Loeches

The bells of the Real Monasterio de la Inmaculada Concepción strike eleven and the only other sound on Loeches’ main street is a single bar owner rolling up his metal shutter. At 719 m above sea-level, thirty-five kilometres east of Madrid, the air is already warm in May but still thin enough to make the short climb from the plaza feel like exercise. British visitors who squeak through the A-2’s exit 29 expecting a commuter suburb are met instead by cereal fields, a horizon of low limestone ridges and a village centre that fits inside fifteen minutes of lazy walking.

Stone, Silence and a Duchess’s Bones

Seventeenth-century power politics are frozen into the monastery’s honey-coloured façade. Philip III’s slippery valido, the Duke of Lerma, built it as a family mausoleum; inside, the Panteón de los Duques de Alba keeps the marble effigies of one of Spain’s grandest dynasties. Entry is by guided tour only, booked at the hole-in-the-wall tourist office on Plaza de la Villa (€5, cash only, card machine “está roto”). Tours start at 10:30 sharp and again at 12:00; arrive after that and the grille clangs shut until tomorrow. The half-hour circuit is worth it: a trompe-l’œil cupola, gilded baroque chapels and the faint smell of beeswax that makes the place feel inhabited rather than museum-sealed.

Across the narrow lane, the Iglesia de San Pedro Apóstol squats on earlier medieval footings. Its brick bell-tower leans two degrees off vertical – not enough to rival Pisa, just enough to notice after a second coffee. Inside, a Flemish triptych and a polychrome Virgin give a quick refresher on how much art moved through Castile when the Habsburgs still collected Netherlands like stamps. The church stays open all morning; drop a euro in the box for the lights and the sacristan nods you through.

A Palace You Can’t Enter and Hills You Can

The Palacio Ducal is private, its gates welded shut since the 1930s, but the exterior walk is still worthwhile. Follow Calle del Palacio eastwards and the brickwork suddenly balloons into a fortified cube, windows shuttered, storks nesting on the chimneys. Locals claim the heirs live in Madrid and visit only to hunt; the walled garden is visible only as a green slice above the stonework. Ten minutes farther the street dribbles into a farm track that climbs a low ridge. From the top the view opens west across the Henares valley – flat, wheat-yellow and dotted with villages that repeat the same church-and-plaza formula. In April the fields are green, in July they bleach to beige, and by November the stubble is burned black. Light is best two hours before sunset; bring water because there is no kiosk, no fountain, and precious little shade.

Lunch That Doesn’t Consult the Mediterranean

Back in the centre, Mesón El Cazurro occupies a corner of the diminutive Plaza de la Villa. Laminated menu, paper tablecloths, but the lamb is roasted over holm-oak and the house wine arrives in a glass bottle with no label. A half-ración of cordero asado (€9) feeds two if you add chips and salad; ask for “verduras” instead of chips and the waiter shrugs – no problem, same price. Weekend specials include cocido madrileño served in the traditional three-stage “vuelcos”: first the broth, then the chickpeas, finally the meat. Vegetarians can beg for just the soup and a plate of cabbage, but expect sympathetic laughter. Finish with a chupito of local anise, milder than Pernod and surprisingly good with coffee.

Nothing happens quickly after lunch. The monastery gate stays shut, shops retreat behind rolling metal and the village slips into the siesta that guidebooks pretend no longer exists. Plan accordingly: arrive before 11:00, see the monuments, eat at 14:00, then retreat to your car or the single bench under the plane trees.

Getting There Without a Duke’s Budget

From Barajas Terminal 4 hire cars reach Loeches in 30 minutes on the A-2; petrol is cheaper than the UK but watch the speed camera just after exit 28. Drivers with hand luggage only can be back at the airport for a 16:00 flight with time to spare. Public transport exists but demands patience: Line 261 from Avenida de América drops you on the N-II, a ten-minute walk from the centre. Buses run hourly on weekdays, last return about 21:30; Sunday service is skeletal, so check the Alsa app before you commit. A return ticket costs €7.40, half the price of a single Heathrow Express fare, but the journey drags to 55 minutes thanks to seventeen intermediate stops.

When to Bother, When to Skip

Spring and autumn give daytime temperatures in the low twenties – ideal for the ridge walk – and the monastery keeps its winter timetable (open mornings only). Summer is scorching; by 13:00 the thermometer kisses 36 °C and the only shaded street is a 100-metre stretch of Calle Real. If you must come in July, treat Loeches as an early-morning add-on after Alcalá’s night-time theatre festival and be gone before lunch. Winter is crisp, often 8 °C at midday, and the surrounding ploughed land turns the landscape the colour of milk chocolate. Paths become sticky clay after rain – decent boots recommended.

Sunday morning is virtually comatose: cafés unlock around 11:00, the bakery sells out of bollos by 10:00 and the tourist office stays shuttered. British early-birds should bring cereal bars or queue at the lone vending machine outside the medical centre.

The Honest Verdict

Loeches will never make a “Top Ten Day Trips from Madrid” list. It lacks the palace interiors of Aranjuez, the medieval drama of Pedraza or the wine pedigree of Chinchón. What it offers is compression: four centuries of aristocratic vanity, a church older than that, lunch for under twenty quid and a countryside loop you can walk in an hour. Perfect for travellers who have ticked off the Prado and fancy seeing how Spain arranges a village when nobody is watching. Just remember to book the monastery before you leave Madrid, carry a five-euro note and don’t expect Wi-Fi – the duke’s descendants never needed it.