Forallac

The rock-cut moat at Peratallada is deep enough to swallow a double-decker bus. Stand on the timber footbridge at dusk and you look straight into bedrock clawed out nine centuries ago, the castle keep still leaning over your shoulder. That first glimpse explains why most British visitors assume the village is the whole show; in fact Peratallada is only one of five hamlets that make up the municipality of Forallac, stretched across 50 km² of Baix Empordà farmland. The others—Fonteta, Vulpellac, Canapost and the tiny core labelled simply “Forallac”—are separated by wheat, sunflowers and the occasional clutch of stone farmhouses, not by postcard rhetoric. You cover the lot by car in fifteen minutes, yet each settlement keeps its own clock.

Between cereal and coastline

Forallac sits 51 m above sea level, low enough for the sea breeze to reach the fields but high enough to escape the muggy trough that hugs the coast in July. From the raised terrace of Cal Sisco in Vulpellac you can sometimes make out the distant shimmer of the Med: Pals beach is 13 km east, twenty minutes on the C-31 if the roundabout at Palamós isn’t jammed. Locals treat the coast like a utility—go early, swim, back for lunch—leaving the villages to visitors who prefer stone to sand. The arrangement works until August Saturdays, when the single-carriageway approach to Begur snarls up and the inland lanes become rat-runs. Plan any beach excursion for before ten, or after six when the Spanish lunch table finally breaks up.

A walkable jigsaw

Footpaths are the quiet glue. A 6 km loop links Peratallada’s moat to the Romanesque church at Vulpellac, then drifts past pollarded plane trees into Fonteta, where the only traffic is a tractor delivering bread. The terrain is flat, the stiles are stone, the way-marking is sporadic—download the town-hall pdf or you’ll end up in somebody’s tomato plot. Cyclists get the better deal: a sealed farm track continues north to La Bisbal d’Empordà, the regional pottery capital, where factory seconds sell for half Girona prices. Take water between May and October; shade is limited and the agricultural canals aren’t drinking quality.

Lunch hours and other traps

British stomachs need recalibrating. Kitchens shut at 15.30 sharp; turn up at 15.31 and you’ll be offered crisps until 20.30. The terrace restaurants around Peratallada’s Plaza de las Voltas look temptingly permanent, but several are weekend-only operations that lock up on Sunday night and reopen Thursday. Mid-week in February you may find just one bar serving bocadillos—perfect if you like solitude, hopeless if you’re banking on a three-course menu. Prices shift just as abruptly: a plate of grilled botifarra with white beans sits around €12 in Vulpellac, but add the word “artisanal” on the Peratallada card and the same dish becomes €18. Always check the menu posted at the gate; it saves the awkward British shuffle when the bill arrives.

Sleeping in the fifteenth century

Accommodation is mostly restored farmhouses whose owners live in Barcelona and rent out thick stone walls to families seeking a “Game of Thrones” backdrop with Wi-Fi. Expect chestnut beams, tiny windows, and pool fences that satisfy British safety neuroses. A three-bedroom masia starts at £180 per night in early May, climbs to £340 in August, and plummets again the moment schools go back. Hotels proper are thin on the ground: Hotel Arcs de Monells, just outside the boundary, occupies a former monastery and has doubles from €150 including breakfast, but you’ll need the car to reach anywhere else for supper. One mid-range option within the municipality is the five-room Casa Rural Can Cervera, buried among apple orchards south-west of Peratallada; book early for October, when the medieval fair packs the car park with coach parties from Toulouse.

When the fair takes over

That fair—Fira Medieval de Peratallada, first weekend of October—turns the place into open-air theatre: falconers, mead stalls, a soundtrack of Galician bagpipes. Entrance is free but accommodation within a 10 km radius jumps 40 %. If you want atmosphere without the surcharge, arrive the previous weekend when the set-up crews are in situ but room rates haven’t budged. Conversely, late July’s Festa Major brings fireworks and late-night discos that rattle the castle walls until 03.00; light sleepers should choose Fonteta or Canapost, where the only noise is the church bell on the hour.

Weather realities

Spring brings waist-high grass poppies and daytime temperatures that mirror a Devon May—18 °C by noon, jumper weather after sunset. Autumn is the photographers’ season: barley stubble glows amber, the surrounding oak woods smell of mushrooms, and the low sun rewrites the stone palette every ten minutes. Summer is hot but rarely brutal; 32 °C is typical, tempered by the same tramontana wind that whips the coast. Winter is empty, often bright, occasionally frosty. A January weekend can feel like the Cotswolds minus the tea-shop crowds, but check that your chosen farmhouse has central heating—stone walls 80 cm thick stay cold long after the sun comes out.

Cash, crowds, common sense

Bring euros. Two bars in Peratallada still hand-write tabs in pencil and wave away plastic with the phrase “maquineta rota”. The village ATM runs dry on Saturday night; the nearest alternative is a 7 km drive to La Bisbal, hardly convenient when you’re trying to pay the parking meter. Speaking of which, park outside the walls. Guardia Civil issue €90 fines for unauthorised entry, and the cobbles inside are slippery enough without a reversing Fiesta. Finally, pack repellent. Stone cisterns breed mosquitoes that view British ankles as a delicacy.

Forallac doesn’t shout. It offers instead a scatter of hamlets whose value lies in the gaps—between cereal field and castle wall, between siesta and supper, between the Costa Brava you expected and the interior you didn’t. Treat it as a base rather than a checklist and the municipality repays with slow, stone-solid days that need no filter.