Castellet i la Gornal

The church bell strikes eleven and the only reply is a swallow diving between terracotta roofs. At 137 metres above sea-level, Castellet’s medieval core is high enough to catch the breeze yet low enough for the air to feel thickened by sun-baked stone. Below, the Foix reservoir glints like polished pewter; beyond it, rows of Xarel·lo vines march towards the Garraf massif until the soil turns chalk-white and the horizon buckles into low, thorny hills. This is the Penedès frontier—neither coastal plain nor true mountains, but a ridge-and-valley country where Catalan farmers have grown grapes since the Romans arrived with their pruning knives.

A Village Split in Two

Castellet and La Gornal used to be rivals. The older settlement huddled around its castle keep, watching the road from Barcelona; the younger grew along the stream where wagons could water horses. Today they share a council, a postcode and little else. Park at the foot of Castellet’s hill—avenida Diputació has free spaces before 10 a.m.—and you’ll still hear two dialects: the clipped village Catalan of the hill and the slower, vowel-heavy speech of the plain.

The climb to the top takes six minutes if you’re fit, ten if you stop to read the war memorial. Stone houses overhang the lane so narrowly that a UK estate car would lose its wing mirrors; walk, don’t drive. Half-way up, a wooden door stands open, revealing a courtyard where a pensioner peels potatoes beneath a lemon tree. She will nod, but don’t expect conversation—English is scarce and even school-level Spanish meets a polite shrug. Download the Google Catalan pack before you arrive; your pronunciation will be laughed at, then corrected with goodwill.

What the Castle Actually Offers

The castell isn’t Disney. A 1960s restoration glued new battlements onto old walls, the interior is mostly empty chambers used for weekend art shows. Opening hours are erratic: Saturday and Sunday 10:30-14:00, afternoons 16:00-18:30, but if the key-holder’s cousin is getting married the gate stays shut. Entry is free; a cardboard box accepts one- and two-euro coins for roof maintenance. Stand on the north wall instead and you get the postcard view for nothing: water, vines, and the white pyramids of the Cava houses at Sant Sadurní d’Anoia ten kilometres away.

Inside the single-room exhibition someone has pinned a 1956 photograph of the reservoir frozen solid. It looks like a misprint until you remember that night frosts can drop to –4 °C in January. Winter visitors should pack a fleece even for lunch on the terrace; summer ones should carry water—tap fountains are switched off during drought alerts.

Lunch at the Top (and the Bottom)

El Barretet, the only restaurant within the walls, has six tables and a three-course menú del día that changes weekly. Expect roasted chicken with hand-cut chips, followed by crème-caramel wobbling like a 1970s dinner party. Price: €16 including half a bottle of house wine produced three valleys east. They’ll swap the chicken for escalivada (smoky aubergine and peppers) if you ask early; they won’t swap the dessert. Book on WhatsApp (+34 660 12 78 45) the day before, especially for Sunday 14:00 sitting when half of Sitges appears with grandparents in tow.

If you miss the slot, drive five minutes down to La Gornal where Can Mora opens weekdays and does a decent botifarra sausage. Vegetarians beware: even the lentils arrive with a lump of pork fat for “flavour”. The nearest reliable supermarket is Esclat in Vilafranca del Penedès, fifteen minutes by car—stock up before Saturday night because everything shuts on Sunday except filling-station shops.

Walking Without a Summit

Proper hikers may sniff at the altitude, but the web of camins rurals makes for pleasant leg-stretching. A circular route signed as “PR-C 123” leaves the castle gate, drops past almond terraces, then contours the reservoir for 4.3 km before climbing back through pine and rosemary. Trainers suffice; boots are overkill. Allow ninety minutes, plus pauses to read the medieval dry-stone irrigation channels still feeding small vegetable plots.

For something longer, follow the track west to the hamlet of Puigdàlber—an extra hour brings you to Cal Xanet, a farmhouse winery that opens for tastings if you phone ahead. Their brut nature cava contains no added sugar; it is crisp enough to make English sparkling-wine makers nervous. Price: €9 a bottle, cash only—there is still no ATM in Castellet itself.

When to Come, When to Stay Away

May and late-September give you 22 °C afternoons, wild irises along the paths, and tables available without theatrics. August is hotter but bearable; the problem is people. Day-trippers from Barcelona combine the castle with a beach stop in Sitges, clogging the single access lane by 11:30. Arrive before 09:30 or after 17:00 if you must come in peak season.

Winter is genuinely quiet: stone walls weep with damp moss, the reservoir turns gun-metal grey, and the smell of wood smoke drifts from chimneys. Hotel accommodation shrinks to two small guesthouses; one closes entirely in January. Check availability in Spanish, not English, because websites are rarely updated. If you need nightlife, winter here is not for you—last orders in the bar are taken at 22:15 and the streetlights switch off at midnight.

Getting Here Without Tears

Barcelona El Prat is 55 minutes by hire car: take the C-32 coastal toll road, then exit 28 for C-15 inland. The final six kilometres wind through vineyards; resist the urge to stop for photos on the hard shoulder—Catalan traffic police fine on the spot. No rail line reaches the village. The nearest station is L’Arboç (10 km); a local taxi costs €18 if booked the day before. Uber does not operate this far west.

Returning, allow an extra 30 minutes if your flight is on a Sunday afternoon: Barcelona-bound traffic queues at the Martorell toll. Better to leave after lunch, stop at Freixenet in Sant Sadurní for a 75-minute cave tour (€12, English at 13:00), and reach the airport relaxed rather than rattled.

The Honest Verdict

Castellet i la Gornal will not change your life. It offers no sandy beach, no Michelin stars, no festival that makes the front page of the Guardian travel supplement. What it does offer is a morning of stone, cava and silence above a sheet of water, followed by lunch cooked by someone who remembers your order from last year. Come for that, or stay on the coast. The village will still be here, half-asleep, when you finally tire of sangria boats and beach clubs.