Canet de Mar

The 09:23 train from Barcelona-Plaça Catalunya reaches Canet de Mar at 10:14. Within five minutes, passengers have scattered: half cross the footbridge to the sand, the rest drift uphill past bakeries that smell of coffee and pa amb tomàquet. Nobody lingers on the platform—this is a commuter town that happens to have a beach, not the other way round.

At only 15 metres above sea level, the place feels closer to the water than the map suggests. The railway separates the historic centre from a strand of golden, rather gritty sand that stretches for two kilometres. Beach shoes help; so does arriving before August, when Barcelona families claim every square metre with windbreaks and cool-boxes. Out of season, dog-walkers and elderly residents in quilted jackets share the promenade, and the sea actually manages to look turquoise instead of slate-grey.

Architecture that Outshines the Shore

Most coastal towns between Barcelona and the French border advertise sun, seafood and sangria. Canet quietly adds a third draw: one of the densest collections of Catalan modernism outside Barcelona. The movement’s star architect, Lluís Domènech i Montaner, spent his summers here and left behind both a house-museum and a working church. The Casa Museu (open Tue-Sun, €7) still contains his studio, complete with tilted drawing board and stained-glass draughtsman’s lamp. Guided tours last 45 minutes; if Gaudí is the only modernista name you know, the guide will happily explain why Domènech i Montaner’s ironwork swirls matter just as much.

Two streets away, the church of Sant Pere i Sant Pau mixes neo-Gothic bones with modernista skin: rose windows, mosaic friezes, castellated brick. Sunday mass finishes around noon; visitors are welcome once the congregation has filed out. A five-minute climb north brings you to the Castell de Santa Florentina, a tenth-century fortress remodelled in 1915 with added turrets, stained glass and—inevitably—a gift shop. The place served as a Game of Thrones location in 2015, and the ticket desk still trades on it. Tours run hourly in English at weekends only; book online if you want the “Khaleesi was here” anecdote instead of rapid Catalan.

Between the Tracks and the Tramuntana

Canet’s fishermen still mend nets on the pier at dawn, though only a handful of boats now work the pesquera cooperative by the breakwater. Their catch—sardines, red mullet, squid—appears on blackboard menus before lunch. The cheapest way to taste it is at the Wednesday market in Plaça de la Universitat: €4 buys a paper cone of calamars a la romana hot from the oil drum, €6 gets you a kilo of uncooked sardines if you have a grill at your rental.

Behind the market, Carrer de la Creu climbs gently into the old quarter. Houses built by nineteenth-century “Indians” (locals who made fortunes in Cuba) line the ascent: palm-shaded patios, ceramic crests, iron balconies painted the colour of pistachio ice-cream. Many are still family homes; their doors stand ajar, releasing snatches of TV football or Leonard Cohen from a 1990s hi-fi. Peek, but don’t step inside—privacy is prized, and tourists with smartphones are tolerated rather than welcomed.

Walk another ten minutes and tarmac gives way to the Litoral range. A signed footpath, the GR-92, zig-zags uphill through aleppo pine and rosemary. After 45 minutes the town’s rooftops shrink to Lego size and the coast opens into a ruler-straight line of sand backed by the snaking railway. Bring water; the climb is only 250 m, but the sun is Mediterranean and shade is sporadic. Mountain bikers use the same tracks—expect a polite “Bon dia!” as they rattle past.

Eating, Drinking and the August Exodus

Evenings start late. At 20:00 the seafront is still bright, but bars are filling. Try fideuà, Canet’s noodle cousin of paella, cooked in a wide pan with monkfish and a splash of allioli. Children usually approve because the pasta pieces are short and familiar; parents appreciate the €12 price tag, half what you’d pay in Barcelona. Grilled sardines appear between May and October: six fish, a wedge of lemon, bread to mop the oily plate, €8. Pair with a caña of Estrella on tap—served properly cold, not the lukewarm disappointment common further south.

If you’d rather cook, the Supermercat Jodofi on Carrer Sant Josep stocks Serrano ham sliced to order and local vi jove at €3.50 a bottle. Most holiday flats lack air-conditioning; buy a cheap ventilador (€12 at the Chinese bazaar opposite the station) or follow local custom and simply stay outdoors until midnight, when the tramuntana wind finally drops.

August is the month to avoid unless you enjoy human gridlock. The town’s population trebles, car parks operate a one-out-one-in policy, and restaurant queues snake around corners. May, early June and late September deliver 24-degree seawater, half-empty trains and hotel rates that dip below £90 a night. Winter is mild—14 °C at midday—but the beach bars dismantle their terraces and several restaurants close between January and March.

Getting Here, Getting Out

The R1 commuter train remains the easiest route. A T-casual ten-journey ticket costs €11.35 and can be shared; the ride from Barcelona is 50 minutes, every 20 minutes throughout the day. Drivers should note that the AP-7 toll adds €6.45 each way and central parking is metered at €2 per hour. A free sandy car park sits behind the tourist office, but it fills by 11:00 in high season.

Canet works as a two-day add-on to Barcelona rather than a week-long base. After 48 hours you will have walked the battlements, swum the length of the beach and sampled three varieties of fideuà. Use the third morning to hop one stop north to Sant Pol de Mar for a quieter cove, or south to Mataró’s Saturday flea market. The ticket window doesn’t mind which direction you choose—the railway, like the sea, runs both ways.