Fresnedillas de la Oliva

The first thing you notice is the altitude. At 901 metres, Fresnedillas de la Oliva sits high enough that Madrid's summer heat feels like a distant memory. The second thing is the satellite dish. Not a discreet modern Sky receiver, but a 26-metre white elephant parked beside the road into town, pointing skyward like a leftover prop from a 1970s sci-fi film.

This is no accident. During the Apollo era, NASA chose this granite outcrop west of Madrid for one of its deep-space tracking stations. The locals still call the site "el NASA", though the dishes now track Spanish weather satellites rather than Neil Armstrong's heart-rate. What remains is a village whose identity is split neatly between ancient oak scrub and space-age ghosts—a combination that makes for an unusually interesting day trip from the capital.

Stone, Oak and a Touch of the Moon

Leave the A-5 at Navas del Rey and the road climbs fast. Within minutes Madrid's meseta drops away, replaced by dehesa countryside—cork oaks spaced like parkland, their trunks charcoal-black from the last resin harvest. Fresnedillas appears suddenly: granite houses staggered up a ridge, narrow lanes just wide enough for a SEAT Ibiza and a cat to pass.

Park on the edge; the centre is a five-minute shuffle. Start at the Iglesia de Santa María Magdalena, a squat sandstone box rebuilt after lightning burnt the previous church in 1743. Inside, the altarpiece is pure Madrid baroque—gilded wood twisting upwards like overcooked toffee—yet the building's real charm is its scale: village-sized, human, no echoing nave to make you feel like an imposter.

From the church door, follow the yellow arrows painted on walls. They don't mark the Camino de Santiago but a self-guided circuit of 42 costumbrista murals painted in 2019. One wall shows women washing clothes in the vanished public lavadero; another depicts the annual "Vaquilla" fiesta with a heifer wearing cowbells the size of footballs. Pick up the free map from the Casa de Cultura (open weekday mornings) or you'll walk straight past half the collection.

Lunch at 2,000 Metres (Almost)

Altitude sharpens the appetite. Fortunately, there are exactly two options, both on Plaza de España. La Hosteria occupies a 17th-century stable whose stone mangers now serve as window seats. The menu changes daily—perhaps judiones de la Granja, butter-soft butter beans stewed with morcilla, or a quarter-kilo of lechal (milk-fed lamb) roasted until the skin shatters like pork crackling. House red comes from San Martín de Valdeiglesias, twenty minutes down the road, and tastes like a Spanish answer to Beaujolais: light, gluggable, dangerously easy at lunchtime.

If the terrace is full, walk twenty metres to Bar Plaza, where the speciality is cabezuela goat's cheese served with membrillo (quince jelly the colour of autumn leaves). Both bars close their kitchens at 3.30 pm sharp; arrive at 3.35 and you'll be offered crisps and forgiveness until dinner at 8.30.

Walking Where the Astronauts Once Watched

Food eaten, it's time to justify the calories. From the plaza, a signed footpath heads south past allotments where pensioners grow runner beans up old bed frames. After ten minutes the tarmac ends and you're on the GR-10, a long-distance trail that links the Sierra de Guadarrama with the Sierra de Gredos. Turn left here for the 4 km NASA loop.

The path climbs gently through pine plantation, needles muffling every footstep. Then, without warning, the trees part and two giant dishes appear—one intact, one sagging like a collapsed soufflé. Information boards (Spanish only) explain that this station tracked Apollo 11's final descent and later relayed data from Voyager 2. Touch the metal fence and you half-expect a crackle of static, a ghost voice saying "Houston".

Continue uphill another twenty minutes and the view opens west towards the Valle del Alberche. On clear days you can pick out the Gredos peaks, still white with snow in May. The descent follows an old livestock track; keep eyes peeled for Spanish imperial eagles riding thermals above the oak canopy. The whole circuit takes ninety minutes at British strolling speed—allow two hours if you stop to photograph every view.

When the Village Lets its Hair Down

Most of the year Fresnedillas is quiet enough to hear church bells in the next village. Exceptions matter. The Fiesta de la Vaquilla (last weekend in January) involves a heifer, a crowd and copious wine—think Pamplona's San Fermín but with frost on the ground and zero tourists. July brings the patronal fiestas: open-air dancing until 4 am, communal paella for 600, and a Saturday-night firework display that locals watch from camping chairs parked outside their front doors.

Come in December and you can join the "Ruta de la Tapa +Vida", a charity crawl where each bar produces a single dish—perhaps garlic soup topped with quail egg—sold for €2 with all proceeds going to the local oncology fund. It's the cheapest conscience you'll buy all year.

Getting There, Getting Fed, Getting Back

Public transport is the catch. There is no railway; weekday buses from Madrid's Príncipe Pío station run only during school term and drop you 3 km short. Rent a car or pre-book a taxi (around €70 each way from Madrid). The drive takes 55 minutes on the toll-free A-5, then country roads where cyclists outnumber cars.

Entry to the village murals is free. The Museo Lunar, housed in the old town hall, opens weekends 11 am–2 pm, admission €3 cash only. Inside you'll find a moon rock the size of a Malteser and a Saturn V model perfect for selfies. Downstairs, a side room explains how Fresnedillas kept in touch with Houston via a Teletype machine that still works—volunteers will demonstrate if you ask nicely.

Weather is a different beast up here. In July Madrid might fry at 38°C while Fresnedillas hovers at a breathable 28°C. In January the village can be two degrees colder than the capital and twice as windy—pack a fleece even if the city feels mild. After heavy snow the final approach road is treated, but winter tyres are advisable; the Guardia Civil close it when lorries can't climb.

The Honest Verdict

Fresnedillas de la Oliva will not keep you busy from dawn to dusk. One church, one museum, two bars and a walk: that's the inventory. What it offers instead is contrast—between granite and granite sky, between oak-aged tradition and space-age relics, between Madrid's roar and the absolute hush of highland scrub. Arrive expecting a blockbuster and you'll leave underwhelmed. Treat it as a half-day breather, timed around lunch and a stroll through dehesa that smells of wild thyme, and it feels like discovering a private balcony above Spain's busiest plateau.