franco prime minister, unfurls 43 hectares of Holm oaks and gravel paths. Joggers follow a 2.3-km loop measured every 200 metres; families stick to the shaded playground where the council has installed splash pads that operate from June to mid-September. Cycling is easier here than in central Madrid: a 25-km green lane (the “Anillo Verde Metropolitano”) passes straight through town, linking Pozuelo with neighbouring Boadilla and, eventually, the Guadarrama river path. Bike hire is free for the first two hours at the municipal stand outside the library—bring photo ID and £20 deposit.

Winter mornings can catch newcomers out. At 7 a.m. in January the temperature hovers around 2 °C, the grass is white with frost and the gated pools steam like hot springs. Locals run anyway, but they wear gloves. Snow proper is rare; when it does stick, the town’s single gritter focuses on the hill up to the hospital and ignores the residential cul-de-sacs. If you’re renting a car between December and February, ask whether the agreement includes snow chains—better safe than spinning on a 10 % gradient outside a diplomat’s mansion.

How to Arrive Without Losing the Will to Live

The C-10 Cercanías train from Madrid-Príncipe Pío is the least stressful option. Trains leave every fifteen minutes, the journey lasts twenty-five and a Tarjeta Transporte Público (think Oyster card) caps the return fare at €3.80. Rush hour is surprisingly civilised—bankers in loafers, students in headphones, no rugby-scrum boarding like on the Metro. Alternatively, the ML-2 light-rail connects Pozuelo Oeste with Colonia Jardín (the end of Madrid’s line 10) and is handy if you’re already underground. Driving looks quick on the map—straight up the A-6, left onto the M-40—but leave after 4 p.m. and the crawl past Majadahonda can add forty minutes. Evening taxis back to the capital are fixed at €30–35; there are no night buses, so factor that into your last glass of Rioja.

Eating: When You Fancy Cheddar Rather Than Chorizo

Spanish gastronomy purists should stop reading now. Pozuelo’s restaurant scene caters to homesick diplomats and fussy children. Café & Té in Somosaguas shopping centre serves a full English (£9.50), buttered scones and even Marmite if you ask the barista nicely. El Rancho on Avenida de Europa is a steakhouse where the menu lists “rib-eye with chips” before “entrecôte con patatas fritas”; expect linen napkins, pepper sauce and a bill that translates to £35 a head. The Lateral chain has opened an outpost beside the town hall, offering reliable patatas bravas and grilled prawns with an English translation on every page. Locals do still do tapeo—Calle de la Estación hides a tiny bar that pours ice-cold beer and hands out free migas with chorizo—but the atmosphere is polite conversation, not flamenco heels.

If you’re self-catering, the Wednesday and Saturday morning market in Plaza del Padre Vallet has a surprisingly cosmopolitan stall run by an Italian couple who stock cheddar, Weetabix and, on request, Bovril. Prices are higher than Mercadona but lower than a British corner shop; a 200-g block of Cathedral City costs €4. Supermarkets shut on Sundays apart from Chinese-run “bazars”, so stock up on Saturday or prepare to breakfast on crisps.

Festivals, or What Passes for Them

Pozuelo’s fiestas are neighbourhood affairs rather than mass spectacles. The main event, Fiestas de San Boal, happens mid-May and involves a modest funfair, brass-band processions and a paella cooked in a pan the size of a satellite dish. Streets close to traffic, parking becomes theoretical and estate agents lock up early. September brings “Fiestas de Barrio”, each district allocated its own weekend: bouncy castles in one, vintage car display in another, open-air cinema in the park. October’s Semana Cultural books theatre at the municipal playhouse—last year a Spanish-language version of “The Importance of Being Earnest” drew a largely bilingual audience who laughed at the cucumber-sandwich jokes in both languages. None of these will rival Semana Santa in Seville, but they do let you watch how Spain celebrates when tourists aren’t looking.

Who Should Bother—and Who Shouldn’t

Business travellers with meetings at one of the private hospitals or the Telefónica campus will find Pozuelo convenient. Families relocating to Madrid often base themselves here for a month while house-hunting, grateful for the playgrounds and the 25-minute train ride to the Prado. Walkers after serious trails should push on to the Guadarrama range; culture hunters are better off staying in central Madrid and visiting Pozuelo as a breather between Velázquez and tapas. The town is comfortable, safe, leafy—and, for a short break, almost too quiet. If that sounds like criticism, ask yourself when you last praised Surrey for its riotous nightlife.