Tiana

At 136 metres above the Mediterranean, Tiana’s church bell tower sits level with the cruising altitude of the gulls that lift from the port of El Masnou. From the plaça you can watch the commuter trains dart along the coast, yet the only sound is the ping of bicycle bells as schoolchildren freewheel home. Barcelona’s skyline glints 20 minutes south, but up here the air smells of pine resin and newly mown grass. It is less a village that time forgot than one the city never quite swallowed.

Tiana grew as a scatter of masías—stone farmhouses built to catch winter sun—on the southern flank of the Serralada de Marina. The old threshing floors survive as patios outside modern villas; olive presses have become wine cellars. Even the parish church of Sant Cebrià is a patchwork: Romanesque footings, Gothic doorway, 19th-century bell-stage added after an earthquake that cracked the tower in 1832. Inside, the cool darkness smells faintly of candle wax and the floor slopes three centimetres towards the altar after centuries of hillside creep.

Walk downhill from the church and you reach the main road in two minutes. There is no medieval core to get lost in, just a grid of quiet streets where jasmine grows through chain-link fences. House prices trebled since the C-32 motorway arrived in 1997, yet the bakery still closes for siesta and the Friday market fits into a single square. Elderly residents greet the postman by name; younger ones stare at laptops in the only café with reliable Wi-Fi, uploading spreadsheets while spooning mató (fresh cheese) and honey.

Hills, sea and the space between

The natural park presses against the back of the village like a green dam. Pine and white oak rise to the 500-metre ridge that separates Tiana from the valley of Vallès. Signposts are discreet: a painted stripe on a rock, the occasional wooden post. Locals follow the GR-92 long-distance footpath for Sunday strolls, turning round when the view widens enough to frame the coast from the Besòs mouth to the jagged outline of Montserrat. Mountain bikers prefer the forest track to Alella—wide, dusty, steady gradients—while trail runners tackle the steeper loop to the Ermita de la Misericòrdia, a 16th-century chapel that doubles as a rain shelter.

Altitude knocks the edge off summer heat. August afternoons in Barcelona hit 34 °C; Tiana settles at 29 °C and a breeze lifts through the pines. Winter is sharper: night frost in January is common, and the tram that climbs from the coast sometimes stops when wind drives sea-fog up the hill. Bring a fleece for November evenings even when the beach cafés of Montgat still have sun-trap terraces.

The sea itself is not on the doorstep. The nearest sand, Platja de Montgat Nord, is 4 km away—15 minutes on the Rodalies train that shuttles every half-hour. The beach is clean, medium-grained, never empty but never packed; on weekdays you can walk 200 metres and find a patch to yourself. Bring change for the shower (50 c) and expect to pay €6 for a café con leche under the pergola. If that sounds steep, remember you are sharing the promenade with Barcelonans who have fled their own overcrowded shoreline.

Eating (and drinking) like a resident

Tiana’s restaurant count stands at eleven, including the pizzeria that opens only at weekends. Can Boter occupies a former farmhouse; legs of jamón hang above the grill and the owner, Pep, will translate the blackboard into Scouse if you ask nicely. A 300 g entrecôte costs €24 and arrives with roasted escalivada—pepper, aubergine and onion that taste of wood smoke. Round the corner, El Nou Casal serves a three-course menú del día for €15. Monday’s menu might be chickpea stew followed by hake in samfaina (Catalan ratatouille) and a slab of crema catalana thick enough to break the spoon.

Evening drinking is low-key. Bar Torres is the lone late option: plastic chairs on the pavement, draught Estrella at €3, shutters down by 01:00. August visitors sometimes wander the streets at midnight wondering where the action is; the answer is the R2 Nord train to Plaça de Catalunya, 25 minutes away. Last service back leaves Barcelona at 00:15; miss it and a taxi is €35—more than the round of drinks you lingered over.

Wine is local, inexpensive and unfairly good. The DO Alella appellation begins at the edge of town; the granite soils give whites that are crisp, low-alcohol and perfect for lunchtime humidity. Order the house white anywhere and you will probably get a Pansa Blanca from a vineyard you passed on the bus in. Bottles in the supermarket start at €5; the same label retails for £18 in Borough Market.

When to come, when to stay away

April–June and mid-September to October give balmy days, cool nights and empty car parks. Spring brings wild rosemary and yellow broom to the hillsides; autumn smells of damp earth and the first wood smoke. Easter week is busy with Catalan families refurbishing second homes—book accommodation early. August is hot, sleepy and apartment prices spike to Barcelona levels. The village fiesta around 26 September fills every balcony with bunting and every ear with drumbeats; join in, but reserve a room months ahead or be prepared to sleep in the park.

Rain is not mythical: October storms can dump 80 mm in 24 hours, turning forest tracks into chalky streams. Check the forecast before setting off on the five-hour circuit to Badalona; mobile coverage is patchy under the pines and the only shelter is the occasional stone hut built for charcoal burners.

Practical fragments

Fly to Barcelona-El Prat from 25 UK airports; the hire-car queue is shortest before 10 a.m. The drive north on the C-32 is 25 minutes unless you hit the school-run tailback at Montgat. Without wheels, take the R2 Nord train to Montgat and change to the Tiana tram—a single carriage that rattles uphill every 20 minutes, fare €1.20. The journey is part of the experience: vineyards on the right, the sea shrinking behind you, the bell ringing at unmanned halts.

Accommodation is mostly self-catering apartments on the eastern edge. Expect €90 a night for a two-bedroom flat with terrace; bring your own coffee—the kitchenette will have a moka pot but supermarkets stock Nespresso pods for the homesick. There is no hotel. The nearest pool belongs to the municipal sports centre; day pass €5, closed on Mondays.

Tiana will never top bucket lists. It offers no Gaudí masterpieces, no Michelin stars, no sunset DJ sets. What it does give is the chance to wake to church bells instead of bin lorries, to hike at dawn and still make the 08:42 train to Barcelona’s Gothic quarter for coffee and churros. If that sounds like a fair swap, catch the tram before everyone else realises the hill is cooler than the beach.