Llorenç del Penedès

The morning bus from Barcelona deposits you beside a petrol station five kilometres short of Llorenç del Penedès. From there it's a taxi ordered the previous day, or thumb a lift from a tractor driver who will insist on speaking Catalan whatever Spanish you produce. At 162 m above sea-level the air is already a degree or two cooler than on the coast, and the light has the hard clarity that painters come for. Vineyards roll away on every side; the Pyrenees hover like a paper cut-out on the northern horizon.

This is Baix Penedès, the lower, quieter cousin of the better-known cava country further north. The famous labels—Freixenet, Codorníu—are forty kilometres away. Here the economics are smaller: 2,400 inhabitants, family plots of Cabernet Sauvignon and the local favourite, Xarel·lo, a co-operative winery whose stainless-steel vats shine through the windows opposite the primary school. Come for the ViGralla fair in early May and you can taste last year's vintage in people's garages while a neighbour burns bacon sandwiches on a portable barbecue. It feels more like a church fête in Hampshire than a tasting in Napa, except the wine is better and costs three euros a bottle.

Streets that still shut for lunch

The old centre is a ten-minute rectangle of stone houses, Modernista doorways and the parish church of Sant Llorenç, patched so often that Romanesque rubs against Baroque without apology. There are no souvenir shops—none—and only two places to eat. Both close at four o'clock on Sundays and don't reopen; plan accordingly. Lunch is the serious meal: xató salad (curly endive, salt-cod, anchovy and a nutty sauce that tastes like Caesar meeting romesco), followed by longanissa sausage sliced thin, milder than chorizo and perfect for tentative British palates. Order cava by the porró, a glass spout that looks like a watering can; locals aim a foot-long jet into their mouths without spilling. You will drip; nobody minds.

Credit cards are treated with suspicion. The village cash machine disappeared during the last banking cull; the nearest is three kilometres away in Santa Oliva. Bring euros or be prepared to buy your wine with the last coins in your pocket.

Walking among the vines

Llorenç sits in a shallow bowl of vineyards threaded by farm tracks. These are not signed footpaths—simply the routes tractors take between plots. Pick one at random and within five minutes you are alone among gnarled vines, the only sound a distant dog and the click of secateurs at first light. The terrain is gentle; think South Downs rather than Lake District. A circular stroll to the Mare de Déu de Montserrat chapel, perched on a low hill twenty minutes east, gives a survey of the comarca: rolling, worked, never dramatic but always changing colour with the season—electric green in April, parchment gold by late September when the harvest starts.

Serious walkers can thread together pueblos—Santa Oliva, el Montmell, Banyeres—using the GR-92 coastal path which passes nearby. Distances are modest: twelve kilometres with 250 m of ascent feels like a morning's ramble rather than an expedition. Carry water; fountains are seasonal and cafés non-existent between villages.

Mountain bikers appreciate the same tracks. A hire shop in Vilafranca del Penedès (25 km) will deliver bikes if you book in Catalan or Spanish; their English e-mail tends to get lost.

When the village wakes up

Outside festival weekends Llorenç goes quiet after nine. The Fiesta Mayor in August changes that: temporary bars in the plaça, sardanes danced by grandparents and toddlers, fireworks that rattle off the stone walls at midnight. Sant Antoni in January brings bonfires and a blessing of pets; arrive early and you will see pigs on leads and hens in baskets waiting politely for the priest.

The ViGralla wine weekend is the easiest time for foreigners. Cellars open their doors without appointments, tastings cost one euro a glass, and someone will almost certainly translate if the winemaker's English stalls. The rest of the year you need to e-mail the day before; many producers combine vineyard work with school runs and aren't home at random hours.

Winter mornings can be sharp—frost on the vines as late as February—while summer afternoons top 32 °C. Spring and autumn are the comfortable seasons, when the smell of pruning fires drifts across the lanes and restaurants still have tables free on a Saturday.

Getting there (and away)

Barcelona El Prat is an hour by car on the C-32 and C-51; reckon thirty minutes more if the weekend exodus is in full spate. Flights from Gatwick, Luton, Manchester and Bristol land before lunch, giving time to collect a hire car and reach Llorenç for a three o'clock menu del dia. Tarragona-Reus is closer—thirty kilometres—but UK routes are limited mainly to summer Ryanair hops.

Public transport exists on paper: a twice-daily bus from Tarragona stops at the afore-mentioned petrol station. Miss it and you are stranded. Taxis must be booked; the fare into the village is a flat fifteen euros each way, more than the bus from Barcelona. A car is less frustration and lets you stock up on wine afterwards.

What you won't find

Nightlife, boutiques, a medieval castle on a crag, or a Michelin plaque. The accommodation offer is two small guest-houses and the odd rural cottage on Airbnb; book early for festival weekends. Phone reception is patchy in the narrow streets; consider it an excuse to look up rather than down.

If you need constant stimulation, stay in Sitges. If you want to see how a Catalan wine village functions when the tour buses drive past, Llorenç del Penedès keeps its own, slower time. Come prepared—cash, a phrase of Catalan, an empty suitcase—and you can drink Cabernet Franc in somebody's garage while the tractor headlights sweep the yard at dusk. Then walk back beneath stars bright enough to need no filter, tasting grape tannin on your tongue and wondering why you ever queued for a cathedral audio guide.