Vidrà

The church bell strikes noon, yet the village square remains empty. At 982 metres above sea level, Vidra's 173 souls are scattered across 55 square kilometres of beech forest and hay meadows, making the term "village" feel almost misleading. Here, neighbours live kilometres apart, connected by dirt tracks rather than pavements, and the loudest sounds come from cowbells echoing across the valley.

This is mountain Catalonia at its most uncompromising. The road from Vic twists upwards for 30 kilometres, climbing through oak woods until the air thins and the temperature drops. In winter, the ascent can end abruptly at the first patch of black ice. Even in May, morning mist clings to the valleys like wool, and locals keep their wood-burning stoves lit well into spring.

Life Between the Clouds

The parish church of Sant Martí squats at Vidra's highest point, its 12th-century stones weathered by centuries of mountain storms. Inside, the walls bear scars of architectural pragmatism: Romanesque arches awkwardly joined to Gothic additions, later patched with concrete when stones began to shift. It's less a monument than a working building, opened only for Saturday evening mass and the annual Festa Major in mid-August.

Around the church, houses appear sporadically - a stone cottage here, a modern chalet there, each separated by vegetable plots and chicken coops. The traditional masías stand further afield, their terracotta roofs and wooden balconies accessible only by footpaths that double as cattle tracks. These aren't museum pieces but working farms, where farmers still rise at 5am to milk cows and muck out stables before breakfast.

The altitude dictates everything. Potatoes go in later here than the valleys below, and tomatoes struggle without greenhouse protection. Instead, meadows produce hay for winter fodder, and small orchards yield apples for local cider. Wild mushrooms appear with autumn rains, though foragers guard their spots as carefully as fishermen protect favourite stretches of river.

Walking Through Forgotten Valleys

Vidra's real appeal lies in what surrounds it rather than what constitutes it. A network of rural paths radiates from the church, following ancient routes between farmsteads. The GR-3 long-distance path passes nearby, but more interesting are the local camins - tracks wide enough for a single tractor, bordered by dry-stone walls built when labour was cheaper than cement.

One route drops down to the Torrent de la Muga, where water crashes over granite boulders into pools deep enough for summer swimming. Another climbs steadily through beech woods to the Coll de la Creu, where Pyrenean peaks become visible on clear days. The going varies enormously: wide gravel tracks give way to narrow mud paths that become impassable after heavy rain. Proper boots aren't optional here - they're essential.

Wildlife rewards the patient. Golden eagles circle overhead, particularly in late afternoon thermals. Wild boar root through the undergrowth, leaving tell-tale patches of disturbed earth. Roe deer appear at dawn, grazing the meadow edges before retreating to forest cover. But this isn't a safari park - sightings require time, silence, and a willingness to sit still for longer than most visitors manage.

Where to Lay Your Head (and Find Your Dinner)

Accommodation options reflect Vidra's scale. Espai Vidrà offers a converted stone cottage sleeping six, its thick walls keeping interiors cool during summer heatwaves. Reviews mention the fireplace more than the views - mountain nights stay chilly year-round. Alternatively, Casa de Vacanta Cascada provides a larger chalet-style property, though at £180 per night minimum stay requirements apply.

Eating requires planning. Vidra itself offers nothing beyond a village bar that opens sporadically. The nearest restaurant sits five kilometres down the mountain in Sant Bartomeu del Grau, where Can Pinxo serves set menus featuring local sausages and mountain rice for €15. More reliable options lie in Vic, where Cal Xarret offers proper Catalan cooking without Barcelona prices. Self-catering proves most practical - the supermarket in Torelló, 20 minutes away, stocks everything needed for mountain picnics.

Weather catches people out. Summer afternoons can reach 30°C, but temperatures plummet after sunset. Winter brings proper snow, sometimes cutting the village off for days. Spring and autumn offer the best compromise: mild days, cold nights, and fewer tourists competing for parking at trailheads. Even then, pack layers and waterproofs - mountain weather changes faster than British weather forecasts.

The Reality Check

Vidra won't suit everyone. Mobile phone coverage remains patchy, and the single road in becomes treacherous during storms. The village offers no petrol station, cash machine, or shop selling daily newspapers. Evenings revolve around log fires rather than cocktail bars, and the nearest cinema requires a 40-minute drive.

Yet that's precisely the point. This isn't a prettified version of rural life but the real thing: a place where farmers still matter, where silence has weight, and where the landscape rather than human activity dominates. The 21st century arrives via satellite dishes and fibre optic cables, but the rhythms remain medieval - dictated by seasons, weather, and the need to gather enough hay before the first snow.

Come prepared, come with realistic expectations, and Vidra offers something increasingly rare: a place where the modern world feels genuinely distant, where walking for hours without meeting another person remains possible, where the night sky remains dark enough to see the Milky Way. Just remember to fill up with petrol before you leave Vic, and bring cash - the mountain doesn't do contactless payments.