Terra Dominicata

A monk isn’t your classic holiday muse – even if a one-outfit wardrobe would keep packing simple. So when I tell Mr Smith that Spanish boutique hotel Terra Dominicata used to be a monastery, he shoots me a side-eye. We have history with monks, you see. On our honeymoon in Menorca, my choice of bijou, backstreet, by-ourselves love nest had an unexpected roommate: Jesus. Oil portraits with eyes that scorned every towel-drop were nailed like Post-It Notes across the bedroom; not to mention the in-lobby soundtrack of sombre hymns that made Songs of Praise feel like a Taylor Swift concert. Short version: we consummated our marriage back home. So, before he could U-turn the car and retrace the two-hour journey back to Barcelona, I quickly added: ‘And now it’s a working vineyard.’ With that, the accelerator pedal was firmly back in business. 

One thing we could both worship about Terra Dominicata’s monastic past, however, was its location. It’s rural. And not rural in the sense that Deliveroo only offers 10 restaurant choices. This is rural-rural. Deep inside the spectacular rocky crags of the Serra de Montsant Natural Park, the road in is an armrest-clutching series of hairpin bends that make the car passenger feel like Steve Irwin wrestling a crocodile and the driver feel like Lewis Hamilton. You wonder where on Earth Terra Dominicata could be, if Google Maps has led you up the mountain path, and then it appears: a rose-gold collection of low-lying stone buildings that look resplendent. Holy, even.  

We were greeted by the offer of a valet service, but the only thing that could prise the steering wheel away from Mr Smith – by now, plotting how to break into Formula 1 on the cusp of turning 40 – was a vinous welcome cocktail. Sangria, we thought – but swirling the ice in the dusk-coloured liquid unleashed a refreshing peach purée that sang of summer. My shoulders, stiff from co-pilot duties, unclenched with the taste of wine country. 

While your mouth navigates the punchy grenaches of the Priorat – the only Spanish wine region besides La Rioja to be awarded the top DOQ quality classification (and, with it, much international acclaim) – your eyes start drinking in the decor. Externally, no part of the pastel-coloured structure could be altered from the original, built in 1118; however, the interior has all the hallmarks of a design team who stayed off the local sauce until they got the styling to perfection. Communal areas, such as the light-drenched restaurant, mix pillow-plump grey sofas with roaring fireplaces and artfully positioned animal skulls. There are bamboo chairs, gallery walls with typographic prints (just the right amount, positioned exquisitely), trailing plants and, naturally, a lot of wine bottles. The old-meets-new styling is so thoughtfully done that each space feels like an expertly curated spread in an interiors magazine.

Particularly of note is the bedroom. Ours, number 24, was cocooned in a pink courtyard; indeed, it was so private that we had to pry our way through a weave of growth-spurting plant vines to reach the front door. The Narnia inside is full of smart, quirky touches: an upside-down basket in place of the predictable lightshade, linen so thick and tactile that your home bed-sheets suddenly feel like loo roll, and the absence of a TV was compensated with a stuffed bookshelf that – spoiler alert – heaves to the right to reveal a secret bathroom with a freestanding tub.

Everything at Terra Dominicata is crafted with ‘enjoying wine’ in mind. I speak from experience: those soft furnishings have ‘post-sipping siesta’ written all over them. Then there’s the rectangular pool outside, which is ensconced in vines like a drunken domino that’s tumbled over for its nap. It’s best enjoyed from the sunlounger-lined side, sipping something cool while you gaze at the hills and olive groves that roll out 360 degrees around you. The hotel’s also adults-only, so there’s no one below drinking age to ruin your cork-popping fun.

The pièce de résistance – or, in English, ‘place of zero resistance’ – is the on-site bodega. Guided tours take place twice a day (in Spanish at noon, English at 5pm), detailing the wine-sloshed history of both the region and the winery itself. Unlike your school teachers, tutors here believe that theory is best proved with alcohol, and the post-tour tasting is a true highlight. For one, the measures – four, in total – are generous, and the leftovers of the bottles are offered up to whoever can glug the fastest. It’s also free. Then there’s the tasting room itself, on the bodega’s top floor, whose sweeping panoramic vine-scape really puts your drink into context.

The only logical next step – or sway, depending on how thirsty you were – is to soak up your excesses with something carb-y. Cue, Alma Mater, Terra Dominicata’s excellent restaurant. It’s open to guests and the public, so expect to hear more locally spoken Catalan than a chorus of expats. Though we can report that the sound of a wine-induced Uno match getting out of hand sounds the same whatever your mother tongue. And, while we’re on the subject of cursing, the courgette cannelloni stuffed with garlicky king prawns was bloody good – ditto the sashimi-soft steak. 

Eating and drinking is the new religion at Terra Dominicata, and we’re willing converts. Our one tiny criticism, it’s that the lunch and dinner menus are the same, meaning that extended stays could lead to some meal repetition. But, there are worse sins – just ask those monks. For now, we’ll start praying that tomorrow doesn’t start with a hangover.