Quijorna

The church bells strike noon as a tractor rumbles past San Esteban Protomártir, its driver raising two fingers from the steering wheel in silent greeting. This is Quijorna's version of rush hour – a single vehicle, a nod of acknowledgement, and the certain knowledge that nothing much will happen for the next three hours. At 712 metres above sea level, this granite village marks the precise point where Madrid's western sierra begins its climb towards the Guadarrama range, and the altitude makes itself known in ways both subtle and profound.

The Air Changes Here

From Madrid's Puerta del Sol, it's 42 kilometres southwest through suburbs that thin faster than you'd expect. The A-6 motorway delivers you to Villanueva de la Cañada, then country lanes twist upwards through wheat fields that shimmer silver-green in spring and bake to biscuity gold by July. The temperature drops two degrees for every hundred metres gained, meaning Quijorna sits a full five degrees cooler than the capital on summer afternoons – a fact that explains why Madrileño families have been escaping here since the 1960s, though never in sufficient numbers to spoil the place.

The village proper clusters around a ridge, its streets following sheep tracks older than any map. Stone houses shoulder adobe neighbours, their terracotta roofs interrupted by the occasional solar panel – pragmatic modernity grafted onto agricultural bones. At the centre, Plaza de la Constitución hosts the inevitable Friday market: three stalls selling vegetables, one with kitchenware, another with clothes that might have arrived from Valencia in 1998. The church watches over proceedings with medieval patience, its bell tower serving less as a call to prayer these days than a convenient roost for storks who've discovered that rural Spain means fewer power lines to navigate.

Walking Country, Not Walking Routes

Quijorna's genius lies in what it lacks. No signed trails, no interpretation centres, no gift shops selling fridge magnets. Instead, a lattice of agricultural tracks radiates from the village like spokes from a wheel, each one leading somewhere interesting if you've time to find out where. The CAM-612 heads west towards Brunete through olive groves where ancient trees contort into shapes that would give a yoga instructor pause. North, the path to Villanueva de la Cañada climbs past abandoned threshing circles, their stone perimeters now hosting wild fennel and the occasional cautious hare.

These aren't wilderness walks – you'll share them with the occasional 4x4, and spring brings tractors spraying organic fertiliser that announces itself unmistakably – but they offer something Britain's countryside increasingly can't: genuine solitude within an hour of a major capital. Set out early enough and you'll have the cereal plains to yourself, save for crested larks and the omnipresent Spanish imperial eagles that patrol these heights with regal disdain. The views stretch forty kilometres on clear days, taking in the Sierra de Gredos when atmospheric conditions align, snow-topped even when Quijorna basks in November sunshine.

Winter transforms everything. At 700 metres, Quijorna catches proper mountain weather – not enough for reliable skiing, but sufficient to turn the surrounding fields white several times each season. The village becomes briefly inaccessible when snow drifts across the M-501, a fact locals treat with philosophical resignation and visitors from northern Europe greet with mild bewilderment. "Four centimetres and the country's paralysed," a Yorkshire expat muttered last February, before accepting a lift to the nearest open bar in a neighbour's ancient Land Rover.

What Passes for Gastronomy

Food here follows the agricultural calendar with refreshing honesty. Autumn means game – partridge and rabbit appear on menus at Bar Central, served simply with potatoes and local wine that costs €2.50 a glass and tastes like it should cost more. Spring brings asparagus gathered from roadside verges and eggs from hens that genuinely range free (you'll meet them wandering the streets, unconcerned by traffic that averages three cars per hour). Summer is for cold soups and salads featuring tomatoes that taste of tomato, a revelation for anyone accustomed to British supermarket produce.

The village supports three bars, two bakeries and a single restaurant, numerical proof that Quijorna hasn't entirely abandoned its working roots. At Casa Alvaro, Thursday's menú del día might feature cocido madrileño – the capital's famous chickpea stew – served with the kind of casual generosity that suggests ingredients are cheap and customers matter. Vegetarians face limited options beyond tortilla and salad, though the tortilla here achieves heights of potato-y perfection that make dietary variety seem overrated.

Practicalities for the Unprepared

Getting here without a car requires patience and a willingness to embrace Spanish concepts of timetable flexibility. From Madrid's Príncipe Pío station, the C-5 cercanías train reaches Navalcarnero in 55 minutes. From there, a local bus theoretically continues to Quijorna three times daily, though "theoretically" does heavy lifting in that sentence. Taxis exist but demand advance booking – the fare from Navalcarnero runs €25-30, cheaper if you negotiate in Spanish and arrive mid-morning when drivers face quiet afternoons.

Accommodation within the village remains limited to a handful of holiday rentals, mostly converted village houses with pools that prove essential during July's 35-degree afternoons. The smarter money stays in Brunete, eight kilometres distant, where Hostal Asador Julián offers functional rooms above a restaurant that understands rare beef and properly chilled white wine. Alternatively, several Madrid families rent their Quijorna weekend homes during August exodus – expect to pay £80-120 nightly for somewhere sleeping six, with terraces overlooking wheat fields and neighbours who'll invite you to join their evening paseo.

The Catch in Paradise

Quijorna's altitude brings clarity but also exposure. Summer walking demands early starts – by 11am, shade becomes theoretical and the exposed agricultural tracks radiate heat like storage heaters. Winter reverses everything: that bracing mountain air can drop to minus eight, and when the wind arrives from the Guadarrama, it carries genuine bite. The village offers limited shelter beyond its bars, and those close for siesta between 4pm and 7pm with admirable consistency.

The peace that defines Quijorna can tip into somnolence. August sees half the population decamp to coastal relatives, leaving streets emptier than usual and the remaining bar serving from a reduced menu that makes British railway catering look adventurous. Sunday afternoons in winter feel particularly suspended – nothing opens, nobody walks, even the dogs seem to observe an unspoken curfew. Visitors seeking constant stimulation should probably choose elsewhere.

Yet for those who measure travel success in lungfuls of clean air and conversations that don't involve discussing itineraries, Quijorna delivers something increasingly precious: a Spanish village that remains fundamentally Spanish, where altitude provides escape rather than spectacle, and where the greatest luxury is the space to walk without purpose beyond seeing what's around the next bend in the track.