Viladasens

The bakery van arrives at 9:15 sharp. By 9:20, half the village is clustered around it, clutching euro coins and speaking Catalan that switches to Spanish mid-sentence when they spot you. This is Viladasens: population 222, altitude 96 metres, and precisely zero souvenir shops.

Morning in the Gironès

From the church steps you can see the entire municipality. Stone farmhouses—masías—sit in fields of wheat and barley that shift from green to gold between May and July. The Pyrenees rise faintly in the distance; closer, a tractor kicks up dust along a track that doubles as a walking route. At this height the air is clearer than on the Costa Brava, 35 minutes away by car, but still warm enough in summer to send walkers hunting for the thin bands of pine and oak that provide shade.

The village wakes slowly. Bread appears first, then coffee at Bar Social, where the owner pulls down a metal shutter at 14:00 sharp and doesn't reopen until 17:00. Plan accordingly: there is no cash machine here, the nearest supermarket shuts for siesta, and Monday is the day both bar-restaurants close. Visitors who arrive hungry learn to read the handwritten cardboard signs taped to doors.

What passes for sights

Guidebooks won't help. The parish church is pleasant, rebuilt in stages since the sixteenth century, but it won't occupy more than ten minutes. The real itinerary is a self-assembled loop: start at the stone trough by the cemetery, follow the yellow-painted waymarks past Mas Pons (olive press still visible in the barn), then drop onto the farm track that leads to the irrigation canal. Farmers here tolerate walkers who stick to the edges and close gates. Expect to share the path with the occasional quad bike; step aside and you'll usually get a nod.

Spring brings red poppies stitched through the wheat; autumn smells of wet earth and wood smoke. Summer is hot, often 32 °C by midday, so start early. Winter is mild by British standards—daytime 12–14 °C—but the tramontana wind can knife through layers and rural roads turn to slick clay after rain. A hire car with decent tyres is essential; buses don't come this far.

Eating (and stocking up)

Thursday is pastry day. The white van by the church sells croissants that taste more of butter than the supermarket versions back home, plus ensaïmadas—spiral pastries lighter than they look. For anything more substantial, Can Xiquet on the C-66 serves a three-course menu del día for €14; grilled chicken and chips provides a safety net for younger travellers. Locals recommend the botifarra sausage, but vegetarians should ask for escalivada—smoky aubergine and peppers—because menus rarely advertise it.

Self-caterers head to Bàscara, six kilometres north, for a proper supermarket and cash point. Farm gates sometimes display handwritten "formatge de cabra" signs; the cheese is wrapped in cling film and costs €4 for a soft disc milder than French chèvre. It keeps for three days without refrigeration, longer if you splash olive oil over the top, Italian-style.

Pedal and boot territory

The Gironès district markets itself as "Catalonia's Tuscany", a phrase best ignored. What you do get is 360 degrees of quiet lanes. A 25-kilometre cycle loop heads east to Sant Martí Vell, climbs gently to 220 metres, then drops back through almond orchards. Road bikes are fine; hybrids cope better with the occasional gravel stretch. If you prefer walking, the network of camins allows three- to eight-kilometre circuits that never stray far from a farmhouse with a tap outside—handy for refilling bottles.

Mobile signal vanishes in hollows, so screenshot the route before leaving the village. Waymarking is erratic: a yellow splash on one gatepost, nothing for the next kilometre. The rule is keep the church tower behind you and the Pyrenees ahead; when both disappear you've wandered into the next valley and need to backtrack.

Festivals without fanfare

August brings the fiesta major, when population swells to maybe 400. A foam machine fills the tiny plaça for children's parties, and a mobile bar serves Estrella beer at €2.50 a caña. Visitors are welcome but not announced; buy drink tickets from the lady with the carrier bag and no one will ask why you're here. Midnight fireworks bounce off the stone houses, then silence returns by 1 a.m.

Sant Joan, 23 June, involves a communal bonfire and sausages cooked on sticks. Bring your own fork; plastic cutlery melts. Fireworks are low-key—think school display rather than Edinburgh Hogmanay—and the council sweeps up next morning so thoroughly you'd never know anyone had partied.

Where to sleep (and why you might not)

Accommodation totals three options. Mas Pons is a working farmstead with four guest rooms, pool framed by cypress trees, and an English-speaking owner who emails detailed directions because sat-nav sends you through a river ford. Cal Rei cottage has thick walls that keep July heat out and a log burner for February nights when the thermometer dips to 4 °C. The third choice is an eighteenth-century townhouse, Casa Pairal 1790, with uneven floors and Wi-Fi that only reaches the kitchen. All three require a car; walking from the village with luggage means two kilometres along an unlit lane where hedges grow in the middle.

Prices hover around €90 a night for two, breakfast extra. That sounds high for somewhere with no reception desk, but you're paying for silence: no tour coaches, no pool aerobics, no karaoke. If you need nightlife, stay in Girona and day-trip.

Before you book

Viladasens suits travellers who've already seen Barcelona and the Dali triangle and want something slower. It is not undiscovered—weekenders from Girona arrive on Saturday mornings—but it is unpolished. Expect dust, barking dogs, and the smell of slurry when farmers spread muck in January. Bring walking shoes, a phrase book (Catalan first, Spanish second), and enough cash for coffee. Arrive with those basics and the bakery van might just save you a croissant.