Montejo de la Sierra

The gate to the Hayedo de Montejo opens at 10:00 sharp, and the ranger ticks names off a print-out exactly 200 lines long. By ten past, the forest is closed again until the next morning. That is the daily ritual in the Sierra Norte village that guards Europe’s southernmost beech wood, 1,148 m above sea level and only 95 km north of the capital’s heat-trap of concrete.

Stone houses roofed with slate pitch steeply around a single through-road. Montejo has no traffic lights, no cash machine, and—once the bakery shuts at 14:00—no bread unless you reserved a loaf. What it does have is altitude: night temperatures drop ten degrees below Madrid’s, turning August afternoons tolerable and frosting car windows in January. The air smells of damp earth and resin even when the plain below is baked dry.

The forest that doesn’t advertise

Entry to the beech wood is free but rationed. A guided walk (Spanish only, though leaflets in English are handed out) follows a 2 km loop between smooth grey trunks that predate the Civil War. Fallen leaves deaden every footstep; the canopy filters light to an even green glow that photographers insist is “studio softbox quality”. The colour shift happens fast—mid-October usually—and lasts barely ten days. Those are the slots that disappear first; British half-term week is already fully booked by late September. A cancellation alert (check the website twice daily) is the best hope for late planners.

Outside those peak weekends you get space to notice details: the way moss climbs only the north face of each trunk, the hollow sound when a branch hits the ground, the total absence of phone signal. Pushchairs are banned; toddlers have to be carried and the path is too narrow for walking sticks as well. Trainers suffice in dry weather, but after rain the clay surface turns slick as soap.

If you miss out, the M-137 forestry road still gives aerial views of the canopy from the opposite slope. Pull-in bays are marked; bring binoculars and a thermos because there is no café inside the reserve.

What the village does when the trees are full

Montejo itself occupies half an hour of wandering. The Iglesia de San Pedro, built from irregular chunks of local granite, has a wooden ceiling painted with naive floral motifs—open only before mass on Sunday. Below the church the Plaza de la Constitución fits two benchfuls of pensioners and one kiosk selling postcards from 2012. House facades alternate between immaculate restorations (second-home owners from Madrid) and stone walls propped with lengths of timber. A brass plaque marks the house where Republican soldiers were held overnight in 1937; no further explanation is offered.

Walking options start from the far end of town. A signposted track drops to the Jarama river in twenty minutes, passing kitchen gardens fenced with bramble clippings. Follow the water upstream and you reach a medieval pack-bridge where the stone is worn into hoof-shaped hollows. Go the other way, uphill, and the path climbs through Holm oak to an abandoned shepherd’s hut at 1,350 m; from the doorway Madrid’s skyline is a thin grey bar on the horizon. Roe deer watch from the undergrowth, and wild boar diggings scar the turf after wet nights.

Winter changes the rules. The same trail can ice over by 16:00, and the regional government sometimes chains the forest gate if snow load looks heavy. Chains or winter tyres are not legally required but a 2022 storm stranded day-trippers for six hours; locals keep blankets and a shovel in the boot as routine.

Eating on mountain time

There are two places to sit down. Casa del Arco serves mountain stews only at lunch—cocido montañés arrives as a half portion on request, useful if the full Madrid cocido normally defeats you. Expect chickpeas, cabbage and a hunk of pork belly for €14; they will wrap leftovers in foil without being asked. Across the road Bar El Rincón opens for coffee at 08:00 and shuts once the last guide group returns, usually around 17:00. The owner, Jesús, keeps a notebook of British visitors’ postcodes for no obvious reason; he claims Kent produces the bravest mushroom foragers.

Dinner choices shrink to one. Mesón de la Sierra does roast suckling pig (tostón asado) but needs 24 h notice to fire the wood oven. Local goat cheese is mild, almost buttery; buy a wheel from the fridge in the grocery and it will survive the flight home in hand luggage. What you won’t find is international cuisine, vegetarian menus, or anything gluten-free beyond rice cakes on a dusty shelf.

Using Montejo as a base

The village makes sense as a place to sleep only if you intend to walk the surrounding ring of UNESCO-listed hamlets. La Hiruela lies 12 km east along a road that narrows to single-track; eagles circle over the pass at Puerto de la Quesera. Horcajuelo de la Sierra, another 9 km further, hangs on a south-facing terrace where almond trees blossom two weeks earlier than anywhere else in the region. Public buses reach neither; a taxi from Rascafría costs €35 each way, so pooling with other walkers at the visitor centre noticeboard is normal.

One bus a day does leave Madrid’s Avenida de América at 09:15, arriving Montejo 11:05—perfect timing for the forest tour, useless if you hoped for breakfast first. The return departs 17:45; miss it and the next option is a bed in somebody’s spare room (the grocery keeps a list, €30 cash, shared bathroom).

When to cut your losses

Come expecting nightlife and you will be asleep by 21:00. The village’s single streetlight switches off at midnight to save the council €180 a month. Rain can strand you indoors with nothing but the interpretation centre’s 12-minute video for company; the audio is Spanish-only and the screen flickers. Mobile data slows to 3G even in the square, so streaming is impossible.

Yet on a clear October morning, when the beech wood is empty apart from your group and the ranger’s whistle echoes through copper leaves, the inconvenience feels reasonable. Just book the forest first, pack a coat whatever the forecast says, and fill the petrol tank before the last garage in Rascafría closes at 20:30. After that, the mountain looks after itself.