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This is the final section of the GR11, from Núria to the Mediterranean. As you leave Núria, the high mountainous terrain is quickly left behind, replaced by the dry, harsh and arid landscapes of the Mediterranean foothills. Campsites become harder to find and water sources can be unreliable, so careful planning is essential.
After getting sunburnt on my way into Núria, I set off towards the sea. Along the way I enjoyed a memorable interaction in Setcases, communicating with the hotel owner using only a handful of shared words and a lot of creative gestures. The closer I got to the Mediterranean, the more my body ached — and the more ready I was to finally stop hiking.
These stages took me through a couple more excellent refugios, plenty of wild camps, swim spots and increasingly busy towns as I closed in on the coast.
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Notes for the final stages of the GR11
- Water: Water becomes precious. Not all fountains marked on maps are working.
- Stage 42: It is really worth extending the day to enjoy some of the excellent swim spots around
- Campsites: Many Mediterranean towns don’t have facilities for tents. Plan ahead.
- Transport: There is a bus from Cap de Creus to Cadaqués, but there is no campsite there. Seriously, plan ahead.
- Enjoy it: These are your final miles. Savour them if you can.
- The End: Unlike me, I strongly recommend planning what you’re going to do at the end. Reaching the Mediterranean is a huge moment, but without a plan it can feel surprisingly flat and chaotic. Give yourself somewhere comfortable to stay, a way to rest properly, and the space to actually absorb what you’ve just achieved. You’ll thank yourself later..
14th July – Camping in Núria to Hostal Restaurant Ter
Cicerone Stage 39: The highest point of the GR11 and a windswept farewell to the big mountains
After being roasted by the sun on my way up to Núria the previous day, I woke up feeling awful. I’d originally planned to stay a couple of nights so I could climb some of the surrounding peaks, but my body was simply too exhausted. The sheer number of cow bells ringing from every four-legged creature in the valley didn’t help either.
From Nuria, the trail climbs steeply to Coll de Tirapits (2780 m). I got stuck behind a large scout group who were inching their way up the slope, but eventually managed to overtake them.
When I reached the col, a blast of wind hit me square in the face — far stronger than I expected. Despite the conditions, the scenery was beautiful. It felt bittersweet knowing this was my final high-altitude day on the GR11. According to the Cicerone guide, it is in fact the highest day of the entire trail.
From the col, I followed a slightly higher variant that crossed a couple of small peaks before beginning the long descent towards Setcases.
By the time I arrived, I was exhausted. I checked into a small hotel so I could collapse into a real bed for the night. Communicating with the owner turned into an unexpectedly fun moment:
Me: “Lo siento, no hablo español. ¿Hablas inglés?”
Owner: “No.”
We both smiled and switched to gestures, pointing, and a calculator to settle the price. I genuinely enjoy these kinds of interactions — trying to communicate without a common language feels like a friendly puzzle. Having a couple of simple Spanish sentences prepared really helps ease the initial tension.
Setcases is a very pretty little village, but despite it being the start of the tourist season, it was strangely quiet. None of the restaurants were open, so I grabbed food from the local shop and ate in my room.
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15th July – Hostal Restaurant Ter to wild camp near Refugio Talaixà
Cicerone Stages 40 & 41: A scorching twelve-hour push, emotional goodbyes, and a brutal final climb
Today was a very tough day — not because of steep or technical terrain, but because of the sheer amount of time on my feet. Tomorrow was forecast to hit 44°C, and I absolutely did not want to be hiking in that heat. The guidebook also mentions limited camping options around Beget, so I aimed to push on to Talaixà instead.
Leaving Setcases, the trail climbs steadily to Coll de Lliens (1877 m).
From here I had my final view of the high Pyrenees. Six years of dreaming and a part-time degree later, I was finally on the home stretch of the GR11. It felt remarkable — emotional, even — and I shed a tear or two before descending towards Molló. The trail between the col and Molló was unremarkable but pleasant.
By the time I reached Riera de Beget, it was hot and I was exhausted. I had started hiking at 07:00, and it had taken twelve hours to reach this point. Ahead of me was the climb to Talaixà, and in the heat it felt brutal. Low energy made it even worse, but at least there was a Refugio at the top.
Unfortunately, when I arrived, the place was packed with families. Apparently the main building is bookable, and a smaller annex is open to all, but with so many people around I decided to pitch my tent near Sant Martí de Talaixà instead.
In the end, I was glad I chose the higher spot. The views were spectacular, and there was a water source next to the Refugio. The only downside was discovering a tick trying to sneak up on me — and it was the size of a garden pea. Truly disgusting.
