Kripan (Cripán)

The thermometer drops three degrees as you wind up from Laguardia. By the time Kripan's stone houses appear through the windscreen, you're breathing air that's noticeably thinner than in the Ebro valley below. At 690 metres, this is Rioja Alavesa's loftiest village, and it feels it.

A Village That Fits in Twenty Minutes

Kripan doesn't do grand gestures. One main street, four cross streets, and you're done. The whole place could fit inside a London borough with room to spare for the car park. What makes it worth the climb is precisely this refusal to perform. While other villages scramble to install selfie spots and tasting menus, Kripan remains what it has always been: a working agricultural settlement where wine is made in cellars that double as garages.

Walk the circuit clockwise from the church and you'll spot the tell-tale signs: metal grilles set into house foundations, temperature-controlled rooms dug into the hillside, the occasional whiff of fermentation drifting from half-open doors. These aren't show bodegas with gift shops. They're family operations where the tasting room is someone's front room and the vintner might be fixing a tractor when you ring the bell.

The 18th-century church of San Andres anchors the village, its stone belltower visible from any approach road. Inside, if you're lucky enough to find it open (weekend mornings are your best bet), the single-nave interior holds medieval fragments rescued from an earlier building. More interesting are the houses surrounding it. Look up and you'll spot coats of arms carved above doorways, remnants of Kripan's brief moment as a minor noble seat. One shows a grape press, another a lion rampant, each marking families who made enough money from wine to hire stonemasons.

When the Weather Dictates Your Plans

Height has consequences. In winter, Kripan sits just below the snowline. The road from Samaniego can ice over, and the village's exposed position means wind that'll slice through your jacket like a knife. Summer brings the opposite problem. At midday in August, the stone houses radiate heat and there's precious little shade. The locals know this and schedule accordingly. Morning errands finish by 11am, afternoon activities wait until after 5pm.

Spring and autumn are when Kripan makes sense. In April, the surrounding vineyards glow electric green against red soil. October brings harvest season, when the air smells of crushed grapes and you might catch a glimpse of mobile presses working through the night. These are also the seasons when walking the agricultural tracks becomes pleasurable rather than penitential.

The PR-203 footpath heads north from the village, following an ancient route between stone walls towards the Sierra de Cantabria. It's not a wilderness experience – you'll share the path with the occasional tractor and the views are of working farms rather than pristine nature – but after twenty minutes the village drops away and you're alone among vines. The track eventually links with the Camino de Santiago, should you fancy walking to Logroño for lunch (three hours, mostly downhill).

Wine Without the Theatre

Kripan's altitude makes it marginal territory for tempranillo. The grapes ripen later here, producing wines that are lighter and more acidic than their valley-floor counterparts. Several houses sell directly from their cellars, though you'll need to knock loudly and speak Spanish. Try Bodega Kripan on Calle Mayor – if the metal door is half-open, someone's home. They'll pour you a glass of their crianza for €2 and won't mind if you buy nothing.

For a more organised experience, Bodegas Luis Gurpegui Muga maintains a tasting room in the village (open weekends, €8 for three wines). Their Reserva spends two years in American oak, developing the vanilla notes that rioja traditionalists expect. The difference here is altitude – at 690 metres, the wine retains acidity that lower-elevation producers struggle to maintain.

Food options within the village are limited to say the least. There's no restaurant, no bar, no shop. The nearest proper meal is in Samaniego, ten minutes down the hill, where Asador Alayor serves lamb chops grilled over vine cuttings. Better to pack a picnic and eat it on the stone benches beside the church, watching clouds drift across the Cantabrian peaks.

The Reality Check

Let's be honest: Kripan isn't for everyone. If you need constant stimulation, you'll be bored within half an hour. The village's single street offers no souvenir shops, no guided tours, no Instagram moments beyond the standard church-and-mountains shot. What it does offer is authenticity without the price tag. Parking is free, wandering costs nothing, and the views from the cemetery (continue past the church, take the track uphill) rival anything you'll pay for at a designated viewpoint.

Accessibility remains an issue. The road from the A-124 involves several tight switchbacks that larger motorhomes will struggle with. In winter, carry snow chains – the village's elevation means weather can change fast. Mobile signal is patchy throughout; download offline maps before you arrive.

Accommodation options within Kripan itself are non-existent. Most visitors base themselves in Laguardia, fifteen minutes away, and drive up for an hour or two. Hotel Villa de Laguardia offers decent rooms from €80, including access to their thermal spa – useful after a day's walking in temperatures that can be ten degrees cooler than the valley.

When to Cut Your Losses

If it's raining, skip Kripan entirely. The agricultural tracks turn to mud within minutes, the views disappear into cloud, and there's nowhere dry to wait it out. Similarly, mid-August midday visits are masochistic – the village offers no shade and the stone reflects heat like an oven.

Come instead in late September, when harvest is in full swing and the air temperature hovers around a perfect 20 degrees. Or choose a crisp January morning, when frost outlines every vine and the Sierra de Cantabria stands white against blue sky. These are the moments when Kripan's altitude becomes an asset rather than an obstacle, when you understand why 174 people choose to live at the top of a mountain surrounded by nothing but grapes and sky.

Drive up, walk the circuit, buy a bottle of wine from someone's cellar. Then leave before the weather turns or you run out of things to do – whichever comes first.