As with paint colours or lipstick shades, naming a mountain range requires serious consideration. It should suggest character, create intrigue, and kindle desire. Who doesn\u2019t want to explore the Crazy Mountains of Montana, or make a fiery pact with California\u2019s Diablo Range? While studying a map of Spain, my interest was piqued by a patch of grey and green emptiness bearing the enticing words: Sierra de la Demanda.<\/p>\n
I\u2019ve travelled all over Spain<\/a> for work and play in the last two decades, but somehow these \u201cdemanding\u201d mountains had eluded me. Located in the remote northern interior, halfway between Madrid and Santander, their isolation (and a dearth of English-language Google results) only added to the mystique. The Sierra de la Demanda covers a vast area across Spain\u2019s least populated regions of Burgos, Soria and La Rioja. An investigation of more detailed maps revealed an almost roadless expanse of limestone peaks, valleys, ravines, rivers, gorges and glacial lakes, with the highest peak, San Lorenzo, towering at 2,271 metres (7,451ft). The calling was real.<\/p>\n An abandoned railway station speaks to the depopulation of this region of Espa\u00f1a vac\u00eda. Photograph: Lois Pryce<\/p>\n This is not the Spain of white villages and dusty olive groves. On the Demanda\u2019s north face, where the climate is wetter and cooler, the improvised allotments, stone ruins and makeshift shacks are reminiscent of the forgotten corners of eastern Europe. Climbing higher, above the treeline, the terrain becomes harsh and rocky with sweeping views across plunging, pine-covered valleys. But unlike the dramatic outline of Spain\u2019s more famous mountain ranges, the Demanda appear gradually, almost secretly, their true splendour only emerging once you\u2019re deep in their midst. Every season brings its own charms. Winter is a snowy picture postcard, but in spring the meltwater sends waterfalls thundering down the mountainsides among wildflower meadows. Summer is hot and arid, but by autumn the temperatures hover in the mid-20Cs with (mostly) solid blue skies, and the ground is swathed in pink heather and alpine flowers.<\/p>\n The views are stupendous in every direction \u2013 fold upon fold of untouched mountain wilderness and nothing human-made in sight<\/p><\/blockquote>\n The town of Ezcaray, on the north side, is the closest thing to a tourist hub \u2013 a scenic former textile centre on the River Oja that operates as a base for the small ski resort of Valdezcaray, built in the 1970s (the Palacio Azc\u00e1rate<\/a> has doubles from \u20ac90, B&B). The sealed road ends abruptly after the ski centre, becoming a rocky trail that makes for a nail-biting drive (especially in a hire car) along a ridge that\u2019s at more than 1,800 metres (6,000ft), before looping back to Ezcaray in a dizzying descent of hairpin bends. The views are stupendous in every direction \u2013 fold upon fold of untouched mountain wilderness and, apart from the occasional hiking trail signpost, nothing human-made in sight.<\/p>\n Halfway around the loop road, if you\u2019re craving more back-country adventure, a dirt track, appearing as an almost imperceptible black line on the Michelin map and marked with a rusty, hand-painted sign, takes you down into the southern foothills via the Lagunas de Neila, a cluster of glacial lakes, surrounded by cliffs and pine forests. The lakes can only be reached on foot, and at an altitude of 6,000ft make for an invigorating dip. The Laguna Negra is named after its dark waters, but in the late afternoon sun it appears a deep, shimmering blue. The water is, as you would expect, bracing, but it\u2019s the sheer scale of the surroundings, and the solitude, that will take your breath away. The only sound accompanying my swim was a chorus of surprisingly loud frogs, ribbeting from the reeds.<\/p>\n The eerie Necr\u00f3polis de Cuyacabras, where dozens of adult- and child-sized tombs are carved from a slab of rock in a pine forest. Photograph: Alamy<\/p>\n On their south side, heading downhill from the lagunas, the Demanda feel different. The climate turns drier and warmer, and Spain becomes familiar again, with its oak forests, medieval ermitas (chapels) and sleepy villages where old men wave from their chairs outside the taverna. Although there are plenty of well-marked hiking and mountain bike trails here, this is still \u201cEspa\u00f1a vac\u00eda\u201d \u2013 empty Spain \u2013 and human activity remains a rare sight outside the towns. This phenomenon of the interior\u2019s depopulation is much discussed by Spanish politicians and citizens, and the low density is tangible here \u2013 traffic is light and most of the activity is among the animal kingdom. Deer leap through the trees, boar amble across the road, and as the forests give way to open rocky landscapes, griffon vultures perch in their hundreds along the high cliffs before swooping and circling in the late afternoon thermals.