Sant Gregori

The 08:15 school bus to Girona is the loudest thing in Sant Gregori. Once it rumbles away down the Llémena valley the only sounds are a tractor reversing, a dog arguing with the post-van, and the river Ter sliding past fields of broad beans. Ten kilometres from Girona airport yet stubbornly rural, the village keeps office hours in the city and village hours at home.

Stone, water and Saturday shopping

Terraced houses in honey-coloured stone line the main road, their ground floors still given over to bakeries, a pharmacy and a single ATM that runs out of cash before fiesta season. The 18th-century church of Sant Gregori squats at the crossroads; its bell strikes the quarters whether anyone is listening or not. Behind the nave the old priest’s garden has been turned into a pocket playground, handy if you’ve driven up from the coast and need to uncurl children before lunch.

There isn’t a souvenir shop. Instead, Saturday brings a pop-up market: two trestle tables loaded with lettuces, thick-skinned tomatoes and goats’ cheese from Mas Piferrer. The farm’s fridge is ten minutes out of the village; follow the handwritten sign, ring the bell, and someone in rubber boots will cut you a mild, crumbly round for four euros. Brits who self-cater stock up here, then nip five kilometres to Girona’s Hipercor for anything stronger than milk.

Pedal or paddle, but mind the midges

The flat valley lanes are catnip to cyclists. The Carrilet greenway – a reclaimed railway line – starts in Sant Gregori and rolls 6.5 km straight into Girona’s old town, no traffic lights, no hills. Families pootle it on hybrids; club riders use it as a warm-up before turning south toward the tougher Gavarred hills. Bring lights: the tunnels are long and the surface can be greasy after rain.

If you prefer walking, the river path west of the football pitch is sign-posted “Ruta del Ter”. It’s an easy 40-minute circuit among poplars and reeds, but take repellent between May and September; English visitors report “savage” mosquito raids at dusk. Mountain bikers head north into Les Gavarres, a maze of sand-coloured tracks that smell of pine and damp cork. A 250-metre climb delivers views of the snow-topped Pyrenees on clear winter days, though summer haze usually limits the panorama to Girona’s cathedral spire.

Lunch that won’t frighten the children

Can Pares, opposite the church, flies the Catalan flag and a Union Jack the size of a tea-towel. The owners learnt brisk English while washing dishes in Bournemouth; they’ll swap unfamiliar mongetes beans for chips without being asked. The weekday menú del día is €14 for three courses, wine and coffee. Expect grilled chicken, romesco sauce and a pudding that tastes like school-issue chocolate sponge. Locals eat at two; arrive before half past and you’ll get a table, afterwards you’ll queue with teachers from the primary school next door.

For braver palates, the coca de recapte – a thin, pizza-shaped bread topped with roast aubergine and red pepper – appears at weekends and disappears by three. Vegetarians can ask for it without the traditional anchovy; the kitchen is used to requests.

Where to sleep (and why you’ll need a car)

There is no hotel. Tourism here means stone farmhouses split into apartments, most with pools and fenced gardens that keep the neighbour’s sheep out. Prices drop sharply Monday–Thursday outside school holidays; a three-bedroom casa de pagès falls from €180 to €110 a night if you avoid weekends. Owners leave a welcome pack: olive oil from their own trees, tomatoes that actually taste of something, and instructions to drive the glass bottles back to the village bins.

You really do need wheels. The valley bus runs at dawn and mid-afternoon, timed for pupils not visitors. A taxi from Girona after dinner costs €25–30 and has to be booked; drivers rarely speak English but recognise “Sant Gregori, església” and will wait while you find your keys. Car hire at Girona airport takes twenty minutes; the road is dual-carriageway almost to the turn-off, then single-track with passing places. If your phone loses signal, keep going uphill; the village appears before the petrol light turns red.

Seasons and small print

Spring brings green wheat and almond blossom; walkers get sun-burnt and chilled in the same day, so layer like an onion. July and August are hot (32 °C) but the valley breeze stops the air from stagnating. September is harvest: farmers burn pruned branches at dusk, filling the lanes with a sweet, smoky haze that drifts into car vents. Winter is quiet, occasionally frosty, and can trap cars on north-facing slopes when the tramuntana wind whistles down from the Pyrenees. Snow is rare, but ice isn’t; carry a scraper.

Remember Sant Gregori is a separate municipality from Girona, so the city’s tourist tax doesn’t apply to rural rentals. Check the map before you book: some villas advertised as “10 minutes from Girona” sit at the end of 3 km of dirt that turns to glue after rain. Google Street View is your friend.

Evening rituals

By ten the village is dark. Shutters close, the church clock counts down to midnight, and the only light comes from the bar at Can Pares where locals debate the price of feed maize over small glasses of Estrella. If you’re staying in the centre, walk fifty metres up the hill behind the playground; the tarmac ends at a cattle grid and the Milky Way spills across the sky, unpolluted by city glow. Stand still long enough and you’ll hear the river again, reminding you how close the sea lies – and how Sant Gregori has managed, so far, to let the coast keep its crowds.