Travel on a Shock Absorber

Yesterday was one of my days to give in to wanderlust. However, the days being so short I couldn't go as far as I would have liked (the moon). So I kept within the confines of Galicia, and tried to reach a place where snow had fallen.

Goats herding themselves.

The first snowfall of winter has been extremely late this year. Though it has fallen, as always, in the mountains. The high mountains. Which meant far from where I live on the coast. So I headed for the mountains with the best access, in the province of Ourense. I got off the highway at Allariz and headed for the far mountains covered in snow. As I neared the mountains along a secondary road, I reached Sandiás and the Lagoa de Antela. To my left, rising on a small hill, I saw one of the guard towers standing like a lonely sentinel over the present potato fields and highway glinting with cars. So I took a left at hazard, since there were no markers leading to the place. Nothing new in Galicia.

The Lagoa de Antela was very ancient. It was a rather shallow lake that dominated the flat land north of Xinzo de Limia. It was one of the largest wetlands in Spain dating from over two million years ago. Until Franco came along. And saw all the agricultural use that land could be put to. And drained it. Attempts had already been made since Roman times, but they had never succeeded until modern engineering appeared. So, as of 1957, gone were the thousands of birds that nested there and stopped at it on their migrations. Gone, also, was the legend of a submerged city.

It used to be told at firesides that there once was a city called Antioquía where the Lagoa now was. But the people were a very proud and bellicose people, and the surrounding areas were not safe from their marauders. With the idea of saving the just and condemning the unjust, Jesus came and wandered the city disguised as a beggar, to see who would give him alms and take pity on a poor soul. But from one end of the city to the other, no one paid him any attention and bade him gone from their sight. As he left the town and climbed a small hill, he saw an old woman by her house which was little more than a shack. She greeted him, gave him what little food she had, and bade him pass the night. When morning came, he asked her to step outside to show what had happened to Antioquía. There was nothing more there than a large, shallow lake. Nothing remained of the proud city or its inhabitants. The old woman was the only survivor. Ever since then people believed that at times the churchbells could still be heard on certain days.

The tower I visited was one of four, all built around the eleventh century and used to watch the Lagoa and the surrounding territory. To the south the border with Portugal is close by, and battles were once waged between Spanish and Portuguese armies nearby. John of Gaunt also captured the towers in 1387 in his bid to lay claim to the kingdom of Castille through his wife, Constanza, daughter of Peter I of Castille. Almanzor came through here on his raids, too. Dig a little and you'll find history books here, sprouting along with the potatoes. 

There are now only three towers left, Torre da Pena da Portela, Torre de Porqueira, and Torre de Sandiás. The fourth one disappeared a long time ago, but I have no doubt its stones were probably all incorporated into local houses. The one I visited, Torre de Sandiás, only has two walls standing. It's open to the winds and anyone can visit. There are ruins of old houses at its base, guarding the ancient hill fort that once crowned the small hill. From the base of the tower you can see for miles, all the way across to the mountains that rise along the Portuguese border. It must have been a lonely spot for any guards positioned there once.

From there I travelled to some mountains just to the west where I gloried in the first snow of the season. It wasn't much, and it was a very wet snow, but I loved

it. I stopped my car on the shoulder of a lonely road and just revelled in watching it come down as a cloud moved over the mountain. Everything was covered, but the road was clean. A robin came out and hopped about in the snowflakes as it pecked at the road surface. I wish it would snow like that on the coast every once in a while.

After eating, I went westward and home, as the afternoon was ending and the early winter's night was beetling toward us. I stopped one last moment at the beach in Cesantes, near Vigo, from where I could see the Ponte de Rande, the first suspension bridge built in Galicia. In front of the beach was the Illa de San Simón, an island that once was a lepers' colony and later became one of the cruelest concentration camps of the Civil War. It can only be visited in summer, but some day I intend to do so. 

This short trip ended, I will soon start planning on the next one I will make, either during Holy Week, or the last week of June. And try to save some money, some way, to take a longer trip with my husband at some point in this new year. Travelling is a wonderful way to learn about the world and I plan to attend that school.