the inexplicably overlooked Garrotxa

When I first looked at the map of Catalonia, I was stunned to see that it comprised 600 km² of volcanic fields in a comarca (county) called Garrotxa (pronounced gar-rot-cha). This was the first of many surprises.

Last winter, I picked up a brand new gravel bike in my hometown of Paris and went straight to the train station to make my way towards Garrotxa, where I would stay for two months. Away from the local tourist hubs, I wished to discover a different Catalonia, more authentic and unchanged by mass tourism. I was headed there to help a family build a house for their son, in exchange for which they would house and feed me. All my free time would be spent exploring the area by bike.

Getting there without flying was relatively easy: a seven-hour train journey took me to Girona via Barcelona. As soon as I left the city’s polished streets behind, I found myself pedalling west on the Carrilet bike way, a gently ascending path tracing the route of a vanished train line and carrying me towards a quieter Catalonia, just 60km away. The mountains in the background promised me many adventures to come under an auspicious sun. 

I struggled up the last kilometre of dirt track culminating in a stone house built directly on top of a volcano, right by a wide dip that used to be the crater. The ascent was all the more tiring as I had just eaten a hearty lunch, not wanting to be rude by arriving hungry.

I greeted the mum, who took me straight to the kitchen table and pulled out a chair next to her brother, visiting for the day. I said I had already eaten but that I could drink coffee with them. Then I spotted a dish of migas on the other end of the table. Migas is an Andalusian dish, literally translated ‘crumbs’, as it is essentially rehydrated stale bread, typically fried with meat and eggs. I was familiar with the enticing dish, but so far, I had never found a vegetarian version, so I had never tried it. I squinted. It didn’t look like there was any meat in there. I enquired. "We are all vegetarian in this family," said the Andalusian dad, who had made the dish. I must have found myself one of a handful of vegetarian families in Spain. I thought of this as a good omen as I started piling up the cooked crumbs and mushrooms onto my plate, ignoring my already-full stomach. From then on, each of the 40-odd days I spent there held a new excitement.

Volcà d'Aiguanegra, a solitary tree by its crater

My first ride, a 40km loop, took me to a bright red dirt road down the side of a barren volcano that looked like a dune on Mars, its dark dust lifting as my tyres disturbed its peace. The Croscat is in fact a tree-covered volcanic cone (a conical hill formed by an eruption, not an actual volcano) that local companies used as a quarry until the 1980s. From a height, it looks like a large green cake with a slice missing, revealing its ochre insides. I didn’t see a soul on the dirt track or later that day, navigating narrow lanes between dried-up fields. It was the worst drought in decades, and every fruit I could find on the side of the road was a dwarfed version of itself, the reflection of trees doing their best to reproduce under stress. 

Croscat volcano side

I was still reflecting on the meaning of these miniature pomegranates for the future of the region as I rolled into Olot’s town centre. Olot is the capital city of Garrotxa and yields few results in search engines. It contrasts with the popular Roman city of Girona, as it was mostly rebuilt after a major earthquake in the 15th century. Unlike its larger neighbour, it does not offer multiple bike rental shops, chic cafes on every street corner, or many English speakers. However, its Art Nouveau city centre has a charm of its own and is occasionally reminiscent of Barcelona. 

While the drought was a source of palpable stress among locals, it offered me a rare opportunity when I took a longer trip to the south, culminating in a vista over the Sau Reservoir in the neighbouring Osona county, in the middle of which often emerges the spire of the 11th-century church of Sant Romà de Sau. In recent years, water levels had been getting lower and the nave was now uncovered from time to time, accompanied by the remains of the surrounding Sau village. There it was, this sunken city that even many locals had never had a chance to see, complete from head to toe in front of me. In the middle of the reservoir lay this mineral ghost as a tangible witness of time.

Sau Reservoir and its abandoned village

Like some 600 other dams built under Franco with little regard for the local population who had to abandon their villages, the Sau dam submerged and threw into abandon dozens of small white stone houses that peppered the valley. Looking at the uncovered Atlantis, I imagined what I would find if I made my way down there. Would I encounter a child’s wooden toy forgotten under some rubble and perfectly preserved by 60 years underwater? I looked around and wondered how far away villagers had to relocate. 

I cycled back to my temporary home and showed the pictures to my born-and-bred Catalan 60-year-old host. She smiled, saying she had never seen it before, then she reminded me to keep collecting my shower water to fill up the toilet’s flush.

The stress of the drought was getting to me, too, and I started to crave green landscapes, so I planned a 30km eastbound trip from Olot to Lake Banyoles, which road cyclists ride around while admiring the surrounding green peaks from a flat course, looking at national rowing crews who have come to the area for their annual training camp. 

On the way back, the iconic Rocacorba climb awaited: a 12.3km long climb averaging a steady 6.5% incline, meandering its way up with a view over the plains, and culminating in a jump point for hang gliders, directly facing a view of the Pyrenees and a backdrop of the Mediterranean.

The climb itself was nothing I hadn’t done before, but it was one of those days where I felt a bit low-energy. Thankfully, I encountered an honesty box halfway up, inviting passersby to open a large fridge, pick a cool drink and drop coins down a metal slot. I used my two last coins for a can of coke. I pulled out the red cylinder out of the fridge and immediately opened it and brought it to my mouth, only to spit it out in disgust. The can I was holding was in fact an Estrella, a popular Spanish beer also sold in bright red packaging. I poured out the rest and had to make do with the water in my bidons. All I could do was laugh about the situation and make a mental note of using the gift of reading next time I purchased something with my last little bit of change.

Estrella. Damn.

After that traumatic experience, I took a couple of days off cycling to get my legs ready for some more serious climbing. I dipped into my native France through the Alta Garrotxa mountains, the foothills of the Pyrenees, towering over the lower volcano tops and offering a drier and dustier landscape peppered with evergreen oaks and hardy shrubs. Where there was water, it was as blue and clear as the often cloudless sky that made every landscape picture look edited for high contrast. 

Finally, there was no shortage of historical or cultural visits. I enjoyed spending time in the medieval fortified village of Besalú, featuring a wide broad-arched bridge and lots of locals wearing thick winter coats under 16 degrees. Villages were dotted with romanesque churches with their doors unlocked. Near the coast, I even took a spin on some single tracks zig-zagging around neolithic tombs.

I wondered what made Girona so popular and Olot so unknown. Sure, Girona’s town centre had featured in season six of Games of Thrones and offered good gravel rides and gentle road climbs, but what made it the mecca of European cycling when it was actually quite close to a county full of richer and more diverse landscapes?

Try as I did, I could not find a bad route around Olot and often abandoned my GPS in favour of aimless wanderings. Why was this area void of tourists? Perhaps it is this very emptiness that made it so enchanting. From volcanic peaks to lush forests, from sunken villages to medieval bridges, the Garrotxa gave me what seemed like an infinity of exciting landscapes. 

Next time a cyclist suggests a trip to Girona, it might be worth considering going off the beaten track. You may encounter fewer trendy cafes, but it really is worth it.