Alpedrete

The church bell strikes noon and something shifts. Office workers from Madrid's financial district, still wearing their lanyards, emerge from granite houses to claim pavement tables outside Bar Varela. They're 919 metres above sea level, 40 kilometres from their glass towers, and the temperature is five degrees cooler than the capital they'd left that morning.

This is Alpedrete's daily transformation. What starts as a quiet commuter dormitory becomes, for a few hours, a proper mountain town where lunch stretches until siesta and the Sierra de Guadarrama dominates every horizon.

Granite, Gravity and the 16th Century

The Iglesia de la Asunción squats at the town's highest point like a stone bulldog. Its 16th-century tower serves as orientation for anyone who's wandered too far into the residential sprawl that rings the historic core. Inside, the air carries that particular coolness of ancient granite - the same stone that built every substantial structure here, from the church walls to the fountain where locals still fill plastic jugs with mountain water.

The fountain, Fuente de los Álamos, marks where three streams converge after their descent from the sierra. In April these run properly; by August they're a trickle that barely disturbs the surface of the stone trough. Stand here long enough and you'll witness the town's social ecosystem: teenagers on mobile phones, elderly women comparing shopping bags, and the occasional cyclist filling bottles before heading uphill towards Puerto de Navacerrada.

Calle Real constitutes the commercial heart - approximately 300 metres of butcher, bakery, two banks, and three competing bars that all serve acceptable tortilla. The granite here is darker, polished by centuries of feet. Side streets climb steeply, revealing how the town terraces up its hillside. Houses gain an extra storey for every ten metres of altitude, creating the illusion that buildings are leaning backwards into the mountain.

What the Weekend Crowd Actually Does

Saturday morning belongs to the chuleton faithful. They arrive from Madrid's northern suburbs, park with unnecessary aggression, and queue outside Asador Varela for grilled beef that costs €24 per kilo. The smart ones have booked; everyone else waits 45 minutes minimum, watching plates of roasted piquillo peppers and chips emerge from the kitchen like edible postcards.

The serious walkers skip lunch entirely. They're the ones checking phones at the bus stop, comparing GPS tracks for the Ruta de los Molinos. This six-kilometre circuit follows the dry riverbed where eight watermills once ground the local wheat. Today only foundations remain - rectangular pools choked with brambles and the occasional intact millstone serving as someone's garden ornament. The path gains 200 metres of elevation then drops back towards town, taking roughly two hours including the inevitable wrong turn where the waymarks disappear among new housing.

Mountain bikers favour the fire roads that contour around Monte Abantos. These start five minutes from the church square and climb steadily through holm oak and aromatic scrub. The reward is a technical descent back towards town, though several TripAdvisor reviewers mention discovering, mid-route, that Spanish fire roads are substantially rockier than their Surrey equivalents.

Seasons at Altitude

Spring arrives late and dramatic. One week the sierra shows brown and austere; the next, poppies explode across every roadside verge and the air smells of rain on granite. This is when Alpedrete makes most sense. Temperatures hover around 18°C, perfect for walking, and the town's weekend population doubles with Madrid families who've learned that beach traffic heads south while mountain traffic is lighter.

Summer divides the population. Those who remain rise early, conduct business before 11 am, then retreat behind shutters until evening. The town's altitude means nights cool to 16°C even when Madrid swelters at 30°C-plus - a fact that every estate agent will mention within thirty seconds of meeting you.

Autumn brings the setas hunters. They park at crazy angles on verges, clutching wicker baskets and knives that would concern British police. The serious ones are in the woods by dawn; the recreational ones gather at Bar Central for coffee and churros before wandering off with plastic carrier bags. Neither group discusses locations - mushroom patches are inherited like family silver.

Winter is when Alpedrete remembers it's proper mountain territory. The first snow might arrive in November; by January the sierra is properly white and the town's microclimate means ice lingers in shadows until midday. The road to Puerto de Navacerrada stays open but requires chains when the snow line drops to 900 metres - precisely Alpedrete's elevation.

The Practical Geography

Getting here without a car requires commitment. From Madrid-Barajas, take the Cercanías train to Cercedilla (55 minutes, €4.05) then either taxi (€12, if you can find one) or the 611 bus that runs twice daily and stops everywhere. Total journey time: minimum 90 minutes assuming perfect connections. Many visitors hire cars instead - the A6 motorway makes it 35 minutes from airport to Alpedrete exit, though Saturday traffic can double this.

Sunday evenings present their own challenge. The last train back to Madrid leaves Cercedilla at 22:30; miss it and you're looking at a €70 taxi ride. Several British visitors report discovering this while searching for dinner at 21:00, only to find most kitchens closed and no available taxis.

Accommodation is limited. Hostal Rural El Pilón offers eight rooms above the town's only pharmacy - basic but clean, with church bells that start at 7 am sharp. Alternatively, stay in Collado Mediano ten minutes up the road, where Hotel Los Ángeles has proper parking and doesn't close reception for siesta.

The Honest Assessment

Alpedrete won't change your life. It's a workaday mountain town where Madrid's middle classes keep second homes, where the butcher knows everyone's cholesterol levels, and where the most exciting recent development was the installation of proper card machines in the supermarket. The historic core occupies roughly twelve streets; you can walk every one in twenty minutes.

But that's rather the point. This isn't a destination for tick-box tourism - it's where you come when you've had enough of destinations. The mountain air is genuinely cleaner, the granite genuinely older, and the menu del día genuinely costs €12 including wine. The sierra views from the upper streets are unexpectedly spectacular for somewhere so accessible from a major European capital.

Come for lunch, stay for the afternoon light on stone, consider booking a room when you realise how civilised mountain evenings feel after Madrid's heat. Just don't expect a chocolate-box village - Alpedrete is too busy being a real place.