Montagut i Oix

The road to Montagut i Oix climbs so steeply that even second gear feels optimistic. At 276 metres, this isn't high-altitude territory, but the GI-523 twists through such tight hairpins that rental-car clutches whimper and passengers develop a sudden interest in prayer. It's the first indication that you've left the Costa Brava's orderly grid system far behind.

What awaits isn't a chocolate-box village or a boutique retreat. Montagut i Oix – two hamlets fused administratively, separated by a kilometre of oak forest – functions as a working scatter of stone farms, tractor sheds and modest churches. The combined population of 979 includes more sheep than humans, and the loudest noise is usually a chainsaw rather than a cocktail shaker. British visitors remain so rare that locals still pause mid-conversation when a UK-registered car appears.

Stone, Silence and the Occasional Tractor

The architecture here predates Instagram by several centuries. Romanesque churches – Sant Cristòfol in Oix, Sant Martí in Montagut – stand square and unadorned, their bell towers doubled as defensive lookouts against bandits who once descended from the Pyrenean foothills. Inside, the air smells of candle wax and damp stone; outside, benches face south-west to catch winter sun. No audio guides, no gift shop, just a hand-written mass timetable taped to the door.

Between the two nuclei spreads a patchwork of dry-stone walls, meadows and 400-year-old masías whose roofs sag like elderly eyebrows. Many still house three generations; others have become weekend refuges for Barcelona families who arrive with 4x4s full of organic vegetables and leave Monday before the school run. Planning laws forbid PVC windows or satellite dishes, so even the newer conversions keep their timber shutters and wrought-iron balconies. The effect isn't quaint – it's simply what happens when nobody bothers to modernise.

Walking tracks radiate from the village like spokes, way-marked with faded paint splashes that require occasional guesswork. The most straightforward leads 45 minutes upstream to Salt de la Núvia, a 15-metre waterfall that runs chocolate-brown after rain. The pool beneath is deep enough for a brisk swim in July, when temperatures touch 30°C, but come October the same spot demands a down jacket. Seasonal swings are dramatic: in August the surrounding oaks provide welcome shade; by January their branches creak under snow that rarely reaches the coast 60 km away.

Maps, Boots and Why Flip-Flops Fail

The Alta Garrotxa begins literally at the back of beyond – or more accurately, at the top of the lane behind the Oix bakery. Within ten minutes the tarmac gives way to gravel, then to limestone scree where the path narrows to boot-width. British walking forums describe this as 'proper mountain country without the altitude sickness', which translates as knee-crunching descents and calf-burning climbs, all below the tree line. Signposts list estimated times that assume Catalan pace; add 25% if you stop for photographs or possess typically British thigh muscles conditioned by commuter-train escalators.

Mobile reception dies within 500 metres of the village boundary. EE and Vodafone customers report one bar if they stand on a particular rock near the 12th-century bridge; otherwise download offline maps before leaving home. The tourist office in Olot (28 km) stocks English-language leaflets, but opens only weekday mornings – plan accordingly.

Summer hiking starts early; by 11 a.m. the sun ricochets off pale limestone and temperatures can reach 34°C despite the altitude. Carry two litres of water per person – streams marked on maps often dwindle to algae-lined trickles by late July. Winter brings the opposite problem: north-facing paths hold ice until March, and the GI-523 is occasionally closed after snow. Chains aren't compulsory, but a scrap of cardboard wedged under a spinning front wheel has rescued many a Yorkshireman in a Fiat 500.

Calories Earned and Calories Burned

Food is fuel rather than theatre. Can Xel, the only restaurant with any English reviews, serves mountain portions designed for people who've spent the morning shifting hay bales. Expect lamb stew thick enough to stand a spoon in, followed by trinxat – a Catalan cousin to bubble-and-squeak that merges cabbage, potato and bacon into a crispy cake the size of a frisbee. Vegetarians get escalivada (smoky aubergine and peppers) and the world's largest tomato bread. A three-course lunch menu costs €16 mid-week; dinner requires advance warning – the chef goes home if no one books by 6 p.m.

Shops are similarly pragmatic. The village mini-market opens 9-13:00, closes for siesta, then unlocks 17:00-19:30. Bread arrives at 10; if you want fresh milk, queue early. Sunday everything is shut – really shut – so self-caterers should stock up in Olot's Eroski on the drive up. Local wine comes in unlabelled bottles that cost €4 and taste like someone trod on a blackberry; surprisingly, it improves after the first glass.

Getting Lost and Getting Back Again

Public transport is a theoretical concept. The last bus left in 2011. Girona airport (75 minutes by car) offers the simplest gateway: Ryanair and Jet2 fly from Manchester, Bristol, Birmingham and Stansted. Hire cars must be booked in advance during half-term; without wheels you'll pay €90 for a pre-booked taxi and spend the return journey explaining to the driver why British people voluntarily walk up mountains for fun.

Accommodation divides into two categories: stone farmhouses rented by the week and simple guest rooms above village bars. Neither provides daily housekeeping. Prices hover around €80 per night for two, including breakfast that might feature freshly laid eggs and jam made from the garden's figs. Air-conditioning doesn't exist – nights are cool even in August – but thick stone walls mean damp sheets in April. Bring socks.

When to Bother and When to Stay Away

April-May deliver waist-high wildflowers and daytime highs of 18°C; October adds chestnut-coloured beech leaves and mushroom season. Both months guarantee empty trails and landlords grateful for custom. July-August attract Catalan families who know the secret; accommodation books solid and the solitary bar fills with toddlers wielding ice-cream spoons. December-February can be magical – think wood-smoke and snow-dusted chapels – but also claustrophobic when mist parks itself in the valley for days.

The honest verdict? Montagut i Oix offers neither pampering nor postcard perfection. It delivers instead the rare sense that you've strayed into a place still governed by seasons, sheep and the church bell. If that sounds like hard work, book a cottage in the Cotswolds. If it sounds like freedom, fill your water bottle, check your brake pads and point the sat-nav towards the empty quarter where Spain begins to climb.