Les Franqueses del Vallès

The 6.22 from Barcelona Plaça de Catalunya drops you at Granollers Centre, where a yellow bus waits to climb 232 metres through pine-scented air to Les Franqueses del Vallès. Half an hour later, laptop bags give way to reusable shopping baskets as locals step off at Corró d'Avall or Llerona, crossing the road to buy pa de pagès still warm from the oven. This is not a village that exists for visitors; it functions because 20,000 people live here, and that is precisely why it’s worth the detour.

Five Hamlets, One Municipality

Les Franqueses is less a single place than a loose federation of neighbourhoods stitched together by medieval boundary lines. Corró d’Avall has the chemist, the dentist and the Saturday market that spreads across Plaça de l’Església. Corró d’Amunt, five minutes uphill, hides the old textile mill of Can Pelegrí, its brick chimney now sprouting mobile-phone aerials instead of smoke. Llerona keeps the Romanesque church of Santa Maria, stone walls barely wider than a London terrace, while Bellavista and Marata supply the modern estates where Barcelona’s flight crews and tech workers sleep when the city overheats.

The layout matters. There is no postcard centre, no single square to tick off. Instead, the pleasure is in the transition: oak woods to apartment blocks, allotments to industrial units, all within a ten-minute radius. A car helps, but a folding bike on the train works just as well; the municipality has begun painting cycle lanes the same custard-yellow used in Girona, and drivers still slow for pedal pushers.

What the Sea Breeze Reaches

At 232 m, Les Franqueses sits just high enough for the air to lose Barcelona’s diesel edge, yet low enough for the Mediterranean to temper winter. Frost pockets form in January—pack gloves if you plan to hike—but snow heavy enough to block the BV-1431 road happens only every second year. Spring and autumn are the sweet spots: mornings sharp enough for a jacket, afternoons warm enough to sit outside Can Xardó park watching grandparents supervise scooter traffic. Summer can feel sticky; locals escape to the wooded track above Llerona known as the camí de les aigües, where pine needles deaden the sound of the A-7 motorway far below.

Dry-Stone and Brunch

The architectural star is not a single monument but the scatter of masías, stone farmhouses built when these lands were “francas”—exempt from feudal tithe. Can Duran, just off the track to La Garriga, keeps its 16th-century portal intact; the present owners breed horses and will usually nod hello if you linger at the gate. Can Sunyer has been converted into a weekend house, BMW parked where threshing floors once sat, yet the original olive press still lies in the garden like a discarded tractor wheel.

Food follows the same pattern of adaptation rather than museum display. Weekday lunch menus hover round €14–€16 and start with escalivada (aubergine and peppers) or sopa de galets, pasta shells the size of ping-pong balls swimming in meat broth. At Cal Xut, a barn-like restaurant facing the Corró d’Avall football pitch, Thursday is calçotada season: bundles of long onions charred over vine shoots, served with romesco and a plastic bib that makes even Barclays managers look ridiculous. Booking is wise; half of Granollers books the 15-minute drive for business lunches.

A Footpath Rather Than a Theme Park

Tourist infrastructure is thin on purpose. The town hall prints a free map showing three circular walks, none longer than 8 km. The easiest, signed in green, loops from Can Xardó park to the 14th-century chapel of Sant Cristòfol, a one-cell building where swallows nest in the bell tower. Mid-July hikers share the shade with locals walking dogs; expect a polite “Bon dia” rather than a guided spiel. Stouter boots? Take the yellow route south past Marata, climbing gently to the font de la Tey, a spring where cyclists refill bidons before the roll down to La Roca village. The path is wide enough for two abreast, but after rain the clay sticks to soles like fresh toffee.

Golfers get the only genuinely international facility: Club Golf Montanyà, ten minutes by taxi from the station. Its 18-hole course sits at 550 m, so balls fly ten per cent farther on cool mornings; a weekday green fee costs €65, trolley included. Non-players can use the restaurant terrace for coffee, watching mist lift off the Montseny massif like steam from a kettle.

When the Sirens Stop

Evenings reveal the compromise of living within commuting distance. At 20:30 the last fast coach to Barcelona fills with night-shift nurses and Ryanair crew clutching cabin bags. The streets fall quiet enough to hear crickets in the railway embankment. If you stay overnight—only two rental flats are licensed, both in Corró d’Avall—breakfast options shrink to Bar Llerona or the bakery next to the pharmacy. Order a coca de vidre, a paper-thin pastry topped with sugar and pine nuts, and the owner will assume you have a Catalan grandmother somewhere.

The honest downside? Saturdays buzz with youth football tournaments and supermarket trolleys, but Sunday afternoons can feel suspended. Most restaurants close; the library locks its Wi-Fi at 14:00 sharp. Come prepared with supplies, or ride the 45-minute train back to Barcelona’s bustle. Les Franqueses does not beg you to linger; it simply gets on with living, and for travellers tired of curated charm, that is the greatest courtesy of all.