Ivars Durgell

A lake that came back from the dead

Stand on the eastern bank just after dawn and the water looks like polished steel, broken only by the wake of a marsh harrier skimming the reeds. Fifty years ago this was cracked earth and wheat stubble; the original lagoon had been drained in 1951 to squeeze out another 140 hectares of irrigated cash crop. Then, between 2004 and 2009, engineers reversed the plumbing, refilled the basin and walked away. Within twelve months 200 bird species had checked in. Today the Estany d’Ivars i Vila-sana is the single reason most outsiders bother to leave the AP-2 autopista and head north across the pancake-flat Pla d’Urgell.

The village itself sits four kilometres south of the water’s edge, a grid of low stone houses built for orchard workers rather than for show. There is no medieval quarter, no castle on a crag, just Sant Joan Baptista church rising a modest 25 metres above the surrounding apple warehouses. That honesty is part of the appeal: Ivars feels lived-in, not curated, and the lake trail starts between honest-to-goodness alfalfa fields that smell of cut grass and sprinkler hoses.

Cycling, strolling and keeping very still

A tarmac path circles the entire wetland. The lap is 7.2 km, dead level, and takes a dawdling two hours on foot or thirty-five minutes if you bring wheels. Four wooden hides poke out into the reeds; their benches are positioned so the sun is at your back during the morning flight. Without binoculars you will still see flamingos in late summer – they stand out like dropped handkerchiefs – but a £30 pair from Lidl turns distant specks into glossy ibis, black-winged stilts and the occasional osprey. Pick up the free English leaflet from the plastic box at the main gate; it lists arrival and departure dates for each species and saves you guessing whether that dabbling duck is rare or merely pretentious.

Hire bikes have to be collected in Lleida, half an hour away, so most visitors wheel out the hotel’s bone-shakers or arrive with roof-racked hybrids. The lane network south of the lake is a right-angled maze of concrete farm tracks that never rise above three metres. Ride east for twenty minutes and you reach the Canal d’Urgell, an 1851 irrigation channel still diverted by hand-cranked sluice gates; follow it west and you hit the fruit co-operative at Vila-sana where the weigh-bridge clerk will sell you a 5 kg box of just-graded pears for four euros, even if you turn up with panniers rather than a lorry.

What Catalan farm kitchens actually serve

There are three places to eat within the village boundary, none of which employ marketing consultants. Bar Marina opens at 06:00 so tractor drivers can down a cortado before the shift; by 13:30 the stainless-steel counter is lined with casseroles of snail stew, spinach-and-raisin coca flatbread, and the inevitable botifarra amb mongetes – a mild, paprika-tinged sausage served with white beans that tastes rather like a Cumberland ring without the sage. A three-course menú del dia costs €14 and includes wine that arrives in a 250 ml glass milk bottle. Vegetarians survive on escalivada (smoky aubergine and pepper) and the local pa amb tomàquet, which is simply good toast rubbed with tomato, garlic and a glug of arbequina olive oil that turns the bread the colour of early morning sun.

Evening options shrink further: Can Xic is the only restaurant that bothers to unlock after 20:00. Order the cargols a la llauna (snails baked in garlic butter) if you want the full field-hand experience; otherwise the pork cheeks stewed in Costers del Segre red are fork-soft and arrive with chips that have never seen a freezer. Pudding is crema catalana sprinkled at the table so the sugar catches fire in patches – a small theatre that makes British children think they have ordered posh crème brûlée.

When to come, and when to stay away

Spring brings almond blossom so bright it reflects off windscreens, plus the first hoopoes and bee-eaters. By mid-April daytime temperatures hover around 22 °C, ideal for the circuit walk, but nights can dip to 7 °C – pack a fleece for the pre-breakfast hide session. May is peak bird traffic: night herons, little bitterns and the occasional glossy ibis breed in the reeds, and the surrounding wheat is still green enough to glow. October is almost as good, with juvenile flamingos practising formation flights and the grape harvest in full swing; the light is softer, the bars less crowded, and hotel rooms drop from €75 to €55.

August is a different story. The village fiesta cranks up for five days, tractors are replaced by fairground rides, and every balcony sprouts a speaker pumping 1990s Eurodance. Temperatures can hit 38 °C by noon, the lake path offers zero shade, and mosquitoes rise in visible clouds at dusk. Bird diversity plummets as many species head for the coast; only the resident marsh harriers and the occasional audacious tourist remain airborne.

Practicalities without the brochure-speak

Ivars has no bank, no petrol station and no bike shop. The nearest cash machine is eight kilometres away in Mollerussa; the only hotel, Canal de la Urgell, is comfortable but closes its outdoor pool the day school term starts, whatever the weather. Check-in is 16:00–20:00 sharp – arrive late and you will find the door locked and the night porter watching football in the bar over the road. Mobile coverage is patchy on the eastern side of the lake; download offline maps before you set off.

Fly to Reus or Barcelona, collect a hire car and stay on the AP-2 toll road (€7.50 each way). Public transport exists in theory: a twice-daily bus from Lleida reaches Ivars at 08:13 and 17:45. Miss it and a taxi costs €35. Sunday services are mythical.

Bring repellent from April onwards; the wetland’s midges have no qualms about English blood. If you forget, the village pharmacy sells Autan at airport prices and will laugh sympathetically while ringing up the till.

A parting shot over the reeds

Stay long enough and you start to recognise the rhythm: sprinklers click on at 22:00, dogs bark once, the church clock strikes quarters through the night, and by 06:00 the first egrets are lifting out of the roost like white handkerchiefs waved at a ship that never leaves. Ivars will not change your life, but it might slow it down for 48 hours – and that, for a place that spent half a century as a wheat field, is a modest kind of miracle.