Vilanova del Camí

A solitary brick chimney rises above the low-rise rooftops on Carrer de la Fàbrica, its shadow cutting across the pavement like a sundial for shift workers who clocked off decades ago. This is Vilanova del Camí's unofficial monument: not a medieval gate or baroque façade, but the weather-beaten stack of a nineteenth-century textile mill that once dyed cotton for markets as far away as Manchester. The town's name—"new town of the road"—promises transit rather than destination, and that promise still holds. Most through-traffic barrels along the C-37 towards Igualada, 6 km west, without pausing. Those who do stop find a place that makes no effort to be photogenic, yet rewards anyone curious about how inland Catalonia actually works.

Industrial Afterlife

The Anoia river, little more than a stream by February, slides past the old mill races and under low stone bridges. Along its banks, former warehouses have been converted into functional flats; their ground floors host motorbike repair shops, a discount supermarket, and one bakery that fires up at 4 a.m. The smell is less fresh baguette than burnt sugar from the cereal plant on the eastern edge of town. Locals shrug—"es la fàbrica"—and carry on. Tourism leaflets don't mention the odour, but it's as authentic a sensory marker as any Romanesque arch.

Walking maps are available from the tiny ajuntament office (open 9–2, closed weekends), yet no heritage trail is signposted. Instead, wander south along the river path until the pavement gives way to gravel. You'll pass the remains of the 1855 Can Roca dye-works: three storeys of ochre brick with trees growing out of broken windows. Graffiti reads "Recordem 1989"—a reminder of the year the last loom fell silent. Across the water, allotments occupy former mill land; elderly residents grow lettuces where bobbins once clattered. It's history without admission fee or audio guide, and all the better for it.

Everyday Altitude

At 300 m above sea level, Vilanova sits just high enough to escape the coastal humidity that turns Barcelona sticky in July. Summer evenings cool to 19 °C by ten o'clock, making pavement tables pleasant without patio heaters. Winter is sharper than many Brits expect: January highs of 12 °C feel brisk once the Tramuntana wind whistles down the Llobregat valley. Bring a proper coat, not the token jumper packed for a city break on the Ramblas. Rain is infrequent—only one day in seven—yet when it arrives it settles in for a grey, steady afternoon. An umbrella lives in every local handbag; visitors should copy the habit.

The altitude also explains the clarity of the night sky. Street lighting is modest, and on clear Saturdays the amateur astronomy group sets up telescopes by the football pitch. They'll let visitors peer at Jupiter's moons without charge; donations towards replacement lenses are welcome.

Where to Eat (and When)

There are no Michelin aspirations here. Lunch is the main event, served 1–3:30 p.m.; turn up at 4 and you'll be offered a sandwich or sympathy. Can Xarau, two blocks north of the river, does a three-course menú del día for €14 that might start with escudella (a hearty broth with pasta and chickpeas) followed by conejo al romero—rabbit braised with rosemary. Vegetarians get escalivada, smoky aubergine and pepper, but request it when booking; the kitchen won't invent dishes on the spot. Evenings are lighter: vermouth on ice with olives, perhaps a truita de patates (thick potato omelette) shared at the bar while the 8 o'clock news flickers overhead. English is patchy; pointing works, politeness works better.

Coffee culture follows the Catalan timetable: breakfast at 10, merienda snack around 5. The bakery opposite the church does ensaïmadas—spiral pastries dusted with icing sugar—that travel well if you're catching the 6:15 bus back to Barcelona. Eat them within 24 hours; they stale faster than croissants.

Getting Here, Staying Put

No one flies to Vilanova del Camí. Fly to Barcelona-El Prat, then take the Aerobus to Plaça d'Espanya. From there, the Llobregat-Anoia metre-gauge line rattles inland twice an hour; the journey to Igualada takes 75 minutes through olive terraces and sudden sandstone cliffs. A taxi from Igualada costs €12–15 fixed fare, or hop on the local bus that loops through Vilanova's outskirts every 40 minutes—timetables are taped inside the shelter, but Sunday service is skeletal.

Accommodation is the weak link. The town has no hotels, only two pensiones above bars where weekend noise drifts up until 2 a.m. Light sleepers should book in Igualada (ten minutes by car) or consider the rural cottage rental 3 km south; owners will collect you if you've no hire car. Prices run €60–80 a night, breakfast optional and hearty.

Beyond the Chimney

Use Vilanova as a springboard rather than a cul-de-sac. The 9 km greenway to Igualada follows the old railway bed, flat and car-free, ideal for families on hybrid bikes—rentals at the petrol station, €18 a day, helmets thrown in without fuss. In April the verges are loud with cicadas and bright yellow broom. Once in Igualada, the Leather Museum explains why the region smelled of tannin for centuries; entry €5, English captions provided.

South-west, the village of Jorba crowns a basalt ridge 30 minutes' drive away. Its eleventh-century castle keep is intact enough to climb, but unfenced—mind the toddlers. The bar beneath the church does calçots (giant spring onions charred over vine embers) from January to March. Eat them wearing the bib provided; the romesco sauce stains like engine oil.

The Quiet Exit

Leave on market day (Tuesday) and you'll share the 8 a.m. bus with shoppers clutching string bags of artichokes. By nine the square is already hosing down after the fruit stalls pack up. The chimney stands alone again, a punctuation mark against the cereal-plant steam. Vilanova del Camí won't dazzle Instagram followers, but it will recalibrate any notion that Catalonia ends at the beach. Come for the industrial archaeology, stay for the weekday rhythm—and remember the umbrella, just in case.