Alegia

The church bell in Alegia strikes thirteen. Not as a mistake, but because the town keeps the old Basque count: one to seven for the quarter hours, then eight to eleven for the halves, twelve for three-quarters, and thirteen on the hour. First-time visitors glance at their phones, convinced the map app has crashed; locals simply cross the square for a quick txikito and carry on. That single, stubborn bell sets the tempo for a village that refuses to be rushed.

A valley that still works for a living

Spread along a bend of the Oria River, Alegia sits twenty minutes south of Tolosa and half an hour inland from San Sebastián. The valley floor is flat enough for market gardens, but the slopes begin almost immediately behind the last house. Hedgerows of hazel and hawthorn replace the steel crash barriers you see on coastal roads; instead of souvenir stalls, there are barns stacked with cider barrels and poly-tunnels full of lettuces bound for Bilbao’s morning auctions.

The built centre is compact: three parallel streets, a fronton court painted municipal green, and the twelfth-century church of San Martín whose stone is the same rain-washed grey as the surrounding hills. Walk the perimeter in twenty minutes and you will have passed more tractor garages than gift shops. That ratio tells you most of what you need to know.

What you actually do here

Mornings start with the smell of wood-fired ovens drifting from Panadería Aizpurua. If you are staying in one of the two village rentals (both converted caseríos with beams low enough to brain a six-footer), buy the €3 mixed loaf while it is still too hot to slice. Spread it with the local sheep’s butter and you have a breakfast that costs less than a London coffee and keeps you walking until lunchtime.

From the bakery door, any direction works. Head west along the river path and you reach the old mill race in fifteen minutes; kingfishers use the overhanging willows as dive platforms. Eastwards, a paved lane climbs gently past allotments where grandfathers weed in berets and boiler suits. After a kilometre the tarmac gives way to a gravel track that switchbacks through oak forest until the view opens onto the whole Tolosaldea basin. On a clear spring morning you can pick out the steel roof of the San Sebastián football stadium glinting on the horizon.

The steeper route is the old mule trail to Amezcoa. It starts behind the cemetery, gains 350 m in 3 km, and is usually empty except for the occasional hunter’s dog wearing a brass bell. The summit ridge marks the watershed: north-side streams drain to the Atlantic, south-side ones to the Ebro. Turn round and the village appears as a thin grey stripe between luminous pasture and darker forestry plantations—less picture-postcard, more working diagram.

Food that follows the calendar

There is no restaurant in the Michelin sense. What you get are two bars, both on the main street, whose menus rewrite themselves according to what the owner’s cousin has shot, netted, or foraged.

Bar Arku opens at ten for coffee and keeps serving until the last regular leaves. Mid-week lunch might be a bowl of alubias pintxos—white beans simmered with pork rib and clove—followed by a slice of wild-bramble tart. The Guardian reader who compared the mushroom-and-egg pintxo to “woodland beans on toast” wasn’t wrong; it arrives on sourdough so thick it could floor an intruder.

Asador Arriaga lights its charcoal grill only on Fridays and Saturdays. The txuleta for two (€42) is a bone-in T-bone aged fourteen days, cooked rare unless you protest in Spanish or Basque. Chips come in a separate dish, thick-cut and salted like the ones from a British seaside van. Locals wash it down with cider poured from chest height; visitors who prefer wine are offered a young Rioja poured short so the barman can return with the bottle the moment you breathe out.

Between January and April the same dining room converts into a sagardotegi, or cider house. The set menu—salt-cod omelette, T-bone, walnuts and cheese—costs €32 including as much cider as you can catch in your glass. Vegetarians survive on the omelette and a side of piquillo peppers; vegues will struggle unless they phone ahead.

When to come, and when to stay away

April and May turn the valley an almost unreasonable green. Meadow saffron appears overnight, and the nightingales in the riverside poplars compete with the church bell. Daytime temperatures sit in the mid-teens—think Devon in June—so a fleece is wise after six o’clock.

September brings the hazelnuts in and the first wood smoke. Farmers drag home-made trailers of chestnuts to the cooperative dryer on the edge of town; the air smells faintly of Christmas. Rain is more likely, but showers pass quickly and leave the cobbles mirror-bright.

July and August are warm rather than hot—highs of 26 °C—yet the valley traps humidity. Midges gather by the river after seven; bring repellent or sit inside with the pensioners. August week-ends also attract Tolosa families who rent village houses for the fiestas. If you dislike loudspeakers and midnight fireworks, book June or early October instead.

Winter is quiet, occasionally snowy, and perfectly viable if you have a car. The two B&Bs leave front-door keys under flowerpots and charge off-season rates (€65 double, breakfast included). Without wheels you are stuck: the daily bus cuts its frequency to three runs, and taxis from Zumárraga station add €18 each way.

The practical stuff no one prints

There is no cashpoint. The nearest ATM is in Tolosa, so withdraw before you arrive. Both bars accept cards above €10, yet rounds of drinks still hover at €8; keep coins handy.

Sunday is a full shutdown. The bakery opens 08:00–12:00, then metal shutters descend and the village goes to lunch. Stock up on Saturday evening: the little Dia supermarket in Tolosa stays open until 21:30.

Driving: sat-navs occasionally lose the village altogether. Search for “Alegia-Alegría de Oria” or enter coordinates 43.1208, -2.1489. Street parking is free but narrow; fold your mirrors and resist the temptation to “just pop” onto a verge—it may be someone’s vegetable plot.

Public transport: Renfe’s Euskotren C-1 terminates at Zumárraga. From there, taxi is fastest (12 min, €18). A cheaper route is the L4 bus from San Sebastián to Tolosa (45 min, €2.55), then the L4c country service to Alegia (20 min, €1.20). Timetables thin out after 19:00 and disappear on Sundays—check www.gibus.eus the night before.

Leaving without the souvenir

Alegia will not give you a fridge magnet. What it offers instead is the sound of a single tractor echoing off hillsides at dawn, the smell of new bread mixed with wood smoke, and the realisation that “rural” can still mean livelihood rather than backdrop. Stay a night, walk the river path at bell-thirteen, and you will understand why the villagers never bothered to reset the clock.