For thousands of years people have lived in the mountains north of Madrid. In the caves of the Guadarrama mountain range archaeologists have discovered human artefacts going back many millennia. When the Moors invaded Spain in 711AD, Christians took refuge in the hills to practise their religion.
Settling in what today is reminiscent of England’s Peak District or the Dales of Yorkshire, where flocks of sheep gather for warmth on exposed hillsides in the shelter of dry stone walls, where deer, wild boar and foxes roam free, the people made a living from farming and livestock.
Of course, they didn’t live in caves. The easily cleaved slate rock, pizarra, allowed them to built dwellings and shelters and for hundreds of years they lived and prospered. Many of the villages state their origin in their names. Here you will find villages called “Valdepeñas de la Sierra”, “Guadalix de la Sierra”, “Miraflores de la Sierra”. Although I think that “Puebla de la Sierra” shows a certain lack of imagination.
I have written before of Spain’s abandoned villages. Since the dawn of the industrial revolution Europe’s history has been one of mass migration towards the cities and the leaving of the hard country life. In the Sierra, with its scrubby, rock strewn, alternatively snow-covered or sun-scorched pastures this was no different. From the high slopes one can see Madrid beckoning.
Recently, on a trip into the mountains about sixty kilometres north of Madrid, on the southern slopes of the Sierra de Guadarrama, in fact, to be more precise, in the smaller Sierra de Rincon I was taken by friends to visit one of these villages.
But this wasn’t just any old village. This is the village that had its own king This was a village that defied the French invasion. This was a secret village that even today, if it wasn’t for road signs, you would never suspect was there.
Heading northeast out of Torrelaguna the M102 the visitor would follow what is called the Calle de Canal Isabel II, so called because in the mid 1800s the aqueduct that brought water from the first damming of the Lozoya river into Madrid was built alongside it. The road is level and reasonably straight and follows the fertile and green flood plain of the Rio Jarama. After about six kilometres you will find the rather plain and drab village of Patones. To the north of the village runs a high and rocky escarpment of which the only feature of interest are the ruins of the old aqueduct and the fat pipes that have replaced it running along its summit.
What you might not notice is a narrow valley, cut into the scarp by the trickling stream of the Labradillo. Any view up that valley is obscured by the the heavy stonework of the Cuevas-Roncadero aqueduct which carries the massive pipelines of Madrid’s water supply.
Four centuries before Christ the area had been settled by Celtic tribes. Remains of a defendable fort of some kind have been found, leading to a reasonable assumption that that people have always lived here. In the fourth century the Patón family, who farmed the area but lived in Uceda, a village three kilometres south and the other side of the Jarama River, decided to up sticks and settle permanently on their own land. The town is named for them.
The family minded its own business as a self-supporting community. There were around fifty houses which housed sixty one families. So some must have lived with the in-laws. Some things don’t change! Records from 1752 show that they kept 1500 sheep, and sold the wool, and a similar number of goats. They kept beehives and grew cereals and grapes down where the new village now stands.
All communities have a leader: a head man, a mayor. Patones went one better. It had a king. It is assumed that originally the leader would have been chosen democratically as a first among equals, but it seems the position eventually became hereditary. But it wasn’t until the seventeenth century that this “royal” line came to be recorded. A century late, Antonio Ponz, who wrote about the legend of the “Pastoral Kings” declared the “royal” lineage went back “at least a thousand years.
But in the 1800s there must have been some sort of insurrection as the citizens petitioned the Duque de Uceda to replace the king with his representative as mayor. What a come down: From a Kingdom to only a municipality!
But whatever its status it still managed to defy the might of the French when José Bonaparte took the throne. Well, perhaps defy is not quite the word! I would not wish to impugn the bravery of the people of Patones so I will say they might well have defied the might of the French army – if the French had ever found it. The story is proudly told on a plaque where they claim that through a decree by Carlos III, who ruled Spain until his death in 1788, they were an independent nation and the French would have had no rights over them. The Nations of Patones and France never fought a war, and who’s to say what the outcome might have been if they had. Their defence was their isolation and total obscurity from the knowledge of Bonaparte’s government.
What finally defeated the “kingdom” of Patones was economics and the realities of a harsh life. In the 1960s the villagers came out of their isolation and migrated down the valley into the Jarama flood plain from whence they had come nearly two millennia before and into the comparatively drab Patones Abajo on the main road. A migration of just three kilometres. The old village was left to crumble.
El Abuelo Manolo”
where we had a high priced coffee, although it did come with tiny chocolates and a slice each of torrijas, this being holy week, was superb. But Grandfather Manolo is only one of several restaurants in this charming spot, which is just as well considering that following the winding, steep climbs of the ancient streets that weave through the
village will certainly give you an appetite.
The well set tables of El Abuelo Manolo
The lanes are roughly cobbled and not for the unsure of foot, but around each corner is a surprise, a view that just has to be photographed. The intricate stone work of the rebuilt houses or the un-restored ruins of what used to be someone’s home, the trees that force their way through the rocks and the trickling of the stream under the arched stone bridge. I found myself thinking of some ancient Cornish village and even mythical Brigadoon.
The old Laundry and water well.
In the old plaza, the old church of San José is now a museum. Opposite is an information centre that on the day we visited hosted a sale of country crafts including local honey and nut based sweets.
The visitor from Madrid could catch the 197 bus to Torrelaguna and then the 197A to Patones, but you would still be left with a steep three kilometre walk upwards into the valley. Much better to have a friend with a car!
But a word of warning. Patones Arriba is not a place to go to eat without making reservations. We only popped in for morning coffee and timed it well. As we left the lunchtime diners were arriving in droves.
The Restarant of the King of Patones. Possibley the only catering establishment in Spain to boast it does not have a bar!
Even those with cars were finding it difficult to park within reasonable walking distance. Official figures give the population of both of the two Patones as just under four hundred, but visitors on high days and holidays would take this to well over a thousand. But there are green slopes ideally suited for picnics. Open spaces for the kids to run and magnificent views of the hills to the north and the flat plain to the south.
I would like to thank Paloma and John for their generosity and for making this visit possible.