Girona

The river Onyar runs rust-red at sunrise, its coloured houses—mustard, terracotta, salmon—mirrored so perfectly that the reflection looks solid enough to step on. By 08:00 the light has turned butter-yellow and the only sound is the clack of café shutters opening along the Rambla de la Libertat. This is Girona’s daily sleight-of-hand: a city of 104,000 that feels like a quiet market town until the cathedral bells remind you the place has been a bishopric since the fifth century.

Girona sits 70 m above sea level, far enough inland to escape the Costa Brava’s July crush yet close enough—35 minutes by train—to the beaches of the Med. The Pyrenees rise behind like a serrated wall; when the tramontana wind blows, the air clears so sharply that snow-tipped Canigó, 90 km away, seems a short stroll.

Stone, Steps and Saturation Points

Start with the cathedral. The baroque staircase is 90 steps, not the rumoured 86, and each one is a calf-killer before coffee. At the top you’re greeted by the widest Gothic nave on the planet—23 m of empty stone that makes Westminster Abbey feel cramped. Inside, the 11th-century Tapestry of Creation glows like a comic strip stitched in wool; allow twenty minutes and the free audioguide or you’ll miss the unicorn symbolising fertility. Roof tours (€10, max 12 people) sell out by 11:00 even in March; book the night before.

Behind the cathedral the old city fractures into the Call, Europe’s best-preserved medieval Jewish quarter. Alleyways barely shoulder-wide spiral downhill; rainwater spouts gargoyle faces at you from 14th-century gutters. The Museu d’Història dels Jueus (€6) explains why Girona once housed Catalonia’s most important Kabbalist school—and why the entire community vanished in 1492. Go before 10:00 or after 16:00; cruise-ship coaches dock at 12:00 and the lanes clog faster than the Tube at Oxford Circus.

Walk the Walls, Taste the Markets

From the Call it’s a five-minute climb to the Passeig de la Muralla. The medieval walls were rebuilt over Roman foundations, then again after Napoleon blew them up. Today a two-kilometre walkway stitches together towers you can still climb; bring water and a hat—shade is rationed. At the northernmost turret Girona spreads out like a map: red-tiled roofs, the silver Onyar, the cathedral perched like a chess rook. Cyclists heading to the Vies Verdes—old railway lines converted to green-ways—look like coloured ants from up here.

Come down via the Sant Domènec stairs and follow your nose to the Mercat del Lleó. The iron-and-glass hall dates from 1868 but the produce is strictly current: white asparagus from the Baix Empordà, rock octopus from Palamós, and Mató de Montserrat, a fresh cheese drizzled with local honey. Weekday menús del día in the surrounding bars run €14–18 for three courses plus wine; try Ca la Mariona for fricandó, a gentle beef-and-mushroom stew that won’t scare timid British palates.

Bridges, Bikes and Brioche Crabs

Cross the river by the Pont de Sant Agustí for the postcard shot everyone wants: Eiffel’s 1877 iron bridge framing the pastel façades. Gustave designed it a decade before his Paris tower, and the geometry is unmistakable. Keep walking; each bridge gives a different hue depending on sun and cloud. At dusk the colours deepen to burnt orange and bruised violet, and reflection turns the water into stained glass.

If the city begins to feel compact, rent a bike at BikeCat on Carrer Santa Clara (€18/day, UK helmets supplied). The green-way to the coast is pancake-flat, car-free and scented with pine. Ninety minutes of pedalling delivers you to Sant Feliu de Guíxols and a swim in water clearer than anything Bournemouth can muster. Trains back to Girona run hourly; bike carriage costs €3.

Those staying in town should adopt the Catalan dining timetable or go hungry. Kitchens close 16:00–19:00; evening tapas crawl starts 19:30. Begin with txalupa—mini-brioche crab buns—at El Cau de Llopard, then brave potatoes at La Terra: the tomato sauce is smoky rather than fiery, a diplomatic introduction to Spanish heat. Finish with crema catalana ice-cream at Rocambolesc, the Willy Wonka-style parlour run by the Roca brothers of El Celler de Can Roca fame. Expect queues; they move fast.

When Crowds and Climate Collide

April and October deliver 22 °C days and hotel doubles from €85. July–August temperatures nudge 35 °C; the old stone turns into a pizza oven and accommodation spikes to €180. Winter is mild—12 °C—but cafés shorten hours and some wall sections close in high wind. Rain arrives in sudden April bursts; carry a fold-up umbrella rather than trusting the sky.

Girona’s airport is 12 km south. A £30 Ryanair flight from Stansted lands in under two hours; the airport bus (€2.75, 25 min) is cheaper than the taxi flat fare of €25. High-speed trains from Barcelona take 38 minutes; the station is a ten-minute flat walk to the old town, left-luggage lockers €3 if you’re on a day trip.

The city’s biggest danger is complacency. Many visitors treat it as a Barcelona side-dish, allotting half a day before the beach. That barely covers the walls, the Call and the cathedral, let alone the Arab Baths, the basilica and a proper lunch. Stay overnight. The stones look different after dark, when tour buses have rolled away and the only footsteps echoing through the Call are your own.