Cruïlles Monells i Sant Sadurní de l'Heura

The weekly market in Monells is winding down when the church bell strikes twelve. Stallholders roll up canvas awnings, letting morning sunlight flood the stone arcade that frames the square. A Yorkshire voice drifts across: “I weren’t expecting this – it looked dead ordinary from the car park.” The speaker has just discovered what the coach parties that clog nearby Pals and Peratallada never seem to learn: you can still find medieval Empordà in low gear if you know which turning to take.

Cruïlles, Monells and Sant Sadurní de l’Heura share a single council, a single road sign and barely 1,300 inhabitants between them. Administratively they are one village; temperamentally they are siblings who barely speak. Spend half a day looping through the trio and you’ll clock up less than 6 km on the odometer, yet the pace, the stone colour and even the smell of the air shift with each hamlet.

Monells: the show-off

Park at the signed aparcament on the eastern edge – the historic core is a one-way knot designed for mules, not Minis. From the lot it’s a two-minute walk under a modern bypass bridge that gives nothing away; then the street narrows, the walls rise and you step into the 14th-century porticoed square used as the set for Ocho apellidos catalanes. Arcades run along all four sides, their limestone pitted by six centuries of wagon wheels and film crews. Sunday morning is market day: cheese stalls wedge themselves between the columns, honey sellers hang glass jars from iron hooks, and every other visitor seems to be carrying a Nikon with a lens the length of a baguette. Arrive after 11 a.m. and you’ll circle for parking; arrive after 1 p.m. and you’ll have the place to yourself, though the only lunch option still serving will be the tourist-trap tables in the square. Locals head instead to L’Arcs, fifty metres up Carrer de la Font, where the English menu cheerfully offers grilled cod as an escape route from rabbit and snails.

Cruïlles: the scholar

Five minutes’ drive north-east, the road climbs a whisper and the vegetation turns from irrigated vegetable plots to drier olive terraces. Cruïlles hides behind a rise; you see the bell-tower first, then the walls of the Benedictine monastery of Sant Miquel, founded 904 AD and patched ever since. The church portal is textbook Romanesque – three archivolts, chevron carving, the lot – but for the past two summers it has been wrapped in a mesh of scaffolding while conservators stabilise the roof. You can still go inside, but only by booking the two-hour guided visit through the regional heritage office in Girona; turn up on spec and the heavy oak door stays locked. Even from the outside the ensemble is worth the detour: storks nest on the tower, and the little plaza catches the late-afternoon sun like a natural solarium. Below the monastery the village shrinks to two short streets and a bar that opens randomly; if Can Dolç has its shutters up, the three-course menú del dia (€18, bread and wine included) is dependable and unstarry.

Sant Sadurní de l’Heura: the introvert

Continue another 3 km along the C-66 and you reach the smallest sibling, little more than a church, a row of stone houses and a grocer that doubles as the local pub. The grocer’s opening hours are written in chalk: morning, siesta, evening, whenever the owner feels like it. Card payments are regarded as a suspicious foreign habit; bring cash or you’ll walk away thirsty. The 12th-century church of Sant Sadurní has been so altered over the centuries that only the squat bell-tower hints at its Romanesque origin. The place won’t occupy more than fifteen minutes of your attention, but the surrounding lanes offer open views across grain fields and low vineyards – ideal if you need to let a dog or a toddler run. In October the smell of new wine drifts from farm garages where growers ferment their own vi de pagès in plastic vats.

Between the villages: walking it off

A lattice of farm tracks links the three nuclei; none is longer than 4 km and the gradients are gentle enough for walking sandals rather than boots. The most popular circuit starts at the Monells car park, follows the stream of Font de la Teula to Cruïlles, then cuts across olive terraces to Sant Sadurní and returns via a ridge with sea glimpses. Summer heat can be brutal by 11 a.m.; spring and autumn are kinder, and in May the verges are loud with nightingales. After heavy rain the stone paths turn slick – trainers with decent grip are safer than fashion plimsolls.

When to come, when to avoid

Easter week and August weekends treble the visitor count; Spanish families rent nearby farmhouses and parade toddlers under the arcades. Parking spills onto the C-66 verge, and restaurant terraces run out of chairs. Mid-week from March to June or September to early November you’ll share the streets with the actual 1,323 residents and the occasional British couple who’ve read the same Costa Brava Living forum thread. Winter is properly quiet – sometimes too quiet. Several cafés close between January and Carnival, and if the tramuntana wind is blowing the stone walls channel it like a wind-tunnel.

Practical residue, served plain

• Distance from Girona airport: 35 min by hire car; no public transport worth the hassle.
• Nearest cash machine: La Bisbal d’Empordà, 8 km south – stock up before you arrive.
• Market day parking: aim for 09:30 or give up and walk in from the edge-of-village lot.
• Monells Sunday market: stalls pack up around 13:30; nothing happens on other days.
• Monastery tour booking: email [email protected] at least 48 h ahead; Spanish or Catalan only, but Google Translate works.

The honest verdict

These three hamlets don’t shout. They offer an afternoon of stone-built continuity, decent coffee under medieval arches and the mild satisfaction of ticking off a triangle most Costa Brava visitors never hear about. Come expecting adrenaline and you’ll be disappointed; come prepared to stroll, peer at doorways and argue over which village has the best bakery and you’ll leave content. Just remember to fill the petrol tank and the wallet before you arrive – once the market stalls fold and the bakery shutters clatter down, the 21st-century recedes faster than you think.