Pampaneira feels like a village that time forgot, but in the best possible way. The moment I arrived, I felt its pull—not just its beauty, but the sense of life happening here, quietly and meaningfully. The streets are narrow and winding, paved with stones smoothed by centuries of footsteps. Bright flowers spill from windowsills, their colours vivid against the whitewashed walls. And in the plaza, the heart of the village, there’s always someone ready with a smile or a story.
No surprise, apparently Pampaneira was one of the 14 founding “most beautiful towns in Spain”.
My first weeks here were a mix of wonder and adjustment. I’d walk for hours, discovering hidden corners—a small chapel tucked behind a cluster of houses, a tiny shop selling handwoven rugs, a café where the locals gathered to chat over coffee. Everyone seemed to know everyone else, and soon, they knew me too. It started with nods and greetings, but before long, I was being invited into conversations, into homes.
My townhouse sits on the edge of the village, its back balcony overlooking the gorge. It’s old, with thick stone walls that keep it cool even in the heat of the day. Restoring it has been an adventure in itself. Some days, I’m frustrated by the quirks of the place—doors that don’t quite fit their frames, plumbing that has a mind of its own. But there’s joy in the work too. Each improvement feels like I’m making the house mine, turning it from a relic of the past into a part of my future. There’ll be more to follow on the renovations in future posts!
The community here is what makes Pampaneira special. There’s a rhythm to life that’s both peaceful and rich. I’ve joined in village celebrations, played endless games of boules and learned to slow down and appreciate the present. Pampaneira isn’t just where I live. It’s now my home.