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16th July – A rest day of sorts from Refugio Sant Aniol to Sadernes (and back)
Cicerone Stage 41 and detour to Sadernes: Heatwave retreat, canyon swims, and the long wait for shade
Today was a rest day of sorts, forced by the extreme heat. The walk down from Talaixà to Sant Aniol was spectacular. Vast limestone cliffs rise sharply from the surrounding woodland, giving the whole landscape an ancient, dramatic feel.
In Sant Aniol there is another small Refugio. The guidebook says it’s still under construction, but when I arrived it looked almost complete — certainly complete enough to sleep in.
From here, I followed the trail to Sadernes, which winds along a river all the way to the village. Along the way I stopped to swim in two different pools. After yesterday’s sweat-fest, slipping into cold water felt absolutely glorious.
The walk to Sadernes took about an hour and a half. I bought lunch in a restaurant — the cold cannelloni primo was delicious — and then waited out the worst of the heat before heading back. The temperature reached 43°C in Sadernes, which is far too hot for hiking, but at least the route back offered plenty more swimming spots.
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17th July – Hut near Sant Aniol d’Aguja to Bassegoda Park
Cicerone Stage 42: Gorge walking, a final summit, and a Butlins-esque campsite reward
I really needed the semi–rest day yesterday. The trail from Sant Aniol to Bassegoda Park was spectacular, weaving through a vast gorge with dramatic rock walls rising on either side. A couple of bonus swim spots along the way helped keep the heat under control.
En route I made the short detour to climb Puig de Bassegoda. The ascent begins with a steep walk followed by an easy scramble to the summit. From the top I could just make out the Mediterranean in the distance. So close now.
After descending, I continued towards the campsite at Bassegoda Park. It felt a bit like a UK Butlins — just less shit. Still, it was a great place to resupply, take a breather, and enjoy a well-earned cold beer.
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18th July – Bassegoda Park to Wild Camp near La Font del Bruc
Cicerone Stages 43 & 44: Woodland miles, drying landscapes, and a bat-filled church
Most of today’s walking was through wooded hills. My body is really tired now — I’m beginning to struggle, especially with my feet. Being out of the mountains, I’ve been hiking large sections in Crocs just to give them a break.
I stopped at Sant Feliu de Carbonils and stepped inside for a look. Hanging from the ceiling were dozens of tiny bats. I backed out quietly, doing my best not to disturb them.
I can really tell I’m approaching the Mediterranean now; the landscape is getting very dry. The heatwave and drought across Catalonia were serious, and it showed. Continuing on to Maçanet de Cabrenys, I took the direct path instead of looping past El Molí d’en Robert, but unfortunately found no shops open in the village. Luckily, the bar at the local swimming pool — Piscina Municipal Maçanet de Cabrenys — was open, so I stopped in for food and ended up with a large piece of Argentinian beef. Delicious.
After waiting for the worst of the heat to pass, I continued to La Font del Bruc and camped in the woods. I was right next to the footpath, so I waited until almost dark before pitching my tent.
Being so close to the end of the GR11, I wanted to keep wild camping while I still could, even though I was really slowing down. I wasn’t keeping up with the recommended timings in the guide. Was it the heat, or was I simply too fatigued?
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19th July – Wild camp near La Font del Bruc to Refugi Barraca del Forn de Calç
Cicerone Stages 44 & 45: Road misery, coastal heat, and a ridiculous missing-boot saga
The day was hot and uneventful until La Jonquera. Hot, dry, and far too much road walking. It really felt like the end was approaching — which was sad, but my body was definitely ready for it.
Entering La Jonquera was a shock to the system. After so many quiet days, stepping into a built-up town full of bars, traffic, and noise felt overwhelming. I grabbed a below-average sandwich and waited out the midday heat before heading on.
The path up to Santa Llúcia was surprisingly pleasant. Sandy underfoot, lined with hardy, spiky coastal plants — it felt like I was already by the sea. But the weather was turning, with lightning forecast. From Santa Llúcia to Puig dels Falguers (778 m) the trail was steep and exposed, and the heat was still intense.
Nearing the top, I realised I was missing a boot. I’d been hiking in Crocs again to save my feet, so I turned around and backtracked, assuming I’d dropped it. When I finally reached Ermita de Santa Llúcia again, I found it exactly where I’d taken a break earlier. Idiot.
Then… back up the hill.
