Ullastret

The walls rise three metres high, built from stones that have forgotten more history than most of Europe remembers. Atop Puig de Sant Andreu, overlooking wheat fields that shimmer like the Mediterranean a few kilometres away, the Iberian settlement of Ullastret predates the Romans by four centuries. This isn't another medieval village with postcard-perfect arches—it's older, stranger, and refreshingly indifferent to whether you visit or not.

The Hill That Refuses to Be Ignored

Ullastret village itself sits at 49 metres above sea level, low enough that the Tramuntana wind still carries salt from the coast. Five hundred people live in stone houses that huddle around the 16th-century church of Sant Pere, where swallows nest in Gothic corners and the plaza smells of fresh bread only on Thursdays when the mobile bakery van arrives. The real drama lies 500 metres north: cyclopean walls, defensive towers, and house foundations that once sheltered the Indiketes tribe between 600 and 200 BC.

Archaeologists have peeled back 35% of the site, making it the largest excavated Iberian settlement in Catalonia. What they've found isn't gold death masks or marble statues—it's everyday iron tools, painted ceramics, and the remnants of grain silos that explain why this hilltop commanded respect. The museum, compact and mercifully cool, displays surgical instruments delicate enough for modern keyhole surgery and loom weights that speak of textiles traded across the inland sea. Entry costs €5.50, but the first Sunday of each month is free—arrive early because there are precisely 47 parking spaces and no overflow field.

Most visitors miss the detail that transformed understanding of the site: a small lead plate inscribed in Iberian script, unearthed in 2016. It lists quantities of barley and sheep, proving literacy reached further than scholars suspected. The plate sits in a dim corner; ask the guard to switch on its dedicated spotlight.

Walking Through Two Thousand Years in Ninety Minutes

The audio guide (download before you arrive—phone signal vanishes inside the walls) lasts 62 minutes. That leaves twenty-eight to wander the perimeter path where fennel grows wild and red kites circle overhead. Start at the eastern tower where the reconstruction shows how walls narrowed towards the top, creating a killing field for sling-shot warriors. The Iberians favoured lead bullets shaped like almonds; several are displayed with impact dents still visible.

Midway round, the path drops into what archaeologists call the "banquet house"—a rectangular space with benches along three sides. Here the tribe feasted on pork, rabbit, and sea urchins, the shells of which litter the excavated floor. The acoustics are peculiar: speak normally at the centre and someone by the entrance hears a whisper. Children love testing it; parents realise how oral history survived without written records.

Below the settlement, a dirt track leads to the Estany d'Ullastret, technically a lake but more accurately a shallow lagoon where purple herons stalk eels. The 3-kilometre circuit takes forty minutes and delivers views back to the hill—essential for understanding why the Iberians chose natural defences. In spring the surrounding meadows glow yellow with buttercups; by July they're baked the colour of bone.

Where to Eat When the Past Works Up an Appetite

Ullastret has no bakery, no cash machine, and only one shop selling tinned tuna and detergent. The village assumes you'll eat elsewhere, but two places buck the trend. Restaurant Ibèric occupies a former blacksmith's forge; beams still bear scorch marks from 1897. Their winter speciality is a clay-pot stew of wild boar with chestnuts and local mushrooms—order it with the house red from neighbouring Fontanilles. In summer they switch to lighter fare: rice with cuttlefish ink and tiny shrimp that taste of the nearby marshes.

For something quicker, La Saka d'Ullastret opens onto the tiny square where old men play cards at 11 am sharp. Tables are barrels, the menu is chalked on a door, and the recuit nuri arrives looking like a white marshmallow. It's ultra-mild fresh cheese made from cow's milk within five kilometres; drizzle with honey and spread on country bread that crackles like autumn leaves. A plate costs €4.50 and pairs surprisingly well with a glass of cava.

Combining the Coast Without the Crowds

The beach at Pals lies 12 kilometres east, but English drivers often miss the turning after the rice fields and end up in overcrowded L'Estartit. Instead, take the back road through Fontanilles to El Montgrí massif, where a twenty-minute walk from the car park delivers Platja de la Gola del Ter—five kilometres of sand rarely busy even in August. The river Ter forms a shallow lagoon perfect for children; bring a picnic because there's only one seasonal chiringuito selling warm cans of Estrella.

If the wind's wrong and sand blows horizontal, drive north to the medieval core of Pals. Yes, it's touristy, but climb the tower of the Romanesque church and you'll see why the Iberians chose Ullastret's hill—every approach is visible for miles. The rice they cultivated still grows in paddies that turn emerald in May and gold by September. Buy a bag from the cooperative shop; it cooks in 18 minutes and tastes of minerals washed down from the Pyrenees.

When to Go, When to Stay Away

Spring brings wild asparagus along the lanes and temperatures perfect for clambering over stones without sweat dripping onto 2,500-year-old walls. Museums stay open until 7 pm, last entry 6 pm, giving time for a lazy lunch first. Autumn adds grape-harvest scent and mushroom foraging; the village's Festa Major at the end of August features sardana dancing in the square, but accommodation books up fast in nearby Begur.

Summer is brutal. The site offers zero shade; thermometers hit 34°C by noon and the museum becomes a refuge rather than an attraction. If July or August is unavoidable, arrive by 9:30 am, carry two litres of water, and treat the village bar as an oasis—its air-conditioning is the only modern intrusion the Iberians never imagined.

Winter can be magical when the tramuntana drops snow on the Pyrenean foothills, but Monday closures still apply and the wind slices through denim. Check macullastret.cat before setting out; heavy rain turns the access track to orange mud that will coat your hire-car carpets.

Leaving Without the Souvenir Regret

The gift shop stocks replicas of Iberian warrior figurines, hand-thrown in a Girona studio. They're €18, weighty, and won't fit in carry-on if you fly Ryanair's strict bag. Better value is a bottle of Vinya d'Ullastret, a white made from garnatxa blanca grapes grown on the surrounding plain. It costs €9, tastes of green apple and fennel, and the label shows the settlement's silhouette—an honest reminder that some places don't need superlatives. They just need you to look, listen, and walk away understanding that civilisation began here long before castles and cathedrals stole the limelight.