In Spain, Hiking Along the Volcanoes of Catalonia

From the New York Times: In Spain, Hiking Along the Volcanoes of Catalonia

A BLACK-AND-WHITE bird, perhaps a magpie, looking not unlike a soaring penguin, floated above my wife, Jessie, and me as we walked out of Olot, deep in the foothills of the Pyrenees in Spanish Catalonia. We weren’t exactly lost, but an old lady’s directions, in rambling Catalan, seemed somewhat improbable: go until you see a path that looks like it used to be a railroad, she said. Then follow it for about 35 miles until you reach Girona.

When I hesitated, she added, “Just keeping walking along this volcano.”

A record scratch across the heavens: we had been walking along a volcano? I knew from pre-trip research that this area is dotted with volcanoes — extinct ones — but it wasn’t until this moment that I realized we’d been walking along the base of one.

We were starting a three-day hike on the Vías Verdes, or Greenways (viasverdes.com), through the hinterlands of Catalonia, in northeast Spain. These hiking and biking trails have recently been etched throughout Spain by the federal government in an effort to bring eco-tourism (and tourists’ euros) to less trammeled parts of the country.

I was particularly intrigued by our stretch, which follows an old railway line that once opened up a particularly isolated area of the country. The trail, officially called Carrilet I, starts in Olot, a volcano-studded town of about 33,000, to Girona, a painfully attractive medieval town about 33 miles away.

This is a Catalonia outside Barcelona, one tourists rarely see — a rural countryside, created in part by those volcanoes, with dramatic cliffs, verdant fields and untrammeled medieval villages.

After walking over the babbling Fluvià River, we found a neurotically straight path stretching under 100-foot-long tunnels and arched stone bridges. We had discovered our trail.

In fact, the Greenways infrastructure practically handholds hikers along the way, with regular markers, informational signs and stones marking each kilometer. Old railway stations in each village have been restored and transformed into information offices or snack bars for hikers and bikers. And with the handy guide I bought at the tourist office in Olot (8 euros, about $11 at $1.41 to the euro), describing the highlights along the way and listing restaurants and hotels in each town, it now seemed impossible to get lost.

We made our way up a slight ascent before the trail leveled off into a cornfield. Our view was dominated by the towering, rocky peak El Puigsacalm to our right; behind us were a large volcanic crater and, farther, the snow-capped Pyrenees. Perhaps more notably, we weren’t surrounded by tourists. We did see some friendly locals, including a group of old men, canes jabbing at the gravel path; as we passed, we exchanged “Bon dia,” Catalan for “Buenos días.” Even bikers, zooming by, managed to squeak out a “Hola.”

When the first train chugged along this route in November 1911, it connected the interior of Catalonia to the Costa Brava town of San Feliu de Guixols in an unprecedented way, allowing villagers a more comfortable and quicker passage to Girona (and then on to the sea). It was also financially beneficial, opening up the economy of the area by giving villagers and farmers a new market for their goods. But thanks to the Milagro Español, or Spanish Miracle, the strong growth in the economy between 1959 and 1973, many people in the area swapped train travel for cars. And so, in 1969, the carrilet made its last trip.

Eventually, the region bought the tracks and railway line from the state, and in the 1990s, a hiking and biking trail along the same lines as the railway, opened. “The trains were important for the economy of the region,” Silvia Marty, the communications director for the Vías Verdes of Girona, told me when we visited her office. “But now, in a way, the Vías Verdes are doing the same thing: bringing people to relatively unknown places who are then supporting the local economy.”

We had the option of starting in Girona and walking toward Olot. We did it the other way around, mostly because starting in Olot means the journey is mostly downhill, but for one challenging hill, nearly 2,000 above sea level, outside the town of Sant Esteve d’en Bas.

Most of the first day’s hike would be through the Garrotxa (pronounced Garr-OHT-sha), or, as it’s officially called, Parque Natural de la Zona Volcánica de la Garrotxa, a 50-square-mile area studded with 40 extinct volcanoes. All that fertile volcanic soil has sprouted a sub-cuisine of sorts, known here as cuina volcanica, or volcanic cuisine, based on the produce grown in the area.

