San Martín de Valdeiglesias

The first thing you notice is granite. It lines the road in, forms the doorways, even pokes through the hillsides like bones through skin. At 681 m above sea level, San Martín de Valdeiglesias is neither a whitewashed Andalusian postcard nor an alpine hamlet; it is a working town of 9,000 whose walls happen to be built from the mountain behind them. That mountain, and the 1,300-hectare lake it cradles, is why madrileños treat the place as their weekend beach. The Brits who find it usually arrive looking for “authentic Spain” and leave arguing over whether the water feels more like Lake Windermere or the Solent on a hot day.

Castle, Church, Lunch – in That Order

Park on the southern edge of the centre; the streets inside were designed for donkeys, not hire-cars. A five-minute uphill walk brings you to the Castillo de la Coracera, a fifteenth-century fortress built for Álvaro de Luna, the powerful Constable of Castile. English Heritage would probably rope half of it off, but here you can climb the parapet, poke around the old armoury room and still have change from four euros. The view south runs across oak dehesas to the Gredos peaks; northwards you look down on terraced vineyards that supply Madrid’s newest denominación de origen, Vinos de Madrid.

Drop back into the grid of granite houses and you reach the Iglesia de San Martín de Tours, a sixteenth-century hybrid of late Gothic ribs and Renaissance trim. The tower doubles as the town’s time-piece; its bells mark the quarter hours for anyone dawdling over coffee. Next door, the Hospital de la Santísima Trinidad is now the public library – pop in for the glazed courtyard alone. The whole circuit takes 45 minutes, enough to earn a glass of chilled white Garnacha at Bodega ValleYglesias on Plaza de España. Order a ración of morcilla de Burgos; the blood sausage comes crumbled over fried breadcrumbs, a tapa that doubles as lunch if you are saving appetite for the lake.

The Reservoir That Thinks It’s a Beach

Embalse de San Juan is four kilometres downhill – cycle if you are fit, but most visitors sling towels in the boot and drive. The road ends at a curve of coarse sand the locals call “la playa”. In May the water is still green and empty; by mid-July every patch of shade hosts a parasol and a portable barbecue. Sailing club kayaks rent for €12 an hour, paddle-boards €15, but the cheapest entertainment is simply swimming to the orange buoys and back while staring at the Sierra de Gredos still wearing a streak of late snow. Weekends fill up with Madrid number-plates; arrive before 11 a.m. or after 5 p.m. to avoid the traffic jam on the slip road. The water level fluctuates with drought orders, so check Instagram geotags the night before – if bathers are posting selfies ankle-deep in mud, head instead to the pine-shaded picnic site at Presa de Picadas, five minutes west.

Wine, Game and the Midday Rule

Garnacha tinta gives the local reds a strawberry edge that survives even the heavy hand of Spanish oak. Bodegas open for tastings most mornings, but you must ring ahead outside harvest (September). English is hit-and-miss; bring a phrase-book or a translator app and no-one minds. Tierra Calma estate will feed vegetarians properly – think roasted-pepper salad with their own olive oil – while carnivores should try the guiso de perdiz, partridge stewed with bay and ham, served only when the hunting season allows. Kitchens close at 4 p.m. and do not reopen for supper until 8.30; if you miss the window, the café-theatre on Calle Real does a respectable chip butty that keeps children quiet.

Walking Off the Wine

Footpaths radiate from the castle like spokes. The shortest, Senda de las Dehesas, is a 5-km loop through holm-oak pasture where black Iberian pigs snuffle for acorns. Longer routes climb granite domes; the 12-km circular to Cuevas del Regajal passes abandoned vineyards and a nineteenth-century ice-house carved into the rock. Summer starts early here – temperatures can touch 36 °C by June – so carry more water than you think sensible. Winter reverses the deal: nights drop to zero and the M-501 can ice over; if you book Christmas week, request a house with central heating, not just a decorative fireplace.

When to Come, Where to Sleep

Spring and early autumn give you wildflowers or bronze vines without the July crush. A long weekend works: land at Madrid-Barajas before lunch, reach San Martín in 75 minutes on the A-5/M-501, and still have time for a swim before supper. Self-catering houses cluster above the western shore; Villa Costa Madrid (sleeps ten, pool, £240 a night on Expedia UK) overlooks the reservoir so you can check beach crowds with binoculars. Camping La Ardilla Roja has shaded pitches and an English-speaking reception if you have driven down with the tent. Whatever you choose, book restaurants for Sunday lunch – madrileños flood in, and waiters will not hesitate to turn away walk-ins at 2 p.m.

What Can Go Wrong

– Assuming public transport: there is no sensible bus from Madrid with luggage; a taxi costs €120 each way.
– Packing only swimwear: the town sits 600 m above the Costa del Sol’s sea level; November nights need a fleece.
– Trusting the nearest car park: the castle approach is single-track with granite walls eager to kiss rental paintwork. Leave the car on Avenida de Madrid and walk.
– Expecting nightlife beyond midnight: even the liveliest bar, La Muralla, starts stacking chairs at 00:30. Bring cards, or a bottle of local white and a corkscrew.

San Martín de Valdeiglesias will not change your life, but it might change your idea of Madrid. The capital’s province has its own lake district, its own wine route and its own stone castle, all within an hour of the airport. Visit before the secret gets out – or at least before the Sunday lunch rush does.