Viladrau

The morning mist lifts at 821 metres to reveal stone houses with timber balconies, their shutters painted the same green as the holm oaks beyond. At this altitude, the air carries a resinous sharpness unknown to coastal Catalonia; breathe deeply and you can taste beech and damp moss. Viladrau sits high enough to escape the summer furnace of the plain yet low enough to keep its cafés filled with locals rather than coach parties. The result is a working mountain village that happens to have a UNESCO biosphere outside the front door.

A Different Climate, Ten Minutes from the Motorway

Leave the C-17 at Vic and the temperature gauge drops a degree every kilometre along the winding TV-5206. By the time the road flattens into Viladrau's single main street, Barcelona's haze has been replaced by something that feels closer to the Pyrenees than the Mediterranean. July afternoons peak at 26 °C instead of 34 °C down on the coast; night-time temperatures in August can dip to 14 °C, so pack a fleece even for midsummer. Winter is serious: snow arrives most years, and the council keeps a tractor parked permanently on the outskirts for quick drifts-clearing. Chains or winter tyres are sensible from December to March; without them, the last 5 km can turn into a white-knuckle crawl.

The altitude also flattens the tourist curve. Barcelonans flood the coast at Easter and August; Viladrau's busiest weekends are mid-October for the Chestnut Fair and any Sunday after a snowfall, when sledges appear as if conjured from thin air. Outside those spikes, you will share the pine-scented footpaths with school groups from Girona and the odd German hiking club, but rarely with mass-market tourism.

Forests First, Village Second

The medieval centre—church, square, three bakeries, two grocers—can be crossed in five minutes. The real territory begins where the tarmac ends. Way-marked paths leave from the back of the cemetery, climbing through sweet-chestnut coppice into holm-oak and beech forest. An hour's steady ascent leads to the Font de la Rutlla, a spring whose water is so mineral-heavy it tastes faintly metallic; locals fill 5-litre jugs and lug them home for bread-making. Continue another 45 minutes and you reach the Mirador de les Agudes, a natural balcony that delivers a 60-kilometre view across the plain of Vic to the snow-tipped Pyreneos on clear days. The hike is straightforward, but the 400-metre climb reminds you that mountain footwear still matters even on "easy" Catalan trails.

Serious walkers set off before dawn for the Matagalls summit (1,697 m), the rounded peak that dominates Viladrau's northern horizon. The classic 12-km loop starts and finishes in the village square, gaining 900 m of ascent. On a crisp October morning, the ridge can be busy with Catalan families singing hiking songs; in February you may break fresh snow alone. Either way, the panorama from the top takes in Montserrat to the west and the Bay of Roses to the east—reward enough for the thigh-burn.

Where to Eat Without the Hard Sell

Viladrau has never needed a tourism board to tell it what visitors want. Lunch is still the three-course menú del dia, priced between €14 and €18, and it changes with what the neighbours bring in. Autumn means crema de castanya—silky chestnut soup sweetened with a dash of Moscatell—followed by wild-boar stew slow-cooked with local mushrooms. Spring menus swap in calçots (grilled spring onions) and formatge de cabra so fresh it squeaks. The two village restaurants—Can Pidelaserra and Era de Cal Quim—both serve weekday lunch; at weekends one usually closes so the staff can attend their own family gatherings. Booking is polite, not essential, except during the Chestnut Fair when every table is reserved months ahead.

For self-caterers, the Saturday morning produce stall on Plaça Major sells vegetables grown within sight of the church tower. Bread is serious business: pa de pagès, the round country loaf, keeps for three days and withstands backpack jostling better than anything from British supermarkets. Pair it with a soft goat's cheese from Mas d’Osor farm (€6 a wheel) and you have a picnic that tastes of beech mast and mountain thyme.

Rainy-Day Insurance and Other Practicalities

No railway reaches Viladrau. The nearest main-line station is Vic, 32 km south, with hourly trains from Barcelona-Sants (55 minutes, €7.20). Hire cars queue outside Vic station except on Sunday mornings, when every desk shuts until noon. Petrol is cheaper on the autopista—Viladrau's solitary pump keeps siesta hours and closes entirely on Wednesdays. Bring cash: the village ATM runs dry at weekends, and the two grocery shops impose a €6 minimum for cards. Mobile coverage flickers once you leave the high street; download offline maps before setting off.

If the weather closes in, the Espai Montseny interpretation centre saves the day. Exhibits on water, wolves and 18th-century bandits are labelled in English, and children receive a free "witch-hunt" trail (Viladrau burned 23 women in 1618—history delivered with appropriate gravity). Entry is €4; Sundays free after 3 pm.

When to Come, When to Stay Away

Late September to early November delivers the full colour wheel: russet chestnut leaves, saffron beech, the first white dusting on the high ridges. Mid-week you will have the forest to yourself; weekends fill with Barcelonan second-home owners, yet the atmosphere remains village, not resort. December and January bring snow-quiet streets and hotel prices drop by a third. April and May are wildcard months—sun-warmed terraces one afternoon, sleet the next—but the wildflowers repay the gamble. July and August are warm but rarely oppressive; the downside is that many family-run cafés close for their own holidays, so choice shrinks.

Accommodation ranges from the eight-room Hotel Montseny (doubles €85–110, closed January) to stone cottages rented by the night via the town website. Avoid the Chestnut Fair weekend unless you have booked ahead; every bed within 20 km is taken, and the square becomes a slow-moving queue for roast-chestnut cones. Visit the following weekend instead—same colours, half the people, and the bakers reduce prices to clear leftover panellets (catalan marzipan biscuits).

Leaving the Mountain

Drive south at dusk and Barcelona's glow appears like a low orange cloud on the horizon. Within an hour you are back in traffic lights and takeaway kebabs, but the scent of beech smoke lingers on your jacket. Viladrau does not shout; it simply lets the forest speak. Come for the silence, stay for the soup, and remember to fill a bottle at the spring on your way down—the water tastes of altitude, and it is free.