Brunete

At 656 metres above sea level, Brunete sits high enough that Madrid's summer heat loses its edge. The thermometer drops three degrees on the half-hour drive west along the A-5, and the air carries a whiff of encina oak rather than diesel. What you notice first, though, is the quiet. Traffic thins, the motorway buzz fades, and the only sound on Calle del Medio is the scrape of metal chairs as waiters set out terraces for lunch.

This is commuter country. Most of the 11,000 residents work in the capital but vote, shop and get their hair cut here. The arrangement keeps the butchers, bakeries and three surviving hardware stores in business, and it means visitors get a functioning Spanish town rather than a museum piece. Mid-morning, retired men in flat caps still occupy the plaza benches; by six the same square fills with teenagers on scooters, parents collecting takeaway pizza, and the odd British couple studying the menu taped to Casa Ricardo's window.

A Plaza That Still Belongs to Locals

The centre is compact enough to cross in five minutes, yet stubbornly alive. Under the 1950s ayuntamiento the tourist office keeps erratic hours, but the library next door will print a map if you ask nicely. There is no cash machine inside the old quarter – the nearest ATM squats beside a petrol station on the M-501 ring-road – so bring euros. Parking on Calle del Medio is free and usually painless; ignore the underground garage beneath the town hall – built for SEAT 600s, it swallows modern hire cars whole.

Architecture is a mix of two-storey houses with wrought-iron balconies and the occasional 1980s brick block that slipped in before planners woke up. The parish church of Nuestra Señora de la Asunción rises above the roofs like a stone exclamation mark. Walk round the outside first: the tower is seventeenth-century, the nave a patchwork of Gothic bones, Baroque plaster and nineteenth-century paint. Inside, the mood is plain and cool; candles cost €1.50 from a box by the door.

History buffs hunt for traces of the 1937 Battle of Brunete, one of the Spanish Civil War's bloodiest open-field clashes. There are no blockbuster museums; instead, small panels mark front-line positions along the lanes west of town. Pick up the free "Ruta de la Memoria" leaflet and you can cycle the circuit in an hour – mostly flat, entirely sun-exposed, so take water.

Lamb, Doughnuts and Other Reasons to Stay for Lunch

Food is Castilian rather than fancy. Casa Ricardo's cordero asado arrives in a metal tray, the lamb so tender it parts company with the bone at the sight of a spoon. Brits who balk at half a sheep can order huevos rotos con jamón at Mesón de la Villa – essentially posh egg and chips that even picky children finish. Vegetarians get a roasted-pepper salad and not much else; this is still Spain.

Pudding is non-negotiable at La Tahona de Brunete, the bakery on Calle Real. Their sugar-dusted rosquilla tastes like a Krispy Kreme that took a gap year in Castile. Buy one at 11 a.m. and you'll join a queue of office workers grabbing breakfast on the way to the bus stop. House red in most bars comes from San Martín de Valdeiglesias, 40 km west; it's light enough to drink with lunch and still drive back to Madrid.

Weekend terraces fill with day-trippers from the capital, so visit Tuesday to Friday if you want the plaza to yourself. Prices stay grounded: a three-course menú del día runs €14–16, coffee included. Tipping is the usual rounding-up; no one expects 12.5%.

Walking Without Shade, Cycling With the Wind

The countryside starts where the pavements end. Footpaths strike out across wheat fields and olive groves, following the Cañada Real Segoviana, an old cattle-drovers' highway that once funneled merino sheep to winter pastures. Signposts are sporadic, but the rule is simple: keep the town on the skyline or you'll end up in Villanueva de la Cañada. Summer walkers should start at 8 a.m.; by noon the only shadow is your own, and the temperature can touch 38°C. In winter the same paths turn to russet mud and the sierra wind whistles across open meseta – bring a jacket.

Mountain bikers use Brunete as a gateway to gentler versions of the Guadarrama routes. The loop south towards Quijorna is 25 km of compacted earth, zero shade, one bar. Hire bikes in Madrid; there is no shop here. Road cyclists favour the climb to Robledo de Chavela – 18 km, 400 m gain, smooth tarmac, views of the Gredos peaks on a clear day.

When to Come, When to Leave

Spring and autumn are kindest. April brings storks nesting on the church tower and wild poppies along the lane to Valdemorillo. October smells of crushed grapes; local cooperatives sell surplus juice in plastic bottles for €2. August is hot, loud and packed for the fiestas of Nuestra Señora de la Asunción – brass bands, fairground rides, fireworks at 2 a.m. Great fun if you like that sort of thing; book accommodation early or stay in Madrid and drive out for dinner.

There isn't any accommodation inside the historic core. The three-star Hotel Berrocal lies ten minutes' walk north on the M-600, functional but forgettable. Most British visitors base themselves here for two nights, pair Brunete with El Escorial or the hay-stack landscapes of nearby Villanueva del Pardillo, then head back to the city.

The Honest Verdict

Brunete will never top a "must-see before you die" list. What it offers is a slice of working Spain half an hour from the Prado: a plaza where coffee still costs €1.40, a bakery that sells doughnuts warm at 9 a.m., and country lanes where the loudest noise is a tractor hauling olives to the co-op. Treat it as a breather between Madrid museums and the Guadarrama sierra, arrive hungry, and leave before the afternoon wind starts flapping the tablecloths.