Mutiloa (Motiloa)

At 390 metres, Mutiloa sits high enough that morning clouds often pool in the valleys below like milk in a saucer. The village—really a scatter of farmsteads linked by lanes too narrow for two lorries—doesn't so much welcome visitors as tolerate them, provided they understand the rules: close every gate, don't block tractor access, and accept that the supermarket is fifteen minutes away in Ordizia.

The View from the Greenway

The easiest introduction is the 4.2-kilometre Mutiloa–Ormaiztegi rail-trail, reclaimed from a mining branch line that once hauled iron ore to the coast. Start in the square beside the sixteenth-century church of San Martín, fill your bottle at the stone fountain (the water's potable, though it tastes faintly of pasture), then follow the red-and-white markers up the Troi Bidea path. Thirty minutes of steady climb through beech and hazel brings you to Barnaola tunnel, where the temperature drops five degrees and children's voices echo like swallows.

What follows is a gentle rollercoaster through deciduous woodland, bridges over the Troi stream, and three hulking calcining furnaces that look like Victorian rocket ships. Interpretation boards in English explain how miners blasted hematite here until 1926; pick up the free "Family Explorer" sheet from Mutiloa Ostatu first and youngsters can hunt for embossed way-markers shaped like ore wagons. The whole trail is pushchair-friendly, though you'll need muscle on the short ramps. Allow ninety minutes to Ormaiztegi, then double back or phone for a taxi—there's no return transport.

Mobile signal dies inside the tunnels, so download an offline map. Even in July the gorge stays damp; locals joke it's "the Basque fridge" and pack a light jacket for picnics beside the water.

Cheese, Cider and Wednesday's Auction

Food here is geography, not performance. The grassy uplands around Mutiloa feed the latxa sheep whose milk becomes Idiazábal, a faintly smoky, nutty cheese that knocks supermarket Cheddar sideways. To taste it at source, drive fifteen minutes to Ordizia on a Wednesday morning. The market—running every week since 1512—sets up around 08:30 and finishes promptly at 13:00. Arrive before eleven to watch the cheese auction: producers in blue smocks ring handbells, samples are sniffed, bids called in rapid Basque. The tourist office on Plaza de los Fueros runs English-language tasting tours for €12; you'll leave with a wedge vacuum-packed for customs.

Pair the cheese with local sagardoa (cider). In late January the village of Astigarraga, forty minutes north, opens its sagardotegi cider houses for set-menu feasts of salt-cod omelette, charcoal-grilled steak and unlimited cider straight from the barrel. Book early—Basque families reserve months ahead.

High-Country Hikes and Winter Caveats

Above the greenway the terrain tilts sharply toward the 1,346-metre Txindoki, nicknamed "the Basque Matterhorn" for its perfect pyramid shape. The standard ascent starts in nearby Larraitz: five hours return, 700 metres of climb, panoramic views across three provinces. In May the slopes are loud with cowbells and purple orchids; by October the beech woods turn copper and driving rain can arrive in twenty minutes flat. Winter brings snow above 900 metres—check the forecast at the Guardia Civil post in Beasain before you set off, and carry micro-spikes after November. The upside of short days is silence: on a weekday in February you might share the summit only with griffon vultures.

Closer to home, a lattice of farm tracks radiates from Mutiloa. One gentle circuit heads south past the hamlet of Aizpea to the abandoned mine adits—gated for safety but good for photographs—then drops back along the ridge used by shepherds moving flocks to summer pastures. Total distance 6 km, 200 m ascent, two hours with stops. Expect to dodge manure and the occasional loose mare; give way, always.

Where to Sleep, What to Expect

Accommodation is limited. Mutiloa Ostatu has seven plainly furnished rooms above the bar; doubles €70 including breakfast of cured ham, farmhouse yoghurt and coffee strong enough to stain the cup. The owners speak Spanish and Basque, fractured but willing English. Check-in ends at 21:00—they lock up early because the cows need milking at dawn.

There is no shop in the village. The nearest fill-up is the Eroski in Ordizia, open Monday-Saturday 09:00-21:30. If you're self-catering, stock up before you arrive; Sunday everything shuts except the church. Evening meals are served at the Ostatu or not at all. The menu changes daily: perhaps wild-boar stew, perhaps salt-cod in pil-pil sauce. Vegetarians get grilled peppers and cheese; vegans should plan ahead.

Noise comes from tractors starting at 06:30 and dogs that object to strangers. Night skies are dark enough to see the Milky Way once the security light outside the church times out.

Honest Departure Notes

Mutiloa rewards walkers, readers and anyone happy to trade nightlife for the smell of new-mown hay. It bores rigid those who need boutiques or Instagram moments every ten metres. Come with waterproof boots, a sense of rural etiquette and enough petrol to reach the nearest cash machine (also in Ordizia). Do that, and the altitude does the rest—Basque country life stripped to its essentials, running exactly as it has for five quiet centuries.