Swifts, Stone Walls and a Dawn Chorus of Nightingales in Sant Cugat

 

Some places stay with you not because of one single moment, but because of a whole collection of them. Sant Cugat was like that for me. A Catalan town of warm stone, narrow streets, olive trees, wildflower edges, birdsong, faith, family and history, all sitting under skies alive with screaming Swifts.

I had gone to visit my sister, but as is often the case with me, the camera and even a pair of binoculars (even toggers can use them sometimes) were never too far away. The most used item of technical sorcery was my mobile phone and the Merlin Application. The wonderful Merlin App was working overtime identifying bird songs and calls.  Sant Cugat very quickly became one of those places where every walk had the potential to become a birding walk, and every quiet moment seemed to have a natural soundtrack.

The first thing that really struck me was the sound.

At dawn, the air was full of Nightingales.

Not one distant bird hidden somewhere in a thicket, but several, singing with that rich, liquid, tumbling song that seems far too powerful to come from such a secretive little brown bird. In the half-light, before the streets had properly stirred, their voices poured from gardens, scrubby corners and green spaces. It was one of the finest dawn choruses I have heard for a long time. Back home in Wales, I treasure the song of Blackbirds, Song Thrushes, Wrens and Robins, but there was something wonderfully Mediterranean about waking to Nightingales in full voice.

Sant Cugat sits just beyond Barcelona, at the edge of the Serra de Collserola, one of the great green lungs of the metropolitan area. Collserola covers more than 8,000 hectares and is a mosaic of pine woods, holm oak, scrub, dry grassland, cultivated margins and urban edges. That mix of habitats helps explain why the area felt so alive. Mediterranean vegetation brings its own palette: olive trees, cypresses, pines, rosemary, dry grasses, wildflowers and tough aromatic plants adapted to sun and drought. The wider park supports a broad range of wildlife, with sources listing around 190 species of vertebrates, including foxes, squirrels, wild boar and many birds.

One of my favourite sightings came in a wildflower meadow, where Zitting Cisticolas were doing what Zitting Cisticolas do best — making themselves known with that bouncing, insect-like “zit… zit… zit” as they moved over the grasses. They are small birds, but full of character, and in that flower-rich meadow, they looked completely at home. There is something joyful about watching a bird that seems stitched to the landscape: dry stems, seed heads, insects, heat, song and movement all in one frame.

The wildflowers themselves were a reminder that ecology need not always be grand or remote. Sometimes it is found in an uncut meadow, a verge, a patch of rough grass, or the small spaces between houses and older walls. These areas are often where the insects are, and where there are insects, the birds soon follow.

Another bird that gave me real pleasure was the Short-toed Treecreeper. Treecreepers always make me smile. They look like little clockwork mice of the bark, spiralling upwards, probing into cracks and crevices with that fine, curved bill. In Sant Cugat, the Short-toed Treecreepers moved up the trunks with quiet determination, perfectly camouflaged until they shifted and caught the eye. They are not showy birds, but they reward patience. A bird of texture rather than colour. Bark, shadow, movement, then gone.

Then there was the Sardinian Warbler in my sister’s olive tree.

That felt special. A proper Mediterranean garden bird moment. Olive leaves have that lovely silver-green shimmer, and there among them was a Sardinian Warbler, sharp-eyed and restless. Photographing it in the garden gave me one of those little bursts of satisfaction that only bird photography can bring. Not a rare bird in that part of the world, perhaps, but a beautiful one. The male, with that dark head and red eye-ring, has a real spark about him. It was the sort of image that says “place” as much as “species”.

I wish to assure my readers that on this occasion, the sighting and pictures of the Sardinian are all completely genuine and no AI is involved :) Read more on my previous blog if you fancy a chuckle.

Overhead, the Swifts were constant.

Screaming Swifts over Sant Cugat became one of the defining sounds of the visit. They cut between buildings, swept above the streets, and filled the sky with speed and energy. I love Swifts. They make our own summer skies in Britain feel complete, and to hear them screaming over a Catalan town, against warm evening light and old stone, was a real treat. They are birds that connect continents, weather systems and seasons. One minute, they are over the roofs of Sant Cugat, the next, they could be on their way across Europe or beyond.

But perhaps the most memorable close encounter came near the monastery walls.

A Hoopoe.

Not distant. Not fleeting. Feeding on the grass just metres away from me, close to the stone walls of the Monastery of Sant Cugat. Hoopoes are one of those birds that always feel slightly unreal, even when you are looking straight at one. The zebra wings, the peachy body, the long curved bill, that magnificent crest folded away until suddenly it opens like a little crown. This one seemed content, probing the grass while I stood there trying to contain my excitement. A Hoopoe beside ancient monastery walls — as wildlife moments go, that takes some beating.

The monastery itself was one of the major highlights of the visit.

The Monastery of Sant Cugat is one of the great historic sites of Catalonia. Its origins are linked to Saint Cugat, or Cucuphas, a Christian martyr associated with the persecutions of the early fourth century. The Benedictine monastery was founded in the ninth century and became one of the most important monastic centres in the county of Barcelona. Its construction and development continued over several centuries, from the Romanesque period into the Gothic.

It is a magnificent place to wander around.

The cloister is particularly beautiful. Building began around 1190, and it is regarded as one of the finest Romanesque cloisters in Europe, with 144 individually carved capitals. The church also shows that wonderful architectural transition from Romanesque solidity to Gothic height and light.

But beyond the history and architecture, what I appreciated most was the atmosphere. Some buildings are impressive but cold. This was not one of them. The monastery felt peaceful. I spent time looking around, saying a few prayers and quietly contemplating life. In a world that often feels loud and rushed, there was something very grounding about being inside those old walls. Stone, shadow, silence, faith and birdsong outside.

It is easy to imagine how the monks who lived there would have known the rhythms of the place: the changing light in the cloister, the seasons in the gardens, the sound of birds over the rooftops, the heat of summer, the smell of rain on stone. The monastery has endured damage, rebuilding, abandonment and restoration, yet still stands as a place of beauty and reflection.

Sant Cugat gave me a lovely mixture of things I enjoy most: family, birds, photography, history, architecture and a strong sense of place. It was not just a town visited, but a place experienced through sound and light. Nightingales before breakfast. Cisticolas over meadow flowers. Treecreepers on bark. A Sardinian Warbler in an olive tree. Swifts screaming above the streets. A Hoopoe feeding beside monastery walls.

And somewhere in the middle of it all, a quiet moment in an ancient church, offering a prayer and taking stock.

That, for me, is what travel should be. Not rushing from one attraction to the next, but allowing a place to reveal itself. Sant Cugat did exactly that — through its history, its wildlife, its warm Catalan character, and the birds that sang, climbed, fed and flew all around me.