Before we left Olot, I had met with David Coloma, who manages the Volcanic Cuisine Group, an organization of local restaurants, at Hostal dels Ossos. We sampled some local favorites, like fesols de Santa Pau, beans that were unusually soft thanks to the soil, which, Mr. Coloma told me, regulates the temperature and creates a natural greenhouse. “Potatoes, for example, are smaller and more absorbent here because of the soil,” he said. “They’re different from the same type of ingredients you’ll get 30 miles from here.”

I could have used some volcanic cuisine, or really any cuisine, by about the 15th mile of the first day’s hike. Just as my legs told me it was time to call it a day, I noticed the wind start to pick up. Behind us, dark clouds were gathering. We were almost at our night’s first destination, the small town of Les Planes d’Hostoles and its one hotel.

We trudged in, still dry, and walked up to the Art Deco Hotel Can Garay. The owner, Lluis Garay, was nursing cool beverages with his two sons at a picnic table in the hotel garden. He waved us over. “Are you looking for a room?” he asked in Spanish. I nodded, and he made a harsh slashing gesture through the air. “Completo,” he said. I let my head fall back in exasperation — why hadn’t I made a reservation?

“But don’t worry,” he said. “There’s another hotel in the next town. Let me call.” A minute later we had a room reserved in Amer, just down the road, but we decided to linger and have a cold bottle of Estrella Damm, the local beer.

“We should really get going,” Jessie said.

“What’s the rush?” Mr. Garay said. “Sit down. Enjoy your beer. Want some patatas bravas?” he asked, referring to the ubiquitous Spanish potato dish.

I did want some patatas bravas, but I pointed out the dark clouds in the distance and said that it looked like it was going to start raining soon.

He shrugged and then turned to look at the clouds himself. “Oh, sí. Es posible,” he said sheepishly.

I asked how far it was to Amer, the next town. Five more miles, it turned out, which meant we had to move fast enough to keep ahead of the impending downpour.

“Is there a taxi in this town?” I asked. There was not.

Jessie and I looked at the rumbling clouds and then at each other. Potato-less, we picked up our bags and darted back to the trail.

About halfway to Amer, the storm finally caught up with us, pounding the earth and knocking down tree branches across the path. Fortunately, we were equipped with ponchos and umbrellas, and so we continued on, crossing 90-foot-high bridges below suddenly gushing creeks. By the time we trudged into the town of Amer, with its large arcaded square, we were both soaked. We wandered into Fonda Giralt, a hotel and restaurant, and the mustached owner, Gerardo Castillo, was standing there, a welcome smile splashed across his face. “David?” he asked. “Welcome,” he said and stuck out his hand.

Thanks to our extra push to Amer, the next day’s hike was short — only seven miles to Angles. The path, starting at the Amer railway station, passed by the dramatic steep cliffs of Sant Roc and craggy bald mountain tops. We soon spilled out into the valley of the Ter river, the path flanked by orchards, before hiking into Angles, an unremarkable town with an reputedly remarkable restaurant called L’Aliancia. I say “reputedly,” because it, like most of the restaurants I wanted to sample on this trip, was fully booked on the day we arrived (note: make hotel and restaurant reservations ahead). But a comfortable hotel with free Wi-Fi made up for it.

On the final day of the hike, my bag feeling heavier than ever, the landscape was the least dramatic we’d seen, though we did pass by orchards and fields of red poppies. The hike itself, though, was one of the most entertaining, thanks in large part to a fellow hiker I dubbed Opera Man. It started just outside of the village of Bescanó. A tenor’s voice belted out powerful notes behind us; it was as if we were being followed by the Catalan tenor José Carreras. About 200 feet away stood a short, track-suit-clad man with a mustache. I slowed down to let him catch up.

“There are only two times I sing,” he said, “in the shower and during my morning walk. You should try it. It really opens the lungs.” Then he belted out another 10-second note and strode ahead. In a few minutes, when he was 100 feet away, I took his advice. He turned and gave me a thumbs-up.

A few hours later, we stumbled into Salt, a suburb of Girona, and then finally Girona itself, checking into a hotel where I threw my bags down and jumped into the shower. I sang, perhaps inspired by Opera Man, in celebration of completing our journey.