Atez

The church tower of San Martín de Tours appears long before the first houses. It rises above a fold in the northern Navarran hills like a stone compass needle, telling travellers they have left the cereal plains south of Pamplona and entered the Valles region, a land of meadows so small they look like pocket handkerchiefs pinned between oak and beech woods. At 588 m, Atez sits just high enough for the air to lose its midsummer edge, yet low enough for holm oaks to mingle with the first Atlantic beeches. That hybrid climate – half Mediterranean sun, half Cantabrian humidity – is felt on the skin within minutes of stepping out of the car.

Stone, Shield and Silence

Atez has 228 registered inhabitants, and on an ordinary weekday it feels as if each of them has loaned the village an extra portion of quiet. Calle Mayor, the only paved lane of any length, runs for barely 250 m between stone houses whose wooden balconies sag like well-used books. Iron escutcheons are bolted above several doorways: look up and you will spot the Star of David, wolves, even a stylised sailing ship – all carved in the 17th and 18th centuries by families who grew wealthy from transhumant sheep and small water-driven mills. The church itself is locked outside mass times, but the west porch still carries a worn Romanesque capital; trail a fingertip across it and you will feel the groove where market-goers sharpened knives for eight centuries.

Because the village is compact, the best strategy is to walk its perimeter track, a gravel lane that doubles as the old livestock drove. From here you can see how builders used the hill: kitchen gardens on the sun-trap southern slope, threshing floors flattened on the northern spur, and hay barns tucked into the wind-shadow of the ridge. The circuit takes twenty minutes, unless you stop to watch the red kites that circle overhead in search of field-mouse supper.

Millstones and Mushrooms

Footpaths strike out from the last lamppost in three directions. The easiest follows the course of the Atez stream, dropping 100 m in 1.5 km to the ruins of two stone mills. No interpretation boards, no audio guides – just waist-high walls smothered in ivy and, in autumn, a carpet of saffron milk-caps that locals collect before dawn. If you fancy a longer outing, continue another hour along the forest road to the col of Lizarrusti; from the pass you can see the whitewashed village of Ujué balanced on its limestone outcrop 20 km to the south-east.

Summer hikers should set off early: shade is scarce on the lower slopes, and by 11 a.m. the temperature can be ten degrees higher than in Pamplona. In winter the reverse applies. Atez lies only 45 km from the capital, but the difference feels like shifting from Hampshire to Northumberland. When the city basks in 14 °C February sunshine, the village can still be locked in freezing fog until midday. Snow is sporadic yet plausible – carry a windproof even in May.

Cheese, Lamb and the Friday Van

There is no pub, no café and no shop. Provisions arrive in a white van that parks beside the church on Friday mornings: crusty loaves from Olite, peppers from Lodosa, and occasionally a plastic crate of Latxa sheep’s cheese still wrapped in the maker’s muslin. The cheese is semi-cured, nutty rather than salty, and costs about €18 a kilo – cheaper than anything marketed as “artisan” back home. If you need a proper lunch, drive 12 km north-east to Arbizu, where the roadside grill Asador Bedua serves chuletón (T-bone) for two at €42, or half a roast lamb shoulder for €24. Vegetarians are not forgotten: most set menus include a pimientos del piquillo starter stuffed with local goat’s cheese.

When the Village Lets its Hair Down

Atez wakes up twice a year. The fiestas of San Martín, held around 11 November, begin with a mass in the church and end with a communal caldico – a broth of potatoes, chorizo and cabbage ladled from a cauldron in the square. Musicians from neighbouring villages arrive with txistus and tambourines, and for one night the population swells to roughly 600. The summer edition, on the weekend nearest 15 August, is rowdier: wood-chopping contests, sack races and a Saturday night dance that lasts until the police-required closing time of 3 a.m. Outsiders are welcome, but there are no hotels in the village. The nearest beds are at Camping Izarpe, 8 km away in the Orgi forest, where pine-log cabins rent for €70 a night and share a small outdoor pool that somehow stays open until late September.

Getting There, Getting Out

From Pamplona, take the N-121-A towards France and peel off at the NA-2440 after 32 km. The final 13 km twist through a gorge where beeches overhang the tarmac; meeting a tractor around a blind bend is not uncommon, so allow 50 minutes for the whole journey rather than the 35 the sat-nav promises. Public transport is hopeless: one school bus at 7:15 a.m., returns at 2 p.m. – and only on term-time weekdays. Without wheels you are essentially stranded, though that is half the point.

If you have just a couple of hours, park beside the frontón (ball wall), stroll the village loop, then follow the green-and-white waymarks for 45 minutes through the hay meadows. Turn round when the path enters the beech wood; by the time you are back at the car, the church bell will probably have struck the hour exactly twice. It is enough to taste the place without overstaying.

The Honest Verdict

Atez will never feature on a “Top Ten Spanish Villages” list. There is no castle, no Michelin mention, no gift shop flogging souvenir ceramics. What it does offer is a slice of upland Navarra still governed by sheep bells, wood smoke and the turning of the seasons. Come for the quiet, the cheese and a short, lung-clearing walk; combine it with the more market-towns of Estella or the Romanesque riches of the neighbouring Valdizarbe valley. Expect too much and you will leave underwhelmed. Arrive expecting nothing more than a deep breath of mountain air and you will understand why the villagers choose to stay at 588 m.