Even as a tree grows and the wind grants freedom to its leaves and branches, that freedom only lasts for a time. In the end, they always return to where they belong: the earth.

The story of Costa Oxígeno is a return to its origins — to the ancient traditions of the Mesta, the Carreteros who transported timber through these forests, the shepherds’ huts, and the merino sheep that once defined life in this land.

Costa Oxígeno is about putting down roots where they have always been.

The History of Costa Oxígeno and its natural environment

The roots are immovable

Grandmothers and Grandfathers

Roots that cannot be pulled out — those who came before

The story of Costa Oxígeno does not begin with a company or a business idea. It begins with a generation that lived suspended between the land and the hope of a better future. Those who stayed, and those who left. Those who dreamed that their children might one day return, even if they themselves could not afford to. “Sacred land where I was born, blessed soil where I will one day rest” .

Those who stayed often took on multiple jobs — commuting to nearby towns or working in rural trades. Some worked in timber factories or as pezgueros collecting resin. Others became carreteros, shepherds moving their flocks across long seasonal routes, farmers or livestock keepers. Many survived through barter, living modestly but closely tied to the land. Others left with very little — migrating across Europe or working as live-in housekeepers in the great homes of Spain’s major cities. In the letters they sent back from afar, entire worlds seemed to travel between the lines. Back in the village remained the everyday life: hands kneading bread, children growing up in kitchens, and the forest standing as the only horizon.

Every summer, many of those families returned to the village. They wanted their children to experience an upbringing outdoors — a childhood lived in the cool evening air, surrounded by living memories: the river, the forest, unstructured play, the peñas, the Teleclub. Life unfolding somewhere between railway stations and dusty paths.

Both paths — those who left and those who stayed — left behind the same lesson: land is never truly abandoned. It stays within you. And what appears lost may simply be waiting for someone to return.

Mothers and Fathers

Roots with wings — the point of departure

Among summer festivals, pine forests, the smell of firewood and long endless summers, many couples first met. Children of those who had emigrated and those who had stayed grew up balancing inherited traditions with the promise of modern life. They dreamed of staying, yet learned early that sometimes you must leave in order to move forward.

For many, Quintanar was the first place where they felt truly free — and also the first place they learned to leave behind. Cities offered work, education and opportunity. Over time, they learned to live between two worlds: one of concrete and one of silence; one measured by clocks and one by slower rhythms. They grew up knowing that roots are more than a place. They are a refuge — a mirror that reminds you who you once were, even when the world tries to tell you who you should become.

Each return to the village reminded them of what must not be forgotten: that growing does not always mean moving away. A tree without roots may reach high, but it will never stand firmly.

They became a bridge generation — linking what had been lost with what might still be recovered. Without knowing it, they were drawing the map back home for those who would come after.

Daughters and Sons

The reverse journey — returning is not going backwards

Hay quienes crecieron entre raíles de tren y vacaciones rurales. Estudiaron carreras, construyeron historias, habitaron oficinas acristaladas y ciudades amuralladas, cumplieron con el manual de éxito. Supieron qué era «tenerlo todo», pero también que algo faltaba y era justamente lo que parecía no tener valor.

What was missing was what many dismissed as “nothing”: the village, the silence, days without urgency. The fertile emptiness of rural Spain. A place few people looked toward, yet one that quietly preserved what mattered most.

And one day they realized that the cycle could be travelled in the opposite direction. That life is not always about conquering new territories, but about caring for the ones that shaped us. Success is not always leaving — sometimes it is knowing how to return. Caring for what once cared for us. Trying to ensure that history is not erased. That what is often called “Empty Spain” becomes not a sentence, but a challenge.

That is how Costa Oxígeno was born: a way of returning without stepping backwards. Turning the past into a seed and the present into a forest. Returning to the place where so many of life’s first memories were made. A place to remember who you once were… and perhaps discover who you might still become. Because sometimes a getaway is much more than a pause. It is an experience.

Costa Oxígeno is a sustainable rural tourism project — unique cabins set among centuries-old pine forests — where each stay invites guests to reconnect with what truly matters: to slow down, breathe deeply and rediscover simplicity.

This is not nostalgia. It is purpose. A reminder that what is essential is never lost; it simply waits for someone to awaken it. Sooner or later, everyone returns to the place where they were happy for the first time.

Perhaps — just perhaps — the place where you were once happy is exactly where you should try to return.

Grandsons and Granddaughters

Seeds of tomorrow — the future that comes back

Everything moves in cycles. What we once called backwardness, we now recognise as balance. What we left behind in the name of progress was often wisdom. In villages — in their slower rhythms and traditional trades — there existed a way of living sustainably long before the word became fashionable: using resources without exhausting them, building without destroying, working without losing meaning.

Recovering the customs of our ancestors does not mean living in the past. It means moving forward with memory. Progress is not always about moving faster, but about moving with purpose. It is understanding that caring for the land also means caring for ourselves. That a tree can be a teacher, and silence a refuge.

In many ways, the future looks more like what our grandparents built than the restless pace that once pushed us away. Working without forgetting to live. Rediscovering the value of what is close. Understanding that rootedness and modern life are not incompatible.

In these villages — where a living, vibrant history still beats beneath the surface — the next chapter is already being written. One where new generations will grow up knowing that caring for the land is also caring for themselves.

The story does not end with those who return. It continues with those who will grow up here. The next generations will inherit not only a place, but a different way of looking at the world.