Arganda del Rey

The 09:15 commuter train from Atocha empties at Arganda del Rey and the platform falls silent. Fifty-seven kilometres from the coast and 618 metres above it, this satellite town of 59,000 is neither beach retreat nor mountain hide-out; it is simply where Madrid spills over into the dry valley of the River Jarama. Most travellers stay on the Metro to Barajas or Valencia, which is exactly why the handful who hop off can park free, eat a three-course lunch for €12 and still be back in central Madrid before the evening rush.

Wine Tunnels and a Market that Clogs the Centre

Arganda’s pitch is subterranean. Beneath the 1970s apartment blocks run 16 km of hand-cut bodega galleries, begun in the 1500s when the town supplied the capital with bulk wine. The Museo del Vino (open Tue-Sat 10:30-13:30, €4) lets you duck down one of them. Inside, the air is a steady 14 °C; clay amphorae the height of a teenager line the walls and the guide explains how the Malvar grape—now a sharp, lemony white—kept the royal court half-sober. Tastings are offered, but glasses are thimble-sized; better to buy a bottle in the shop and drink it later on the square.

Above ground, the old centre is three streets wide. The Iglesia de San Juan Bautista, finished in 1770, has a brick tower you can spot from the motorway and an interior of gilt and swirling marble that feels louder than the traffic outside. Step out, turn left, and you’re already at Plaza de la Constitución. On Tuesdays and Saturdays the mercadillo takes over: stalls of cheap trainers, melons from Murcia and one van that sells nothing but lace doilies. By 14:00 the traders are packing up and the bars start pouring cañas at €1.20 a pop.

Wetlands Where Gravel Used to Be

Five minutes south-east by car the horizon opens into the Parque Regional del Sureste, Madrid’s attempt to heal decades of gravel extraction. Two former pits, Las Lagunas de San Juan y El Campillo, have been let flood; they’re now shallow wetlands edged by tamarisk and reedmace. A 3 km loop links hides where you can watch purple heron, little grebe and the occasional marsh harrier. Paths are flat, stony and exposed—bring water and a hat even in April. Dawn is best; by 11:00 the sun ricochets off the pale clay and the birds retreat to the reeds.

Cyclists use the same tracks, though the surface alternates between compacted grit and fist-sized stones. A hybrid bike is fine; a road bike is not. If you prefer asphalt, follow the signed greenway that shadows the old Arganda–Chinchón railway: 12 km of gentle gradient and zero shade.

Roast Lamb and the 16:00 Shut-Down

Lunch is the day’s event. Asador La Casa del Cordero, on Calle del Mediodía, roasts Segovian suckling-lamb in a wood-fired oven until the bones soften and the skin crackles like thin toffee. Half a kilo feeds two hungry adults and costs €28; a bottle of local Tempranillo adds €14. Arrive before 15:30 or you’ll meet a locked door—kitchens close at 16:00 and reopen at 20:30. Between times the town dozes; even the bakery pulls down its shutter. If you land outside the magic hours, the 24-hour Repsol shop on the CM-31 sells pre-packed bocadillos and strong coffee dispensed by machine.

For lighter wallets, most bars offer a menú del día: soup or salad, fried hake or chicken, dessert and bread, with a glass of Malvar or a can of Mahou, all for €12-14. Vegetarians face the usual Castilian struggle; ask for “judiones estofados” (giant butter beans stewed with paprika) and hope the chef leaves out the chorizo.

Getting There, Getting Out

Line 9 of the Metro reaches Arganda in 40 minutes from Nueños Ministerios; buy the “combinado” ticket (€3.50) or you’ll pay a surcharge on exit. Drivers take the A-3, exit 28. Morning traffic into Madrid backs up from 07:00; evenings from 17:00. Parking on the street is free and usually easy, except market mornings when every curb within 500 m of the plaza is taken.

Hotels are functional rather than memorable: two three-star blocks near the station and a handful of hostals above bars. Expect €55-70 for a double, Wi-Fi that drops when the coach-party checks in, and sound-proofing designed before Spain discovered double-glazing. Book only if Madrid is full or you need to be at Barajas early; the airport Metro ride is 55 minutes with a change at Avenida de América. Toledo is 75 minutes south-west—don’t stay here thinking you’ll nip there next morning.

When to Come, When to Leave

Spring and autumn give 22 °C afternoons and cool nights—perfect for walking the wetlands or sitting outside on Plaza del Pueblo. Summer climbs past 36 °C; the bodegas stay pleasantly cold, but the lagunas become mirages of heat-haze. Winter is crisp, often 10 °C by day and frost-cold at night; the vines turn flame-red and the roast-lamb ovens work overtime. Weekends are quiet except during fiestas: San Roque (mid-August) fills the streets with foam parties and fairground rides; the Vendimia harvest festival (second weekend of September) offers grape-stomping for children and free must for anyone holding out a plastic cup.

Arganda del Rey will never make the cover of a Spanish tourism brochure, and that is precisely its virtue. You can breakfast on churros in Madrid, be here for wine by eleven, bird-watch before lunch, sleep off the lamb and still catch the last Metro at 01:30. Just remember: come for what lies beneath, not for picture-postcard Spain, and leave before the commuter tide reminds you why everyone else kept travelling.