Meranges

At 1,539 metres above sea level, Meranges sits precisely where the Cerdanya valley stops being polite and starts being proper mountains. The road up from Puigcerdà winds through fourteen kilometres of hairpin bends, each turn revealing another layer of altitude sickness for those who've driven straight from Barcelona's airport. This is one of Catalonia's highest inhabited villages, and the thin air makes it abundantly clear.

The village clings to a south-facing slope, its stone houses arranged like spectators in a giant amphitheatre. Slate roofs angle sharply to shed winter snow, while wooden balconies face south to catch every available photon of warmth. It's architecture born of necessity rather than aesthetics, though the result happens to be rather pleasing. Stone walls two feet thick keep interiors bearable when temperatures plunge to minus twenty, and the narrow lanes—barely wide enough for a Citroën—follow contours that predate the internal combustion engine.

Stone, Slate and Survival

Meranges doesn't do pretty for the sake of it. The Romanesque church of Sant Serni has stood here since the eleventh century, its squat tower providing a landmark visible for miles. Inside, the baroque altarpiece gleams with gold leaf that seems almost ostentatious against the bare stone walls. The church doors open only when someone's around to unlock them, which isn't always guaranteed outside August. Check with the baker—she keeps the key more often than the priest.

Traditional architecture tells the real story. Three-storey houses with ground-floor stables speak of winters when families, livestock and hay all shared the same roof. The old hay barns, converted into holiday flats, retain their original stone threshing floors where farmers once winnowed grain by hand. Look closely at the doorways: some still bear the carved initials of builders who constructed these walls three centuries ago, craftsmen who knew that good stone outlasts both fashion and fortune.

The village's working heart remains visible in the surrounding meadows. Traditional hayfields, still cut by hand in places, form a green belt around the houses. These aren't heritage features maintained for tourists—they're part of the agricultural calendar that dictates village life. When haymaking starts in June, the air fills with the scent of cut grass and the sound of ancient tractors. When snow arrives in November, the same fields become cross-country ski trails, though nobody's bothered to mark them. Locals know the way; visitors should probably buy a map.

Walking Into Proper Mountains

The Malniu lakes lie two hours' walk north of the village, following an old mule track that climbs steadily through pine forest. At 2,200 metres, the refuge beside the largest lake serves surprisingly decent coffee to those who've earned it. The walk starts gentle enough, passing summer pastures where cows wear bells the size of footballs, but the final kilometre crosses bare rock where weather closes in fast. Summer hikers have been known to start in shorts and finish in hailstorms—pack accordingly.

Puigpedrós, at 2,914 metres, dominates the eastern horizon. The summit makes a long but achievable day from Meranges, provided you start early and respect the mountain. The route follows ancient shepherd paths before emerging onto bare granite where navigation becomes interesting in cloud. On clear days, the view extends from Andorra to the Mediterranean, though such clarity is rare outside October and May. The descent returns through different terrain, completing a circuit that gains and loses nearly 1,400 metres. Knees will complain tomorrow.

Winter transforms these paths completely. When snow arrives—usually December, occasionally October—the Malniu route becomes a ski touring classic, climbing 700 metres through quiet forest to the refuge. The skiing itself isn't technical, but the avalanche risk is real and the weather brutal. Several British skiers have required helicopter rescue after underestimating Pyrenean winter conditions. Mountain guides based in Puigcerdà run regular courses for those who know their limits.

Eating Mountain Logic

Local food follows altitude rather than fashion. The village's single restaurant, when open, serves dishes designed to fuel agricultural labour rather than impress food critics. Trinxat—cabbage and potato fried with bacon—appears on every menu for good reason: it's cheap, calorific and uses ingredients that store well in cold cellars. Escudella, a hearty stew containing enough pork products to alarm cardiologists, traditionally simmers all morning while farmers work outside in sub-zero temperatures.

Cheese comes from cows, not sheep, reflecting the valley's dairy farming tradition. Local producers still make tupí, a fermented cheese matured in earthenware pots with brandy and herbs. The result tastes somewhere between blue cheese and alcoholic yoghurt—an acquired taste that improves with altitude and red wine. Buy directly from farms when possible; the supermarket in Puigcerdà stocks industrial versions that miss the point entirely.

Wine presents geography problems. The nearest vineyards lie three hours' drive away, making beer the sensible choice. Local brewers in nearby Bellver produce excellent porters and stouts that complement mountain food far better than overpriced Rioja. The village shop stocks several Catalan craft beers alongside the usual Estrella, though prices reflect the transport involved in getting anything up that winding road.

When to Bother

Meranges makes sense in late May, when hay meadows burst with wildflowers and day temperatures reach pleasant twenties. September works equally well, bringing stable weather and fewer people. July and August see the village population quadruple as second-home owners arrive from Barcelona, turning quiet lanes into parking chaos and transforming the bakery queue into a daily social event. Winter visits require proper equipment and realistic expectations—when snow blocks the road, you stay until it clears.

Accommodation divides between restored village houses and rural hotels in neighbouring hamlets. Self-catering makes financial sense; the village shop stocks basics but proper shopping requires the trip to Puigcerdà. Several houses rent rooms to hikers during summer, offering breakfast featuring local ham and cheese for prices that undercut coastal Spain considerably. Book ahead for August and Christmas—otherwise, turn up and see what happens.

The village fiesta in late August involves fireworks, a communal dinner and dancing that continues until neighbours complain. Visitors are welcome but remain conspicuous—this isn't Sitges, and faces stay familiar even after several beers. Christmas brings the Catalan tió tradition, where children beat a log with sticks until it defecates presents. The ceremony happens in private homes rather than public squares; invitation required.

Meranges won't change your life. It offers neither luxury nor convenience, and the weather frequently refuses to cooperate. What it does provide is an authentic glimpse of Pyrenean mountain life, unchanged in essentials since medieval shepherds first built stone walls against the wind. Come prepared, respect the altitude, and bring walking boots. The mountains will still be here when Instagram has moved on to the next destination.