Elciego

The tractor drivers wave as they nose their machines between rows of tempranillo. Above them, a silver ribbon of titanium unfurls from an 1860 stone bodega like a vineyard that’s taken flight. That first sight of Frank Gehry’s Hotel Marqués de Riscal stops most visitors in their tracks – and it’s only five minutes’ walk from Elciego’s modest main square.

A village that refuses to be a theme park

Elciego has 1,000 inhabitants, one cash machine and no souvenir tat. The butcher’s opens at eight, the baker sells out of napolitanas by ten, and the evening paseo is still locals, not tour groups. The effect is quietly radical: a Rioja wine village that behaves like, well, a village. You can park for free on the western edge (look for the polideportivo) and be sipping a crianza inside ten minutes, boots still dusty from the vineyard path.

The medieval core is a five-street grid. Calle Mayor widens into Plaza del Coso where teenagers kick footballs against 17th-century walls. Iglesia de San Andrés dominates one side – bigger than a place this size deserves, with a gilded retablo that glows even on grey January mornings. The door is usually unlocked between 11:00 and 13:00; outside those hours you’ll need patience and a local with keys.

Wine first, selfies second

Everyone comes for the wine, but not everyone books ahead. That’s the quickest way to waste a day. The Gehry building houses only paying guests and pre-booked spa clients; security turns away walk-ins with polite firmness. Instead, reserve a 12:00 tasting in the subterranean cellars of Bodegas Valdelana (€15, includes four wines and a 12th-century crypt) or phone Bauza, a family outfit that will open for two people if you ring the night before. Their “young red” tasting is perfect if reserva tannins usually make your tongue feel like carpet.

Drivers take note: Spanish limits are strict and the Guardia Civil patrol the N-124. Hire a taxi from Logroño station (€25 each way) or spit conscientiously – the dump buckets are there for a reason.

Between vines and sierra

Elciego sits at 420 m, low enough for gentle walks yet high enough that the Sierra de Cantabria looms like a fortress to the north. A way-marked lane leaves the village by the old washing troughs and loops 6 km through tempranillo and garnacha plots. The surface is compacted dirt; after rain it turns to the sort of sticky clay that adds two kilos to each shoe. Spring brings poppies among the vines; mid-October turns the leaves traffic-light red and draws every camera in the province. Whatever the season, carry water – stone fountains are decorative rather than functional.

Serious hikers can follow the GR-38 long-distance path which skirts the village, but day-trippers usually prefer the saddle between Elciego and neighbouring Lanciego: 45 minutes up, panoramic views south across the Ebro valley, and back in time for lunch.

What to eat when you’re sick of Rioja

Lamb chops the size of playing cards arrive sizzling on ceramic tiles, the vine-shoot smoke still curling. Chuletillas are the regional signature; a portion (around €12) is plenty for one hungry walker. Locals lunch at 14:30, tourists at 13:30 – arriving in between guarantees a rushed waitstaff and a lukewarm grill.

Pimientos del piquillo stuffed with salt-cod brandade sound fancy; they taste mild, creamy and entirely unthreatening. For pudding, peaches macerated in young Rioja deliver the fruit flavour first, alcohol second – even drivers can risk a spoonful. Sunday night and Monday most kitchens shut; if you haven’t booked, buy jamón and local sheep’s cheese from Tienda Martínez on Calle Iglesia and picnic on the church steps.

Basque country, not La Rioja (and yes, it matters)

First-time visitors routinely announce they’re “in La Rioja”. Technically Elciego belongs to Álava, the southernmost province of the Basque Country. The difference shows up on restaurant bills: 10 % VAT rather than 9 %, and a stubborn refusal to serve Rioja wine in those miniature carafes common in Logroño. Road signs appear in Spanish and Basque; locals switch between languages mid-sentence. A cheerful “Kaixo” earns the same smile as “Hola”.

When to come, when to stay away

Late April and early May give green vines, comfortable 18 °C days and almond blossom still clinging to the verges. September colour is spectacular but the harvest brings tractors, grape lorries and fully-booked cellars. Weekend visitors should reserve tastings by Wednesday; midweek travellers can usually find a slot the same morning.

Winter is quiet, sometimes too quiet. January fog can trap wood-smoke in the streets and daytime highs struggle past 8 °C. Many bodegas close for cleaning; restaurants trim menus. On the plus side, the Gehry titanium looks almost phosphorescent against a low sun and you’ll have the vineyard tracks to yourself.

Rain is the real spoiler. Elciego averages 400 mm a year, most of it in sudden April or November cloudbursts. A morning shower turns the village into an obstacle course of puddles; by afternoon the clay paths are impassable. If the forecast is grim, swap boots for city shoes and concentrate on indoor tastings – the cellars stay a constant 12 °C year-round.

One night is enough – two is better

The village itself is a half-day stroll, but wineries run on agricultural time. Morning visits start late (11:00 is early), include generous pours, and segue into three-course lunches that kill any ambition of afternoon driving. Book one night and you can linger over dinner without watching the clock; book two and you’ll cycle to Samaniego, tour the 16th-century walls of Laguardia, or simply read the papers while swallows race above the vines.

Hotels range from the eye-watering €400 Gehry suites to simple €65 posadas in 18th-century houses. Mid-range choice is Hostal Villamar, spotless rooms overlooking the river and a breakfast that remembers how you like your coffee. Whichever you pick, ask for a back room: tractors start at seven and Spanish exhaust pipes are not built for discretion.

Last glass

Elciego doesn’t shout. It offers a tight knot of stone houses, honest Rioja poured by people who made it, and a piece of architecture that still looks impossible twenty years on. Come expecting a theme-park wine village and you’ll leave underwhelmed. Come prepared to walk 5 km, taste three vintages and speak halting Spanish to a cellar hand who’s proud of his barrels, and you’ll understand why the tractors keep rolling through Gehry’s gleaming fantasy without even slowing down.