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It’s difficult to talk about La Alberca without lapsing into cliché. The moment I walked into the cobbled Plaza Mayor, the main market square, surrounded by three- and four-storey, half-timbered houses, I thought of a film set for a mediaeval epic.

From the shaded balconies hung a profusion of flowers, making the viewer think, for a fleeting second, he’d been transported from Spain to Bavaria or the Tirol.

La Alberca lies about 60 km. south-west of Salamanca, at the foot of the Sierra de Francia mountains. It’s the best-known town in this area, and the first of Spain’s country villages to be granted the status of a National Historical Monument.

We were staying at the ‘rural complex’ on the outskirts of the village, as part of a project in which we spoke English to Spanish participants, and a large part of our activity was talking on a one-to-one basis. We often used this time to walk with our companion into La Alberca, talking as we went, often, to make a small purchase.

But, we usually made time to explore its narrow streets, and marvel at how modern things like TV aerials, satellite dishes, tourists and cars could be … absorbed! And, you’re just as likely to see an old man leading a donkey as you are to see a car in those streets.

One day, when we had longer than usual to spend in the village, we visited the Sátur Juanela Museum, in the Calle Mesón. This is a four-storey house, where the Juanela family lived and worked, and has been carefully restored to a condition in which they would have known it.

This, I was surprised to learn, was how they lived only fifty years ago! But, that lifestyle hadn’t changed for ten times that length of time.

While at the museum, don’t forget the outside, too, for the view of the red-tiled roofs, with the TV mast topped Peña de Francia in the distance, is definitely one for the camera.

We would have liked to stay longer at the museum, but the time was drawing close for us to meet at a bodega for wine and tapas. But, the museum curator wouldn’t let us go without a glass of non-alcoholic schnapps, and a small piece of wafer-like bread.

When we reached the bodega, we found it, like La Alberca itself, a little too good to be true; almost a caricature of everyone’s idea of a ‘typical Spanish bar’. Rough stone walls adorned with bullfight posters, a primitive bar, drying herbs … and, of course, a wall lined with dusty bottles, looking like they’d been there since Napoleon passed this way.

A couple of evenings later, we went to dinner in La Alberca, to find the whole atmosphere of the Plaza Mayor had changed. The market stalls had gone, but the place was still bustling. People sat on chairs outside the numerous bars, cafés and restaurants around the square, having a drink before dinner … or, indeed, several drinks, for, traditionally, Spaniards dine late.

So, when we finished eating, we only had an hour to wait for the Procession … in theory! Out visit coincided with the first Thursday in the month, when the women of the village would parade around the streets around midnight … approximately. At some stage, they would pass the church, and pray for the souls of the poor and the criminals whose mortal remains lay in the ossuary, outside the church.

We set up some drinks and waited … and waited. Midnight came, and nothing happened. Never mind, we settled down to another round of drinks. Eventually, around one o’clock, we heard the tolling of a handbell, shortly after which the procession arrived.

Truth to tell, it wasn’t the kind of procession we’re used to. The women wore everyday clothes, and just paused briefly by the church before moving on. And, I think what we were witnessing was a genuine act of devotion, rather than ‘something for the tourists’

As we watched the procession, we could hear the faint tones of a disco from one of the bars. But, the women paid it no attention. Another example, maybe, of the ancient co-existing with the modern?