Susqueda

The road to Susqueda drops so fast that ears pop before the dashboard altimeter has finished flashing. One moment the C-25 is slicing across cereal fields; the next, a green blade of water appears 200 metres below, locked between basalt walls. Sat-navs lose signal here, which feels appropriate: the village is technically in Girona province, yet the nearest pint of milk is sold eight kilometres away in Osor, and the reservoir that gives the place its name belongs to three different councils. None of them can agree on the speed limit, so every sign says 40 km/h and nobody obeys.

Water that Stole the Valley

The embalse de Susqueda turned fifty-five last year, but locals still call it “el pantano nuevo”. When the Ter was dammed in 1968, the river swallowed a hamlet called Susqueda Vell; roof tiles still surface in drought years. Today the lake holds 233 cubic hectometres and colours that shift from jade to gun-metal within an hour. Weekends between mid-July and the Festa Major (15 August) bring Spanish families in roof-boxed estates; arrive on a Tuesday in May and you’ll share the shingle beach with two fishermen and a pair of red kites.

Swimming is unofficially tolerated along the north-east arm, the Riera de Gavarresa inlet, where the shore shelves gently and reeds give toddlers something to grab. There are no lifeguards, no loos, and the only kiosk is a cool-box in the back of a Renault Kangoo—cash only, cans €1.50. SUP boards and sit-on-tops can be hired at the sailing club (Club de Vela Susqueda, €15 an hour), but engines above four-stroke are banned, so the loudest noise is usually a mast clinking in the breeze.

Forests Older Than the Dam

Susqueda village itself—ninety-seven permanent souls—straggles along a ridge at 281 m. Houses are scattered, not clustered; the church, Sant Martí, stands alone like a misplaced afterthought. Romanesque bones survive inside, but the façade is nineteenth-century stucco the colour of weak tea. The door is normally locked; the key hangs in the bar Cal Pinxo, provided you order something first.

Behind the church, a cobbled lane becomes the GR-178 long-distance path. Within ten minutes the tarmac gives way to oak and hazel, and the temperature drops three degrees. This is the southern lip of the Guilleries massif, a 12,000-hectare natural park where boar outnumber people. Waymarking is erratic: yellow dashes on trees fade faster than the council repaints them. Download the Wikiloc route “Susqueda – Rocallarga loop” (9 km, 390 m ascent) before leaving home; the mirador at the top delivers a postcard view of the reservoir’s forked tongue without the weekend queue at El Far.

Spring brings lady orchids and the smell of wet moss; autumn is louder, acorns cracking under boots and hunters’ shotguns echoing from dawn till lunch. The park regulations allow hiking all year, but after heavy rain the clay paths glue themselves to soles; carry a stick or finish the walk with platform shoes you didn’t intend.

What to Eat When There’s Nobody to Cook It

Susqueda has two bars and zero restaurants in the Michelin sense. Cal Pinxo opens at seven for tractor drivers and closes when the last domino falls. Breakfast is a crusty bocadillo of tortilla (€3.50) and coffee that tastes better than it should. The other option, Bar del Coll, grills pork chops over vine cuttings at weekends only; phone ahead or you’ll find the shutters down. Both places will sell you a bottle of the local ratafia, a herb liqueur that tastes like Christmas pudding strained through brandy—delicious, but driving home is suddenly a worse idea.

For anything fancier, the car is essential. Osor (12 min) has Can Xarina, where a three-course menú del día costs €16 and they’ll swap the rabbit stew for pasta if children look sceptical. Further north, Sant Hilari Sacalm claims to be the “cork capital of the world”; the roadside cafés there serve wild-mushroom croquetas that make a persuasive case.

Beds, Bells and Barking Dogs

Accommodation is thin on the ground. Mas Els Terrats, a stone farmhouse turned B&B, has four rooms overlooking the lake and a salt-water pool that feels like private spite against the chlorine-heavy municipal pools down-valley. Rates start at €95 including breakfast (home-made yoghurt, local honey, toast you burn yourself). They’ll lend mountain bikes, but the lane down is steep enough to test brake pads and courage.

Self-catering apartments cluster on the reservoir’s western shore, most booked through Catalan agencies that still fax confirmations. Read the small print: many close November–March because access roads ice over. Winter visitors should pack chains; the GC-141 from Girona is cleared after snow, but only once the school bus has run.

When Silence Isn’t Golden

The downside of all that peace is what happens when it ends. Fiesta weekend turns the single village street into an open-air disco powered by generators that thump until five. Fireworks bounce off the basalt cliffs and sound like artillery. If you’ve come for owls and starlight, book elsewhere 14–17 August. Conversely, November can feel too quiet: both bars shut on Mondays, the bakery van doesn’t come, and mobile reception drifts in and out like a bored ghost.

Rainy days expose another truth—there isn’t much to “see” in the conventional sense. The church is small, the museum non-existent, and the castle is a pile of brambles with a view. Susqueda works as a base, not a checklist: bring walking boots, a paperback and a tolerance for your own company.

Getting Here Without Tears

Girona-Costa Brava airport is 45 minutes away on empty roads; Barcelona takes ninety if the AP-7 behaves. Hire cars with full-to-full fuel policies save arguments—Garage Piferrer in Santa Coloma de Farners is the nearest petrol station open on Sundays. No train reaches the village; the skeletal rural bus that used to run from Girona on market days was axed in 2022. Taxis from the airport cost around €80, but drivers may refuse if you’ve got a dog or a bike in bits.

Leave the motorway at Junction 202, follow signs for “Embalse de Susqueda”, and ignore the sat-nav when it tells you to turn onto a track labelled “Camí de Can Berta”. That way ends in a ford that swallows MPVs whole.

Last Light on the Dam

The best moment comes at dusk, when day-trippers have packed their cool-boxes and the lake steams like a sleeping dragon. Walk back up to the churchyard—unlocked now because the key-holder is having a smoke outside—and look east. The water turns leaden, the forests black, and the first headlamp flickers on the far shore where a farmer is fetching cows. Somewhere below, an owl starts calling not to entertain tourists, but because that is what owls do. Susqueda doesn’t perform; it just continues. Whether that’s enough depends on how highly you rate silence, space and the smell of wet pine over gift shops and guided tours.