Sant Jordi Desvalls

The church bell in Sant Jordi Desvalls strikes seven and the only other sound is the clatter of almonds falling onto corrugated roofs. From the stone bench beside the war memorial you can watch the sun lift over wheat stubble and the Pyrenees floating like a paper cut-out 80 km away. At 57 m above sea level the village has neither mountain drama nor sea sparkle; instead it trades in horizon-wide calm, the sort that makes British visitors check their phone for signal and then relax when it shows one bar.

A grid of lanes, not a checklist

Sant Jordi’s medieval core fits inside four short streets. Houses are bonded with ochre mortar, doors painted the same municipal green you see all over rural Catalonia. Number 12 on Carrer Major still has a stone feed trough built into its façade – a reminder that the ground floor once sheltered livestock rather than hatchbacks. Walk clockwise and you are back at the church in seven minutes; walk anti-clockwise and you pass the single grocery shop, the bakery that opens when the owner feels like it, and the village bar where men in corduroy caps debate the price of irrigation water. Nothing is labelled “heritage”, yet the whole place is a working exhibit of how the plain has housed itself since the Reconquest.

The parish church of Sant Jordi is the tallest thing for miles, its tower rebuilt piecemeal after earthquakes and lightning. Inside, the cool smells of candle wax and damp stone offer instant relief from the summer glare that bounces off the surrounding fields. Week-day mass is at 19:00; turn up ten minutes early and you can watch the sacristan ring the bell by hand, pulling a rope that disappears into the ceiling like a magician’s trick.

Pedal power and flat tyres

British cyclists have started using the village as a cheap alternative to Girona’s boutique cycling scene. The terrain is forgiving: country lanes run ruler-straight between plane trees, and gradients rarely top three per cent. A 30 km loop east to Cervià de Ter and back passes three level crossings, two irrigation canals and one petrol pump that doubles as a jamón shop. Road surfaces vary – silky new asphalt gives way to patched concrete where tractors have dropped olives – so bring spare inner tubes; the nearest bike shop is in Girona.

If you prefer walking, follow the signed path that leaves from the football pitch and strikes out towards the ruined masia of Can Pons. The route skirts sunflower fields, then dives between cypress hedges planted as wind-breaks. Allow 45 minutes out, the same back, and carry water between May and October; shade is limited to the width of your hat.

Supper at seven-thirty, lights out by ten

Evenings centre on calories rather than cocktails. Casa Migdia, a 17th-century manor on the edge of the village, has five guest rooms with iron bedsteads and windows that actually open. The British owner-manager will cook if you give him notice; dinner is three courses, wine included, and finishes early enough for you to be in bed before the village streetlights dim at 23:30. Expect grilled chicken with romesco, followed by crema catalana that tastes like school-day custard with a blow-torched top. The set menu costs €24; breakfast adds another €8 and includes proper tea bags smuggled back from UK supermarkets.

Self-caterers should shop before 14:00, when the grocery shuts for the afternoon. Stock up on local peaches, butchers’ sausages laced with fennel, and a loaf of pa de pagès – the round country bread that keeps for days and doubles as a weapon if stale. The village has no Friday fish van; for that you drive 10 km to Flaçà where the market sets up under the railway bridge.

Day-trips when the plain feels too plain

Sant Jordi’s location is its trump card. Girona’s old quarter is 18 minutes by car: park by the river, walk the medieval walls, and be back in time for siesta. The Costa Brava starts 25 km east; aim for the lesser-known beach at Cala Montgó where parking is €5 a day and the sea stays warm until late September. Inland, the volcanic crater at Banyoles makes a shady circuit for running or rowing; the lake is 20 minutes north and café terraces line the water like a miniature Ullswater without the National Trust crowds.

Winter visitors swap sunscreen for wellies. January brings the three kings parade, when tractors dragging fairy-lit trailers replace camels, and children scramble for sweets that skitter across the wet tarmac. Temperatures can dip to 3 °C at night; most village houses lack central heating, so pack the same layers you would for Norfolk in February.

What the brochures don’t say

Public transport is patchy. A Rodalies train leaves Girona for Flaçà every hour; from there a taxi costs €12–15 if you can persuade the driver to leave the rank. Buses exist on paper but appear in reality only when school is in session. Car hire from Girona airport starts at £30 a day in low season; the desk is hidden at the far end of the terminal next to the lost-luggage counter.

Mobile coverage is Vodafone-dominant; O2 customers often achieve GPRS nostalgia. Wi-Fi in Casa Migdia runs at 12 Mbps – enough to stream Bargain Hunt but not the Champions League. The village pump still works, though it is now ornamental; do not drink from it after heavy rain unless you fancy explaining Catalan gastroenteritis to your EHIC app.

Sant Jordi Desvalls will not change your life, but it might reset your heartbeat. Come for two nights and you will leave with wheat dust on your shoes and a camera roll full of horizon shots that could have been taken anywhere on the European plain. That, of course, is the point: anywhere becomes somewhere when you slow down long enough to hear almonds hit the roof.