La Torre de Claramunt

The morning bell of Santa María strikes eight as a farmer in dusty boots unloads crates of Macabeo grapes outside the cooperative bodega. From the castle ridge above La Torre de Claramunt you can watch the whole scene: the square bell tower, the tiled roofs turning amber in early light, and the Anoia River glinting between rows of almond trees. It feels closer to Tuscany than to the Costa Dorada, yet Barcelona’s airport is only 55 minutes away on the AP-7. That contradiction – deep-country quiet within day-trip reach of the city – is what draws a steady trickle of British families to this 5,000-strong village in the Anoia comarca.

A castle that still keeps watch

The Castell de Claramunt predates the village itself. First mentioned in 955 AD, the fortress guarded the frontier with Al-Andalus and later passed through the hands of the Cardona counts and the Order of Calatrava. What stands today is mostly 11th-century Romanesque: a square keep, crenellated walls and an arched gate you can still walk through. The interior is sparse – no furniture, no recreated dungeons – but the climb is worth it for the 360-degree view that stretches from Montserrat’s serrated profile to the Penedès vineyards below.

Reaching the castle means a 15-minute uphill footpath that starts behind the church. The trail is stony and there are no guard rails; trainers are fine, flip-flops a mistake. Opening hours vary by season (usually 10:00-14:00 and 16:00-19:00 at weekends; €5 cash only), so check the town-hall website the night before. On Mondays the gate stays locked and you’ll have to settle for photographs from the lower ridge.

Back in the village, the medieval core is really just four streets radiating from the church plaça. Stone doorways carry weather-worn coats of arms, and swallows nest in the cornices. It takes all of twenty minutes to cover on foot, yet the detail rewards slower looking: a 14th-century Gothic window here, a wrought-iron balcony there. The only café with outside tables, Ca la Conxita, opens at seven for espresso and serves a decent plate of grilled escalivada if you need lunch before siesta kicks in at two.

Vineyards, river trails and the British connection

La Torre sits at 285 metres above sea level, low enough for mild winters but high enough to catch the evening breeze that keeps the grapes healthy. Dry-stone terraces circle the outskirts; many belong to small family cellars that sell Penedès DO wines at €6-8 a bottle directly from the porch. Cycling is the smoothest way to reach them – the local tourist office (open mornings only, Plaça de l’Ajuntament 2) will lend you a free map of signposted loops: 12 km to Capellades paper-mill museum, 18 km to the Cava producer Vilarnau near Sant Sadurní.

If you’d rather walk, follow the Camí del Riu downstream for 40 minutes until the water widens into gravel pools where dogs splash and dragonflies hover. The path is flat, shady and mercifully free of the cyclists who whizz along the ridge tracks. Take repellent in May and June; the Anoia’s reed beds breed enthusiastic mosquitoes after dusk.

Most British visitors base themselves at Torre Nova Resort, a cluster of contemporary apartments on the village’s southern slope. The Dutch-English owners installed a salt-water pool heated by solar panels from April to October, and every terrace faces west towards the castle – handy for sunset gin-and-tonics once the kids are asleep. A two-bed apartment runs €120-160 per night in shoulder seasons, jumping to €220 in August. Guests receive a printed list of “non-touristy” routes, including a 30-minute drive to Montserrat’s least-used monastery entrance and a back-road approach to the Cava house Gramona where tastings are limited to eight people.

Eating like you’re inland

Catalan country cooking is hearty, not dainty. At Can Xarau, wedged between the post office and the school, Thursday’s set lunch (€14) starts with a bowl of escudella broth thick with chickpeas and ends with crema catalana burnt to order. Botifarra sausage with white beans appears most days; vegetarians can ask for escalivada or a tomato-rubbed pa amb tomàquet topped with local goat’s cheese. Portions are large – one main often feeds two children.

Evening options are fewer. Cal Pinxo in the newer part of town grills entrecôte over vine cuttings and pours a reliable house Cava by the carafe (€3.50 a glass). Reserve at weekends; second-home owners from Barcelona fill the place after nine. If you’re self-catering, stock up at the Mercadona in Igualada before arrival. The village’s two small supermarkets close at 14:00 and reopen at 17:00; bread sells out by noon.

Wine pilgrims usually drive ten minutes to the hamlet of Font-rubí and pull up at Celler Vell, a cooperative that’s been fermenting since 1914. Their young white (100 % Macabeo) tastes like sauvignon with the edges rounded off – crisp enough for the terrace, cheap enough for sangria. Bring your own plastic five-litre flagon and they’ll fill it for €7; a souvenir bottle with wax seal is €9.

Fiestas, heat and when not to come

August’s Festa Major turns the plaça into an open-air disco. Brass bands march at midnight, fireworks rattle off the castle walls and neighbours compete in a greasy-pole contest over the swimming pool. It’s loud, late and utterly local; visitors are welcome but beds disappear weeks ahead. Book early or stay away if you need full sleep.

Mid-January brings Sant Antoni, the night of bonfires and animal blessing. Locals drag horses, dogs and the occasional pet rabbit to the church for a sprinkle of holy water, then share trays of grilled butifarra around street fires. The spectacle is worth seeing, yet January nights drop to 2 °C and most rental pools are empty – come only if you like cold clear skies and wood-smoke.

Summer heat can be oppressive. In July thermometers nudge 36 °C and the castle path offers zero shade. Start early, carry water, or simply visit in late March when almond blossom froths the hillsides and daytime peaks sit comfortably at 20 °C. Autumn is harvest season: tractors clog the lanes and the air smells of crushed grapes – photographers’ favourite, though short-lived; by November mist often caps the valley until midday.

The bottom line

La Torre de Claramunt will never compete with the postcard drama of coastal Catalonia. It has no beach, no Gaudí masterpiece, no Michelin stars. What it offers instead is a working village where castle stone and vineyard soil feel used rather than museum-polished. For Britons happy to hire a car, speak a phrase-book sentence or two and accept that lunch is the day’s main event, it slots neatly between city buzz and rural hush. Come for three nights, climb the keep at sunrise, cycle to a family cellar for lunch and be back in Barcelona for supper – or simply stay by the pool and let the church bell mark time. Either way, the Tuscan comparison starts to make sense, minus the price tag and the tour buses.