Vilajuïga

The 09:12 Renfe regional from Girona is already ten minutes late when it wheezes into Vilajuïga station. Only three travellers step off: two German cyclists and a London couple who have come for the wine route. By half-past nine the platform is empty again, the heat beginning to rise off the tracks. That is the daily rhythm of a village the package brochures haven’t bothered to map.

Vilajuïga sits on the alluvial plain of Alt Empordà, 31 m above sea level and 6 km inland as the crow flies from the Gulf of Roses. The Pyrenees stand a blunt grey wall to the north; south-west, the vineyards roll in geometric waves towards the sea. It is neither dramatic nor postcard-pretty, but the landscape has an orderly calm that makes an English garden look fussy. Stone terrace walls divide the parcels of garnacha and carinyena, and every hectare seems to come with its own stone hut, most now converted into tool sheds or weekend studios.

A village that closes on Mondays

The centre is four streets and a square. Church of Sant Feliu, medieval bones dressed in 18th-century skin, keeps watch from the eastern ridge of rooflines. Half-timbered balconies sag gently; stucco peels in satisfying curls. There is no cashpoint: the only ATM vanished when the last bank branch pulled out in 2019. Locals drive 4 km to Pau; visitors are advised to stuff wallets before arrival. Monday is the ghost day: supermarket shuttered, wine co-op locked, both restaurants dark. Turn up then and you will eat crisps for lunch.

When everything is open, the Spar on Carrer Major operates Catalan hours: 09:00-14:00, 17:00-20:30. The Saturday morning market is two trestle tables and a white van whose owner claims to sell the freshest hake on the Costa Brava. Queue early; by 11:30 the ice crates are empty. British couples who stay the weekend like the fact that you can plot the entire commercial life of the village on the back of a cigarette packet and still have space for the shopping list.

Wine that tastes of tramontana

Empordà has been growing grapes since the Greeks, but Vilajuïga’s modern reputation rests on a naturally sparkling mineral water discovered in 1904. The spring, Aigua de Vilajuïga, surfaces behind the football pitch; locals fill 5-litre jerrycans for 20 c a go. The same water once fed a now-defunct spa whose crumbling Moderniste façade still advertises “banys medicinals” in fading enamel. These days the liquid pride is wine. Four family cellars and the cooperative offer tastings by appointment; the co-op will open on the spot if you phone ahead and promise to buy three bottles. Expect crisp rosés and light reds that carry the scent of garrigue herbs—thyme, rosemary—plus the faint saline snap of tramontana wind that rattles the vines all winter. Pourings are generous; spittoons are frowned upon. A three-wine flight costs €8; add another fiver and they throw in local fuet sausage and a slab of mountain cheese.

Cyclists use the village as a launch pad for the “Ruta del Vi” loop: 28 km of quiet farm tracks linking Vilajuïga with Garriguella and Pau. The gradient never rises above 3%, making it manageable on a rental hybrid. Walkers prefer the signed footpath east to the Aiguamolls de l’Empordà wetlands, 7 km through sunflower fields and rice paddies. Bring binoculars: autumn migrations can deliver 200 species in a morning, including the occasional glossy ibis looking faintly out of place against the irrigation ditches.

Lunch that won’t break the bank

Garbet’s occupies a former locksmith’s shop opposite the church. Inside, exposed stone walls and a blackboard menu in Comic Sans do not inspire confidence, but the cooking is sharp. Start with a “bomba”, a golf-ball-sized potato croquette sharpened with spicy brava sauce, then follow with hake cheeks stewed in sparkling Vilajuïga water and parsley. A two-course lunch menu is €16; house wine by the carafe adds €3.50. Staff switch to English without theatrical sighs, useful when you try to pronounce “escalivada”. Can Xiquet, up on the main road, is pricier—tasting menu €42—but will assemble a vegetarian version if you email the day before. Pudding might be a rosemary-infused crème catalane whose surface is blow-torched to the legal limit of bitterness.

Evening options shrink fast. By 22:30 the square is lamp-lit and silent; the last coffee cups are stacked inside Bar Roca. Night-life is what you bring with you: a bottle of garnacha, a packet of Brit-style crisps from the Spar, and the sound of swifts slicing the dusk above the church tower.

Beach, when you need it

The coast is 15 minutes by car, 25 by bike on the greenway that follows the old Carrilet railway. Llançà’s main sand is serviceable but fills with French camper vans in August; walk ten minutes north to the rocks below the lighthouse and you’ll find tide-filled pools warm enough for a discreet swim. Port de la Selva has deeper water and a harbour restaurant that grills sardines for €12 a portion, bones and all. Back in Vilajuïga the temperature is three degrees higher than the coast—enough to make an evening glass of chilled rosé taste like mercy after a day on the shingle.

Where to lay your head

Accommodation is thin. Can Xiquet has 24 rooms, a pool overlooking the vines and rates that drop to €95 in mid-season if you book direct. The old-town alternative is Cal Pauet, a three-room townhouse with beams low enough to crack tall Yorkshire skulls. Breakfast brings still-warm coques topped with roasted aubergine, plus that mineral water served in cut-glass bottles. There is no reception desk; the owner hands you a key ring the size of a saucer and tells you to lock up when you leave. Both places offer secure bike storage—vital, because halfords-quality locks dissolve in the salt-laden wind.

Getting here, getting out

Girona airport is 55 km south. A pre-booked taxi costs a non-negotiable €65; shared rides can be arranged through the cellars if several punters arrive on the same flight. Car hire is cheaper for stays longer than two nights and gives escape velocity when the village’s hush turns to hush-money boredom. Trains continue north to Figueres (15 min) and Portbou on the French border; southbound connections reach Barcelona in 90 min. Check the timetable the night before—engineering works appear without warning, and the next service may be tomorrow.

Worth it?

Vilajuïga rewards travellers who prefer their Spain sans karaoke. The wine is honest, the food prices haven’t been inflated by stag parties, and the loudest noise after midnight is the church clock striking twelve. Come expecting nightlife or souvenir tat and you will be miserably stationed. Arrive with a taste for quiet lanes, mineral-forward whites and the smell of wet earth after a September storm, and the village will feel like a well-kept secret you were lucky enough to misspell on the map.