Pont de Molins

The medieval bridge at Pont de Molins carries two kinds of traffic: the occasional Seat Ibiza heading for the N-II, and the river itself, sliding underneath in no particular hurry. Stand here for five minutes and you’ll hear both engines fade, replaced by reeds brushing stone and the clink of a cyclist clipping out of pedals to take a photograph. That’s the village in miniature—something passes, something stays.

At 43 metres above sea level, Pont de Molins sits on the flat, wind-scoured plain of Alt Empordà, 16 km from the sea yet allergic to the Costa Brava rush. Tramontana gusts can top 80 km/h in winter; in August they simply blow the heat sideways. Either way, the place feels rinsed rather than roasted, a useful quirk for anyone who likes their rural Catalonia without the deep-fryer temperature found further inland.

A Bridge, a Church, and the Echo of Millstones

The bridge that gave the village its name was first raised in the 13th century, rebuilt after the Civil War, and again in the 1940s when lorries grew heavier than mules. Four stone arches remain, widened but still narrow enough to make drivers breathe in. Walk across at dawn and you’ll see why locals claim the river has two voices: a winter baritone when the Muga swells, and a summer whisper that exposes grey boulders like half-buried eggs.

From the bridge, Carrer Major runs straight to the church of Sant Bartomeu, its tower visible for miles across the cereal fields. The building is plain, almost barn-like, but step inside and the air drops five degrees. A single Baroque altar glitters in the gloom; the rest is whitewash and echo. Sunday mass is at 11 a.m.; if the door is locked, the bar across the square keeps the key on a hook labelled “clau” – help yourself, just remember to return it before coffee.

Behind the church, a dirt track follows the river for 3 km to the ruins of three flour mills. They’re on private land, but the owners don’t mind walkers peering through fences at the moss-covered millstones. English heritage this is not: no audio guides, no gift shop, just the smell of damp stone and the occasional rustle of a mongoose.

Pedals, Boots and the Art of Doing Very Little

Flat country lanes radiate like spokes, making Pont de Molins a favourite pit-stop for British cycle-tourers doing the Pyrenees-to-Med run. The loop north to Cabanes and back is 28 km, dead-level, with views of the Albera hills and a tailwind that shoves you home. Mountain bikers head south on the gravel service road beside the river; after rain it turns to peanut butter, so check the forecast or expect to push.

If you prefer walking, follow the yellow-painted dashes from the picnic area downstream to the old laundry stones. The path is 2.4 km each way, shaded by poplars and loud with cetti’s warblers. In July the river shrinks to waist-deep; locals plunge in after work, beers balanced on an inflatable crocodile. It isn’t an official bathing spot—no lifeguard, no flags—so enter at your own risk and watch for sudden drops where the channel was dredged decades ago.

Should energy levels drop below snail pace, simply sit. The bench outside Bar El Pont faces the water and catches the evening sun until 8 p.m. Order a cafè amb llet (€1.80) and the waitress will bring a thimble of biscuits without being asked. The menu claims full meals, but the kitchen fires up only when the owner feels like it; if the roller shutter is half closed at lunchtime, drive six kilometres to Figueres and accept defeat.

Eating: From Rabbit to Roast Chicken

Pont de Molins itself has two restaurants and one hotel dining room, none of them cheap by village standards. El Molí does traditional Empordanese cooking: duck with figs (€18), river eel when the fishermen have had luck, and a kids’ grilled chicken that saves family harmony. Amiel y Molins, on the main road, lets you order any dish as either tapa or full plate—handy if you want to try rabbit stew without committing to an entire bunny.

Vegetarians usually end up at La Masia, the converted farmhouse hotel on the edge of town. Its weekday menu del día (€16) includes a decent spinach-and-pine-nut cannelloni, plus wine from the DO Empordà cooperative down the road. British visitors note: chips arrive unsalted; ask for “sal” or forever hold your peace.

For self-caterers, the village shop opens 9–1 and 5–8, Monday to Saturday. Bread is decent, cheese selection is two wheels and a prayer, and there is no cash machine. The nearest ATM is inside the Repsol station on the N-II—stock up on euros before you stock up on Rioja.

When to Come, When to Leave

April and May turn the surrounding fields into a chessboard of green wheat and yellow rape. Temperatures sit in the low twenties, the tramontana behaves, and you’ll share the bridge only with a tractor driver nodding good morning. October brings harvest colours and the annual mushroom foray—locals will point you toward the pine woods north of the cemetery, but they won’t tell you their exact patch.

August is hotter, louder and suddenly crowded. The Fiesta Mayor (weekend nearest 24 August) fills the plaça with sardana dancing, foam parties for toddlers, and a communal paella that feeds 600. Book accommodation early or you’ll sleep in the car-park with the motor-home brigade. Tuesday afternoon is still sacred siesta time: shutters clatter closed at 2 p.m., reopening at 5 or not at all. Plan lunch accordingly or prepare to be hungry and slightly embarrassed.

Winter is for the hardy. The wind scours the plain, most restaurants close, and the river can burst its banks overnight. On the plus side, hotel rates drop by half, you’ll have the mill ruin to yourself, and the 40-minute drive to the ski station of Vallter 2000 becomes feasible. Pack layers and a sense of humour.

Getting There, Getting Out

No train reaches Pont de Molins. From the UK, fly to Girona or Barcelona, pick up a hire car, and take the AP-7 towards France. Exit 3 (Figueres) is 12 minutes away; after tolls you’ll swear you can already smell the river. Parking is free beside the football pitch—look for the dirt lot on the left just past the speed bump. Leave nothing on the seats; the village is safe, but opportunists patrol the main road.

Public transport exists in theory: two buses a day from Figueres, none on Sunday, timetables written in pencil. Cycling from Figueres is quicker (45 min on the greenway) and infinitely more pleasant. Taxis charge €18 each way and must be booked the night before—call Taxi Figueres and speak slowly.

When you’ve walked the bridge, drunk the coffee and stared at the water long enough to remember what day it is, the rest of Alt Empordà unfurls. Cadaqués is 35 minutes east, the Dalí Theatre-Museum ten minutes south, and the Albera nature reserve a quarter of an hour north. Pont de Molins won’t mind if you leave after lunch; the river keeps its own rhythm, and the bridge will still be there when you need to cross back.