“You’ve come to the poshest part of Spain,” a Scottish-Dutch couple at the next table complements us as we sit outside the only bar in tiny Rupià sipping two-euro glasses of the chilled, bone dry local white wine.
The atmosphere is relaxed, low key, even a little punk thanks to the Barcelona pirate-earringed young barman, but the prevalence of sleek down jackets on our fellow punters, and the corten steel security gates outside the houses lining the lanes on the outskirts of the village support his assertion.