<\/p>\n The village of Quintanar de la Sierra, in the southern foothills, makes a good base to explore the Demanda, and the Hostal Domingo<\/a> offers affordable rooms (doubles from \u20ac55, room-only). Like all the villages in the area, life moves slowly and peacefully. Locals get around on horses and in beat-up 4x4s, the shops shut all afternoon, nobody speaks English, and everyone, young and old, socialises in the town plaza where a caf\u00e9 con leche will set you back \u20ac1.50. Like the ski centre, the hotels and bars are a non-ironic throwback to the 1970s, their only concession to the 21st century being charmingly rudimentary websites and an email address. This is the land that social media forgot, and is better off for it. Although it may appear on the surface that there\u2019s not much in the way of tourist attractions, as you delve deeper into its hidden corners, an intriguing and eclectic landscape of history and culture reveals itself.<\/p>\n Just over the hill is one of cinema\u2019s most well-known locations, where The Good, The Bad & The Ugly was filmed in 1966<\/p><\/blockquote>\n Dinosaurs roamed this part of Spain, and hundreds of their footprints are visible near the town of Salas de los Infantes, which also boasts a dinosaur museum<\/a>. Moving on a few miles, and a few million years, is the eerie Necr\u00f3polis de Cuyacabras<\/a>, dating from the ninth to 11th centuries, where dozens of adult- and child-size tombs are carved from a slab of rock in the depth of a pine forest. Meandering through the villages, Roman bridges, abandoned monasteries and ruins of all eras \u2013 from medieval to mid-century \u2013 appear at every turn. For lovers of industrial archaeology (AKA clambering around abandoned buildings), an enticing disused railway runs through Salas, its crumbling stations and rusty tracks half hidden beneath tangles of vegetation.<\/p>\n skip past newsletter promotion<\/a><\/p>\n Get travel inspiration, featured trips and local tips for your next break, as well as the latest deals from Guardian Holidays<\/p>\n Privacy Notice: <\/strong>Newsletters may contain info about charities, online ads, and content funded by outside parties. For more information see our Privacy Policy<\/a>. We use Google reCaptcha to protect our website and the Google Privacy Policy<\/a> and Terms of Service<\/a> apply.<\/p>\n after newsletter promotion<\/p>\n One town where the monastery remains in immaculate order is Santo Domingo de Silos (stay in the Hotel Tres Coronas de Silos<\/a>, an 18th-century palace nearby; doubles from \u20ac95, room only). Its abbey<\/a>, dating back to at least the 10th century, became world famous in 1994 when its monks scored a chart-topping album of Gregorian chants, and visitors can listen to the vespers being sung every evening.<\/p>\n The Territorio Artlanza is a full-scale reproduction of a medieval Castilian village, created by local artist F\u00e9lix Y\u00e1\u00f1ez. Photograph: Wirestock\/Alamy<\/p>\n Three miles over the hill from Silos, you\u2019ll find yourself at an altogether different but equally revered site \u2013 Sad Hill cemetery<\/a>, one of cinema\u2019s most well-known locations, where the closing scene of The Good, The Bad & The Ugly was filmed in 1966. Twenty miles west, venturing deeper into fantasy land, is the Territorio Artlanza<\/a>, which claims to be the largest sculpture in the world. A magical, full-scale reproduction of a medieval Castilian village, created by F\u00e9lix Y\u00e1\u00f1ez, a local artist, from materials salvaged from rubbish dumps, it includes porticoed squares, a perfectly equipped school, a carpentry shop, bakery, forge, canteen, wine cellars, an alchemist\u2019s pharmacy and even a small chapel.<\/p>\n Empty patches on maps that elicit few Google search results are rare in these hyperconnected, overshared times. There is a timelessness to the Sierra de la Demanda that feels like innocence, and while other parts of Spain struggle with the pressures of over-tourism, these mountains are a lungful of fresh air. The charms of the Demanda are simple and unshowy, and ironically, make few demands on the visitor \u2013 except to breathe deeply and tread lightly.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"As with paint colours or lipstick shades, naming a mountain range requires serious consideration. 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