The North Coast

We have a rule in our house. Though we are not able to get away for extended vacations (last year's trip to France was an exception), at least during Holy Week or the week of the Guadelupe festival in Rianxo, my husband and I go for a day-long ride through some area of Galicia. Over the years we've visited almost every point of its geography, from the Roman camp of Bande in Ourense, mostly buried under a reservoir except in years of little rain, to the English Cemetery on the Costa da Morte in A Coruña, where the crew of The Serpent was buried after the ship broke apart on the ship-hungry rocks nearby over a hundred years ago. Thankfully, the clouds gave a respite yesterday and we went up to Ortigueira and the coast along to Viveiro, one of the few places we haven't been yet. 

Ortigueira is a tranquil little town on the northern coast in the province of A Coruña with around six thousand souls living there year-round. Ortigueira is also famous for its folk festival in the middle of July. From its beginnings as a festival of traditional "Celtic" music, limited mostly to bagpipes and groups from Galicia, Brittany, Ireland, Scotland, Wales, and Cornwall, it has mushroomed into a pan-European folk festival. Groups now come from all over Europe and the folk music played isn't all traditional. The popularity of the festival has also grown, and the population of this little place grows over the weekend of the festival. From six thousand, it mushrooms to over sixty thousand some years. Obviously there aren't enough hotels, pensions, or rooms, so many young people bring their tents and pitch them on the surrounding beaches. But by September tranquil normality was back.

From there we went on along the coast, stopping at Espasante, where my husband got mixed up and even went the wrong way down one-way streets. Tiny urban centers that date from when oxen and donkeys were the only method of transport tend to have that disturbing effect. When we found the way

out we continued along the coastal road until we found a sign pointing the way to a beach and village with the same name as one of my husband's last names. A happy coincidence that led us, in the township of Loiba, to beautiful coastal cliffs from which we could see Cabo Ortegal and Estaca de Bares, the two most northern points of land in Spain. My husband, an amateur fisherman, was dreaming of all the fish he and his friends could catch there, and even pointed out where some of the locals had paths down to beaches at the feet of the cliffs, with ropes to help them along the last meters where the slope tightened almost into a wall of rock. But the place was full of people because it had become a tourist attraction. A mechanic had planted a park bench on a headland in 2009. It turned out he did it because his

two teenage sons would go and sit on the headland to think about things. (Later he planted more on different headlands where one bench can't be seen from the other.) Noticing that they had to sit on the stones or the damp ground, he asked the township to install a bench, but they said no. So, he did it himself. The bench became famous after the Festival at Ortigueira one year, when some Scottish friends found it and wrote on its back, "The best bank in the world", in reference to the cliff bank. After that Ikea did a spot there and a night photography picture taken there won honorable mention in the Earth and Sky Photo Contest on Dark Skies Importance this year. It's since stopped being a lonely spot. 

From there we went to Estaca de Bares, where we ate very well at a little restaurant right on the harbor. There was a small park there, constructed on the dunes with total disregard to the nature of dunes. Several of the picnic tables and benches were in the process of being covered with sand after winters of storms whistling through. Since we're in September, the place was quiet, but not totally abandoned by outsiders. The proprietor of the restaurant agreed with my husband's opinion that in summer it was overrun with tourists. She said the

people could try to come over the entire year and not just the summer. Because in winter it is very quiet with only the locals venturing into the streets. I saw three waterfront restaurants, including where we ate. I assume they either all close or just one remains open in the winter. After that we drove back, stopping in Barqueira, a little harbor town like Bares, but in more protected waters at the back of the estuary. 

Then, we drove back and stopped one last time in Pontedeume, home of the Andrade family, whose ancient tower still tops a hill on the other side of the river, looking down on the town it must protect from marauders. We walked along some of its streets, but we soon left for home. 

Now, the memories will have to keep until next spring, when we visit somewhere else in Galicia and make new ones.