Having recovered my lost boot, now exhausted, I pushed on to Refugi Barraca del Forn de Calç — the final Refugio of the GR11. It was a lovely little place, but the rainwater tank was absolutely disgusting. Filter, filter, filter.
20th July – Refugi Barraca del Forn de Calç to Sant Silvestre wild camp
Cicerone Stages 45 & 46: Hot hills, ancient monasteries, and a sneaky final wild camp
I packed up and left the hut early, still sticking to my hot-weather avoidance routine to minimise time hiking under the midday sun.
The Cicerone guide describes today as “through hot dry hills and with too much road walking,” and it wasn’t wrong. I continued to Els Vilars and then followed a long, miserable slog of tarmac towards Mas Pics. It was brutally hot.
I’m moving very slowly now but I’m so close to the end. The trail to Sant Silvestre was generally easy, though at one point it became so overgrown and spiky that I suspect I must have taken a wrong turn. Passing the Convento de Sant Quirze de Colera was a highlight — the 9th-century complex is enormous and atmospheric — but it was too hot to linger, so I pushed on.
After Vilamaniscle, I continued towards Sant Silvestre, where a large courtyard looked perfect for a sneaky wild camp… until I spotted the security camera clearly positioned to discourage exactly that. A short walk further on brought me to a small picnic area, where I set up for my final wild camp. Well… ish.
21st July – Sant Silvestre wild camp to Càmping Port de la Selva
Cicerone Stages 46 & 47: Coastal villages, one last punishing climb, and a frustrating campsite hunt
Another early start took me along easy, mostly flat trails to Llançà, and then onward to La Selva de Mar — a pretty seaside village with narrow, winding streets that I found surprisingly difficult to navigate. From there I continued towards El Port de la Selva, a busy coastal town.
Between Llançà and El Port de la Selva lies one final sting in the tail: the 500-metre ascent to Sant Pere de Rodes.
In my condition, and in the relentless heat, I found it horrendously hard. By the time I descended into the port I was desperate to get my feet up for the rest of the day.
Unfortunately, none of the campsites in El Port de la Selva accept tents, so I had to walk out of town, turn right at the roundabout, and follow the road for a kilometre or two to reach Càmping Port de la Selva.
I did not swim in the ocean that day, I had to wait until I reached the end which felt odd as I was so close…
It was so hot during the night that getting any sleep was a real challenge.
22nd July – Càmping Port de la Selva to the end
Cicerone Stage 47: Lighthouse in sight, tourists everywhere, and six years of dreaming realised
I returned to the town and followed the GR11 around the harbour.
It felt surreal to be looking at the Mediterranean after so much time in the mountains and dry inland hills. The trail soon turned inland again, passing through interesting coastal terrain characterised by scrubby vegetation and abandoned structures.
Sant Baldiri was completely overrun with tourists, so I didn’t stop and just kept going.
As I neared the end, I could see the lighthouse in the distance — a small white point growing larger with every step. And then, before I fully realised what was happening, I was there.
I did it.
I didn’t know what to write.
Six years of dreaming, and it was complete.
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14 March – The realities of the end
I stopped writing for the rest of the trip. It took a while to come to terms with what I’d achieved, and it didn’t help that I didn’t return home for another six weeks.
I won’t sugar-coat it: the end of such a long journey was surprisingly anticlimactic. I caught the bus to Cadaqués, where I had hoped to camp — only to discover that the sole campsite once again didn’t accept tents. I walked down to a local bus stop and caught another bus towards Barcelona, which stopped in Roses, where I eventually found a campsite willing to take me. It came at the eye-watering price of 25 euros per night.
I spent some time alone by the Mediterranean in Spain, but after so much quiet isolation, the coast wasn’t the peaceful, reflective place I’d imagined. Everything felt overdeveloped and overpopulated. Eventually I left Spain for Mallorca, staying at a campsite in the mountains for a while, before meeting up with a friend and heading off on a climbing road trip across Europe.
The GR11… I’d dreamt of this trail for six years. It was tough. My feet hurt. Sometimes the trail was awful but it was incredible. I’m proud of the style in which I completed it. I wanted the adventure to be as wild and unsupported as possible, and I stayed true to that.
Fifty-one days.
Twenty-six nights in a tent.
Sixteen in unmanned huts.
Thirty-two summits.
Eighty-two mountain passes.
Snow, lightning, and extreme heat.
It was amazing.
If you have any questions about this stage of the GR11, feel free to ask — I’m always happy to give honest answers and as accurate info as possible.
If this blog has helped you plan your own GR11 adventure, you can support the blog by buying me a coffee – it keeps the stories coming!
