Brunyola

A Village That Time Forgot (And I'm Rather Glad It Did)

Twenty-five years in Spain, and I thought I'd discovered every hidden gem in Catalunya. Then last autumn, following my nose and a rather dubious sat-nav route through the Selva forests, I stumbled upon Brunyola. Population: 398. Altitude: 810 feet. Tourism infrastructure: practically nil. Charm factor: off the charts.

This isn't a village you find by accident unless you're hopelessly lost (which I was). Tucked into the rolling hills of La Selva, about an hour inland from the Costa Brava madness, Brunyola exists in that magical space between medieval and modern where Spanish village life carries on exactly as it should. No tourist coaches, no souvenir shops selling plastic flamenco dancers, just real people living real lives in one of Catalunya's most authentic corners.

Life Moves to the Rhythm of Hazelnuts

The first thing you notice isn't the medieval castle perched above the village (though it's rather spectacular). It's the smell. Come autumn, the entire valley fills with the earthy sweetness of hazelnuts drying in the sun. Brunyola has been Catalunya's hazelnut capital for centuries, and these 398 villagers guard that tradition with fierce pride.

Morning in Brunyola starts early. By 7 AM, you'll hear the gentle hum of tractors heading to the orchards that surround the village like a green embrace. The elderly gentleman at the tiny bar – and there's always an elderly gentleman at the bar – will be nursing his cortado and discussing weather patterns with the intensity most Brits reserve for Brexit debates.

Don't expect siesta to slow things down here. Rural Catalunya keeps different rhythms to the coastal resorts. Lunch is earlier (1:30 PM), dinner's at a civilised 9 PM rather than the midnight feast common in Andalucía, and by 11 PM, the village settles into that profound quiet you simply cannot find in Britain anymore.

Medieval Treasures Hidden in Plain Sight

The Castillo de Brunyola dominates the skyline like something from a Grimm fairy tale. Built in the 11th century, it's not your typical tourist-polished castle. The stone walls wear their age honestly, softened by centuries of Mediterranean weather and draped in wild vines that turn brilliant gold each autumn.

The real treasure, though, is the Iglesia de Sant Fruitós. This Romanesque beauty sits in the village heart, its stone walls worn smooth by eight centuries of faithful hands. Inside, morning light filters through ancient windows, illuminating frescos that local craftsmen painted when England was still arguing about Magna Carta. The acoustics are extraordinary – during the rare evening concerts, you can hear a pin drop in the back pews.

What I adore about these monuments is their complete lack of pretension. No entry fees, no gift shops, no audio guides in seventeen languages. Just open doors and an implicit invitation to step back in time. The castle keeper, Joan, speaks beautiful English and genuinely loves sharing stories if you catch him during his afternoon rounds.

Where Hazelnuts Meet Culinary Heaven

Forget Barcelona's fancy restaurants. Real Catalan cuisine lives in places like Cal Ton, Brunyola's single restaurant. Maria's been cooking here for thirty years, and her menu changes with whatever's growing in local gardens. But the star attraction? Everything featuring those famous Brunyola hazelnuts.

The local hazelnuts aren't just ingredients; they're the village's edible identity. Roasted and salted for aperitifs, ground into pralines that would make Belgian chocolatiers weep, or pressed into hazelnut oil so rich it should probably be illegal. Maria's hazelnut soup – sounds odd, tastes like autumn in a bowl – has converted every sceptical Brit I've brought here.

For drinks, the village produces a hazelnut liqueur that locals call "liquid sunshine." One glass after dinner, and you'll understand why these 398 people never want to leave. The tiny village shop stocks bottles if you want to take some magic home, though I warn you – one sip, and you'll be planning your return before you've left.

The Practical Bits (Because Someone Has to Mention Them)

Right, let's be honest about logistics. Brunyola is gloriously remote, which means public transport is essentially non-existent. You absolutely need a car – and preferably a small one. The approach roads wind through hazelnut orchards on lanes barely wider than a British country footpath. I learned this the hard way with a rented people carrier that required some rather creative reversing.

The village has exactly one tiny hotel – Casa Rural Els Horts – with four rooms that book up months ahead during hazelnut season. More realistic options include holiday rentals in nearby Santa Coloma de Farners (10 minutes away) or Girona (30 minutes). Both give you proper choice while keeping Brunyola accessible for day visits or that magical hour before sunset when golden light turns the hazelnut groves into something from a fairy tale.

Best time? October, absolutely. The Feria de la Avellana (Hazelnut Festival) transforms the sleepy village into a celebration of everything nutty. Locals emerge from their houses carrying family recipes passed down through generations, the castle opens for special tours, and the whole place buzzes with an energy that's infectious.

Final Thoughts from a Convert

Brunyola won't suit everyone. If you need constant entertainment, shopping opportunities, or restaurants serving Sunday roasts, look elsewhere. But if you're seeking authentic Spain – the kind where locals still nod hello on village streets and time moves at nature's pace rather than tourist schedules – you've found it.

After twenty-five years watching Spain's villages either empty out or sell their souls to tourism, Brunyola feels like a miracle. Three hundred and ninety-eight people maintaining a way of life that's disappearing elsewhere, keeping traditions alive not for visitors but for themselves.

Sometimes the best discoveries are the ones that aren't trying to be discovered at all.