Vallromanes

The church bell strikes noon, and something remarkable happens. The steady hum of traffic from the C-32 motorway—just twenty minutes away—fades into silence. In its place: birdsong, the clink of coffee cups, and the soft thwack of golf clubs connecting with balls. This is Vallromanes on a Saturday, when Barcelona's residents trade city concrete for pine-scented air at 153 metres above sea level.

Perched between the Vallès plain and the coastal mountain range, this scatter of stone houses and modern villas serves a very specific purpose. It's not trying to impress tourists with medieval grandeur or beachfront glamour. Instead, it functions as Catalonia's weekend decompression chamber—a place where accountants become hikers, and marketing directors rediscover the pleasure of doing absolutely nothing.

The Geography of Escape

The village proper takes exactly twelve minutes to walk across, assuming you stop to read the menu boards outside Can Poal. What makes Vallromanes interesting lies beyond this compact centre, where tarmac gives way to dirt tracks winding through white pine forests. These paths, maintained by the Serralada de Marina Natural Park, explain why Barcelonans keep second homes here despite having the entire Mediterranean coast at their disposal.

The elevation creates its own microclimate. While the city swelters at 35°C in August, Vallromanes hovers around 28°C with a breeze that smells distinctly of resin rather than diesel. In winter, the temperature drops enough for proper log fires, though snow remains rare enough to cause genuine excitement when it appears. The altitude also means that views stretch all the way to the sea on clear days—a blue stripe on the horizon that reminds visitors how close they remain to civilisation.

The landscape itself tells a story of gradual abandonment. Ancient olive terraces, their dry-stone walls still intact, now host second homes with infinity pools. Vineyards that once supplied local tables have been replaced by landscaped gardens requiring substantial irrigation. Yet enough agricultural heritage remains—particularly in the scattered masías (farmhouses) like Can Folch and Can Caralt—to prevent the area from feeling like a gated suburb.

Green Fairways and Thermal Waters

Golf arrived in 1972, when Club de Golf Vallromanes carved eighteen holes through the forest. The course's genius lies in its integration: fairways follow natural contours, and the clubhouse occupies a restored Catalan farmhouse rather than a glass box. Weekday green fees run €65, dropping to €45 for afternoon tee times when the light turns golden and deer emerge from the trees. Saturday mornings belong to member competitions, creating the village's most reliable traffic jam as Mercedes and Audis queue at the gates.

More recently, AIRE Ancient Baths transformed a 15th-century country house into a temple of relaxation. The thermal circuit—outdoor pools ranging from 36°C to 16°C, set within pine groves—operates until midnight. The "Evening Under the Stars" session (€70 for two hours including a glass of cava) books up weeks ahead, particularly among Barcelona's thirty-something professionals treating it as an alternative to nightclubbing.

These facilities explain Vallromanes' demographic reality. The permanent population of 2,700 swells to nearly 5,000 most weekends, creating a peculiar social dynamic. Local bars serve both the farmer who's lived here sixty years and the tech entrepreneur visiting their €800,000 weekend retreat. Conversations switch between Catalan and Spanish depending on who's listening, with English appearing only when lost tourists wander in seeking directions to the beach.

What Actually Happens Here

Morning begins with coffee and croissants at Forn de Vall, where the baker knows which customers will order the same thing every Saturday for fifteen years. By ten, hiking boots appear on the forest tracks. The most popular route climbs to Turó de Mongat, a steady 45-minute ascent rewarded with views across the Vallès Oriental. The path passes Can Coll, an abandoned farmstead where swallows nest in the rafters, before reaching a viewpoint where the Mediterranean glints on the horizon.

Lunch timing proves crucial. Restaurants fill by 2 pm with multi-generational Catalan families who treat Sunday lunch as sacred ritual. Can Poal's roast chicken with prunes has achieved local legendary status, though the dish that surprises visitors most is the simple tomato bread—rubbed with ripe tomatoes, drizzled with olive oil, and sprinkled with salt. It tastes nothing like the supermarket versions sold in British supermarkets.

Afternoons dissolve into siestas, spa sessions, or second helpings of crema catalana. The village grocery closes at 3 pm and doesn't reopen, forcing visitors to plan ahead or drive to Montmeló for emergency supplies. This isn't inconvenience—it's the rhythm that makes Vallromanes function as an antidote to Barcelona's 24-hour mentality.

The Reality Check

Access remains the biggest challenge. No train line serves the village; buses from Barcelona's Granollers line run every two hours on weekdays, less frequently on weekends. A taxi from the airport costs €45-50, making car hire almost essential. The final approach involves narrow, winding roads where GPS systems occasionally suggest impossible turns. In August, when half of Barcelona heads north, traffic backs up for miles.

Weather can disappoint. Summer afternoons often bring haze that obscures the promised sea views. Winter fog rolls in unexpectedly, turning forest paths into scenes from a Gothic novel. The microclimate that provides relief from city heat also means sudden temperature drops—packing a jumper even in July isn't paranoia, it's experience.

The village itself offers limited entertainment once darkness falls. There's no cinema, no late-night bars, certainly no clubs. Evenings revolve around long dinners, card games in local bars, or simply sitting on terraces listening to nightjars calling from the forest. Visitors seeking nightlife face a thirty-minute drive to Mataró or back to Barcelona—defeating the purpose of escaping in the first place.

Vallromanes works best as what Catalans call a "poble de repòs"—a rest village. It won't change your life with architectural marvels or cultural epiphanies. Instead, it offers something increasingly rare: permission to slow down without travelling to the ends of the earth. The forest absorbs sound, the elevation clears heads, and the proximity to Barcelona means Monday morning remains manageable. Just remember to fill the petrol tank before Sunday evening, bring cash for coffee, and abandon any ambition beyond watching the light change across the valley.