Tres Cantos

The lake in Parque Central is 4.2 hectares of actual water, not a decorative puddle. On Saturday mornings it fills with pedalos that look like plastic swans and the distant hum of the A-1 is drowned out by kids arguing over whose turn it is to steer. At 710 m above sea level the air is a couple of degrees cooler than downtown Madrid, something you notice only when you cycle back to the station and the sweat dries faster than expected.

Tres Cantos turned 33 in 2024. It was sketched on a planner’s desk in the late 1960s, built in waves during the 1980s, and granted municipal independence in 1991. The result is a place that feels closer to Milton Keynes than to neighbouring villages whose histories stretch back to the Reconquista. There are no medieval churches, no Plaza Mayor ringed with wooden balconies, no elderly men in flat caps playing petanca beside a 12th-century wall. Instead you get hexagonal blocks of flats painted salmon and pistachio, roundabouts with sculptures of steel girders, and pavements wide enough for three pushchairs abreast. If you’re after rustic Spain, keep driving north to Buitrago. If you want somewhere to stretch your legs between Madrid meetings without choking on diesel, stay on the C-4 for another 25 minutes.

How a New Town Grows Old Gracefully

The urban layout is the main sight. Start at the Avenida de la Constitución, the spine that links the railway station to the central parks. The avenue is flanked by double rows of plane trees whose trunks are painted white up to eye level, a municipal habit that makes the whole place look like it’s wearing tennis socks. Walk east and you’ll pass the post-war-Gothic church of Nuestra Señora de la Esperanza, its concrete bell tower designed to double as a mobile-phone mast. Further on, the Centro Cultural Adolfo Suárez hosts rotating exhibitions that lean heavily on local school art and photography of the nearby Sierra. Entry is free; the air-conditioning is excellent.

Branch off into the Parque de las Artesanos where metal sculptures explain traditional trades – a giant bellows for the blacksmith, an outsized needle for the tailor. British visitors usually snigger at the anvil that looks suspiciously like something from Looney Tunes, then find themselves reading every plaque. The park is flat, pushchair-friendly, and scented with pine from the surrounding forest that creeps right up to the back gates. Keep an eye on the time: the trees give shade but also play havoc with GPS, and it’s embarrassingly easy to walk in circles.

Lakes, Laps and Laptop-Friendly Cafés

Parque Central is the size of 140 football pitches. Besides the lake there’s an outdoor gym, a 2 km loop used by evening joggers, and a café whose terrace overlooks the water. Coffee is €1.80, served in glasses that burn your fingers, and the tortilla is made on site rather than unwrapped from cling film. British cyclists appreciate the separated bike lanes that start here and run 12 km north to the military training ground at Colmenar Viejo; road bikes can average 25 km/h without touching tarmac shared with cars. Mountain bikers aren’t forgotten: way-marked trails thread through the holm oaks behind the industrial estate, gradients gentle enough for families yet with the occasional rock garden to keep teenagers honest.

Swimmers get two outdoor pools in summer: the municipal Polideportivo Sur (€4 day ticket) and a smaller pool at the private Club de Campo. Both open June to September; the municipal pool closes at 21:00, so late dips are out. In winter the indoor pool at the same complex runs lane swimming from 07:00, but bring a €1 coin for the locker – the mechanism still thinks it’s 1998.

When the Office Lights Go Out

Evenings are quiet. Most residents commute to Madrid and return wanting supper, not fiesta. Restaurants cluster around the Centro Comercial TresAguas, a shopping mall whose food court includes the inevitable Burger King and a Spanish-Italian hybrid doing surprisingly good risotto for €9. For something more local, El Toboso beside Parque Central serves a three-course menú del día for €14; the grilled chicken comes with proper chips, not the anaemic Spanish standard. Vegetarians should try the pisto manchego, a ratatouille topped with fried egg that tastes better than it photographs. Afterwards the only late option is a British-run pub called The Good Life showing Premier League matches and pouring pints of John Smith’s at €5.50 a pop. Last orders are at 23:00, timed to let you catch the 23:30 train back to Madrid. Miss it and a taxi costs €45.

The calendar does brighten up. In mid-September the fiestas patronas bring fairground rides to the car park behind the courts and free concerts that finish by midnight so toddlers can attend. May hosts a Book Fair where authors from the Complutense University pitch their latest tomes under white canvas tents; you can pick up second-hand English paperbacks for €1 if you don’t mind ex-library stamps. November’s Science Week turns laboratories into open days – kids extract DNA from strawberries while parents eye the free wine and wonder how Spain still funds research.

Getting Here, Getting Round, Getting Fed

From Barajas Terminal 4 take the metro (Line 8) to Chamartín, then the C-4 cercanías north. Trains leave every 10–15 min, the journey is 25 min and a single costs €2.60. If you land at Terminal 1 or 2 the same ticket covers the airport supplement. Driving is painless: exit the M-40 onto the A-1, follow signs for Tres Cantos, and you’re parked (free) in 20 min. August is the exception; half the town shuts and you’ll have the lake to yourself, but don’t expect lunch after 15:00.

Within the town everything is walkable. Pavements drop to road level at crossings – pram and wheelchair users rejoice – and the local council publishes a free bike-map PDF that actually matches the signs on the ground. Supermarkets Mercadona and Carrefour open 09:00–21:30 Monday to Saturday; on Sunday only the Chinese-run convenience stores trade, selling UHT milk and overpriced baked beans to desperate expats.

The Honest Verdict

Tres Cantos will never feature on a postcard next to the Alhambra. It is a commuter town that happens to have decent parks, clean air and a lake big enough to convince children they’ve been on an outing. Come for a morning’s cycling, a picnic whose backdrop isn’t a motorway verge, or a cheap bed before an early flight. Treat it as Madrid’s balcony rather than a destination in its own right and you’ll leave relaxed, slightly fitter, and faintly surprised that a place built on graph paper can feel so human.