In May this year, I returned to Olot in Spain, home to RCR Arquitectes. With more time than my previous visit, I finally made it to Bell-Lloc Winery.

The winery sits deep within the hills along the Mediterranean coast, nearly impossible to reach without questioning your route. After half an hour on rough mountain roads, the sight of rust-coloured weathering steel emerging from the landscape felt almost unreal.

The project is modest in scale: a largely underground winery paired with an old house beside. Most of the spaces are buried to stabilise temperature during wine production. Two tunnels organise the experience—one straight, the other winding—occasionally guided by side light or thin shafts of daylight. It feels less like entering a building and more like moving through a constructed terrain.

What struck me most, however, was not the architecture itself but the atmosphere of trust. There were no staff on site that day. Doors stood open. Bottles, produce, instruments and even handwritten notes—presumably recording fermentation data—were left unattended. Nothing was hidden.

I briefly entered the darker, more sinuous tunnel, but quickly retreated. Partly because of the near-total darkness, partly because the space felt private, as if it resisted casual exploration. The building seemed to set its own limits.

On my way out, I passed another pair of visitors tapping walls and inspecting details—almost certainly architects. It felt oddly fitting. Places like this, remote and unguarded, seem made for quiet observation rather than consumption.