Spain, without the Brits? Perfect.

It wasn't exactly Hemingway. Giant insects - cicada, spider, butterfly and mayfly - were engaged in a battle to the death in Salamanca's Plaza Mayor.

The travelling puppet show didn't look likely to match the drama of the bullfights that once sparked up the 18th century square, but the crowds were giving it the full fiesta treatment.

The mayfly quickly bit the dust. As the cicada reared up in victory, green limbs flailing past graceful baroque arches, children leapt to catch hold of a claw, then ran squealing across sun-warmed sandstone as it whooshed on silent wheels. Caught in the stampede, one solid matron received a resounding biff across the ear with a butterfly wing, and spun around with an expression of affronted dignity - until her friend dug her in the ribs and she giggled like a schoolgirl.

The Castilla y Le?n region of Spain may be famous for historical architecture, but its inhabitants live joyfully in the present. Famous might be too strong a word - despite Salamanca's appointment as 1992's European City of Culture, the region, north-west of Madrid, is little visited by Brits.

Our plan was a small triangular driving tour of three towns - Salamanca, Avila and Segovia - each with enough historic interest to earn it World Heritage Site status, and none more than a 90-minute drive from the next. For comfort, we were staying in the towns' paradors: luxury state-run hotels.

We'd arrived in Santander, on the north coast, after a 24-hour ferry journey from Plymouth. In a hire car we motored south for three hours, through deserted villages, across vivid green plains supervised by swooping kites; the overriding question was, where had all the people gone?

Crossing Salamanca's Roman bridge into the monumental quarter, we found them: platoons of elderly gentlemen, slick in suede jackets and aviator shades, promenading past the Gothic New Cathedral; students scurrying towards ancient university buildings; soign?e mothers browsing in chic, arcaded boutiques, their toddlers reaching out from their pushchairs as if to grab the colour and movement that surrounded them. Each route ended in vast Plaza Mayor, with a mass meetingandgreeting ceremony so stylised it only lacked a director's credit projected on to the ornate town-hall walls. But no film set could match this backdrop.

Back at the parador, a boxy concrete building with a touch of the South Bank in its design, the airy bar served up a postcard view of the cathedral, with generous glasses of rosy Ribero del Duero. All our purpose-built paradors had faultless amenities and service, with carefully thought-out design details such as a slate floor made from the same local stone as a nearby church roof, and enormous windows through which to enjoy the effect.

Living museums the towns are not: the saints and serpents that cling to Salamanca's New Cathedral are as likely to get a blow from a football as a reverential glance. But the timeless rituals of life are revelled in. Saturday in Salamanca was weddings, with glamorous, dark-lashed couples twined into improbable poses along the banks of the River Tormes.

On Sunday morning, in the medieval walled town of Avila, an hour's drive east, it was christenings and confirmations. A walk along the walls, level with cathedral turrets dishevelled by storks' nests, gave voyeuristic glimpses: a dark-haired girl in the gardens of the Basilica de San Vicente hitched up her frothy white confirmation dress to show off a bruised knee to her friend.

Clarinet bands swaggered through shadowy streets and haphazard squares behind the Puerta del Alcazar, backed by a percussion section of church bells, cannons and rumbling conversation.

By contrast, the parador was startlingly tranquil. Creamy walls served as backdrops to scattered antiques - an intricately carved chest or a suit of armour. In Segovia's parador, an elegant interior stayed shady to invite attention towards the vast windows overlooking the Roman aqueduct that soared above the town like an over-the-top prop in a Technicolor epic. One by one, conversations over dinner (grilled angler fish, asparagus and French beans; creamy convent custard) fell away as sunset bathed the multi-spired skyline in mauve light.

In town next morning, all seemed suspiciously peaceful. Then, between the aqueduct arches, came glimpses of a familiar green insect figure, and the by-now equally familiar sound of people enjoying life to the full. It seemed the mayfly was to get another day in the sun after all.

Way to go

Jane Hayward sailed to Santander with Brittany Ferries (0870 5 360 360) on its seven-night Monumental Spain tour. From 18 June to 15 July this costs £593.75 per person for two people travelling with a car from Plymouth including cabin accommodation and (extremely good) half-board at paradors, or £500.75 per person for two foot passengers. She hired a car from Avis (0870 606 0100): in June, one week's hire of a Group A car costs £118, including theft protection, CDW, unlimited mileage and tax. It takes at least two-anda-half hours to reach Salamanca from Santander.