Porqueres

Porqueres doesn't announce itself. The road signs appear long before any discernible centre, and even when you reach the administrative heart, it feels more like a scattering of stone farmhouses than a village proper. Yet this dispersed parish of 4,700 souls controls eight kilometres of lakeshore that serious cyclists treat as an outdoor cathedral.

Where the Water Decides the Boundary

The Estany de Banyoles isn't technically in Porqueres at all—the town of that name sits three kilometres east. But half the lake sits within Porqueres parish, and the village's identity flows from this sheet of green water held in a limestone basin. Morning mist lifts to reveal rowing shells cutting silver lines; by midday the same stretch hosts paddle-boarders wobbling past Olympic-standard boathouses left over from Barcelona '92. The water temperature hovers around 18 °C even in July—refreshing rather than tropical—because underwater springs keep pushing new water through the system.

Walk the perimeter track early and you'll share it with dog-walkers, elderly locals in sturdy shoes, and Lycra-clad Britons spinning their legs before the main event: the Rocacorba climb. This 13-kilometre ascent starts barely two kilometres inland and gains 730 metres to a radar dome beloved by Strava hunters. Club riders from Girona roll out at dawn to bag the segment while legs—and tarmac—are still cool. Coaches sometimes disgorge twenty riders at once; if you prefer solitude, start before eight or wait for lunch hour when Spanish cyclists are invariably inside eating.

Romanesque without the Queue

Porqueres' other headline sits half a mile above the water: the twelfth-century church of Santa Maria. Three apses bulge from the east end, each ringed with Lombard arches that catch the late-afternoon sun. Inside, the nave feels taller than it is wide, a trick of proportion the Benedictines mastered long before architects spoke of ratios. The cloister is small—four galleries of twenty-two columns—but the capitals carry vegetable scrolls so deep you could measure centuries in their shadows. There's no ticket office, no audio guide, and rarely more than three visitors. The door stays open; donations go in a box the size of a tobacco tin.

Below the church the old core amounts to two streets and a mirador called Passeig de Darnius. Stone houses lean together as if sharing gossip. One has a datestone reading 1764; another displays a modern glass balcony that looks faintly embarrassed to be there. It takes fifteen minutes to walk the lot, but allow longer if the sun is setting—the lake turns bronze and photographers forget to move.

Pedal, Paddle, or Just Sit

You don't need carbon wheels to enjoy the flat lane that circles the water. Hybrid bikes rent for €15 a day from a hut beside the main car park, and the eight-kilometre loop is forgiving enough for children who can steer around the odd root. Half the path is wide gravel, half paved promenade; herons stand in the reeds, and purple loosestrife fringes the banks. Signs warn that swimming is banned outside two small buoys—ignore them and a loud-hailer politely orders you out.

For a longer outing, head north through crop fields until the tarmac narrows into the Vall de Sant Miquel de Campmajor. The gradient stays gentle, the traffic minimal, and every farmhouse seems to sell honey from a honesty box. Take coins; many proprietors still refuse contactless payments and signal is patchy beneath the poplars.

Rainy-day options are thin. There's no museum, no interpretation centre, and the nearest cinema is in Girona twenty-five minutes away. What you do get is lake-view cafés serving tall glasses of cafe amb llet for €2 and sandwiches thick enough to fuel a morning's riding. Try botifarra amb mongetes—a mild pork sausage with white beans that tastes like a Catalan take on bangers and mash. Kids rarely object.

When to Come, Where to Sleep

Spring and autumn deliver the kindest light and temperatures in the low twenties. Summer brings haze and the odd thunderstorm rolling off the Pyrenees; August weekends see Barcelona families claim every picnic table by ten. Winter is crisp, often sunny, but mountain air slides down the valleys and night-time can dip below zero. Most lakefront cafés close from November to March; cyclists still come, grateful for empty roads and the sight of their own breath.

Accommodation is limited within Porqueres itself. A stone farmhouse near the church offers three guest rooms at €90 a night including breakfast; book early because repeat riders reserve a year ahead. Otherwise stay in Banyoles where hotels cluster around the plaça major and taxis charge €12 back after dinner. The last scheduled bus leaves Girona at 21:00; miss it and you're looking at a €35 cab ride.

Saturday morning's market in Banyoles is useful for ride provisions: single bananas, fat nectarines and ensaimadas that fit neatly into jersey pockets. If you need cash, lift it here—Porqueres has no ATMs and most bars prefer notes to cards. Petrol stations are the same story; fill up before you arrive.

The Practical Bits No One Mentions

Insect repellent is non-negotiable between May and September. British cyclists joke about "Catalan midges" but the reality is blackfly that swarm at dusk and leave itchy welts. Long sleeves beat shorts on the lake path once the sun drops.

Mobile coverage is surprisingly weak for somewhere so close to Girona. Vodafone and O2 drop to 3G in the lanes; EE fares better but don't bank on streaming music for the climb. Download playlists while you're still on the main road.

Finally, remember Porqueres has no beach, no promenade shops, and no souvenir stalls. What it offers is a lake that mirrors changing sky, a Romanesque church you can enter without paying, and roads quiet enough to hear your own freewheel. Come for that, bring a bike or sturdy shoes, and the village that isn't quite a village will make sense.