From Baiona South
Yesterday, having wrested a free day away from his employer because of the parochial festival where they work, my husband and I went on another one of our day-long jaunts. This time I drove and we went south, to Baiona.
The last time we were there was around twenty years ago. I remember we visited twice, once while we were dating, and once shortly after getting married. The only things that haven't changed are the fort and most of the buildings in the historical section. Everything else has distorted itself until it is simply unrecognizable. New buildings have sprouted, some right in the old streets. The marina has grown. From being anchored right next to the sea wall, the replica of the Pinta is now out in the middle of the marina. Visitors pay at a little cabin on the sidewalk and then walk down a catwalk out to the caravel. The only thing that hasn't changed is the fort on the hill in the bay. It's been a Parador Nacional since 1966. Ever since then, those with the appropriate bank account can spend their vacation nights there.
And those who can't afford it now have a myriad of establishments scattered all over the rest of the town. The place was choc-a-bloc with tourists and visitors from all over, though mostly from other Spanish cities. It reminded me of
Carcassonne on the July Sunday when we visited it two years ago. Crowded is a small word for what we found. Wherever we turned groups of people were swarming. Most of them seemed to have brought their dogs with them, too. Let's say Baiona is a popular tourist destination.
Why the Galician Baiona (Bayona in Castilian Spanish) and the French Bayonne (Baiona in Basque) have the same name is a mystery to me. But I do know that the Galician Baiona is famous for having been the first European port to receive news of the New World. On March 1st, 1493, Martín Pinzón arrived in the caravel Pinta, of the Niña, Pinta, and Santa María fame. It was the first stop before heading down to
Andalucían ports. That is the reason for the replica and the Festa da Arribada celebrated the first weekend of March every year. But Baiona was also visited by Julius Caesar, Francis Drake, and the Catholic Monarchs, Isabel and Fernando. It was one of the most important ports on this coast until Vigo overtook it in the nineteenth century. Now it's a charming, historical port where people head for the sun and nearby beaches.
From there we set off down the coast. I have memories of having driven a few kilometers along it over twenty years ago. My husband doesn't, but I remembered a windmill from the plains of Castille misplaced at a camping site right by the sea. The coast from Baiona down to A Guarda is summed up in mountains falling down to the sea. There are no giant cliffs like along the north shore of Galicia. But the waters are not as tranquil as those in the estuaries. From Cabo Silleiro down to A Guarda the coast faces the open Atlantic. The horizon blurs into a fusion of sky and sea, the nearest land the New World. Along the middle of the way down is the town of Oia.
Oia is famous for its former Cistercian monastery which faces the ocean. It was founded in the twelfth century and eventually became rich in productive land. Right in front of it is a small, encircled bay where now fishing boats bob on the currents. At one time the monastery was the objective of pirates and marauders. As a preventive measure, it had artillery and armed soldiers always at the ready. The monastery stopped being that when Mendizábel appeared on the liberal political scene in 1835, and expropriated all Church property except those churches used by parishioners. From then on it slowly decayed into ruins. It was temporarily restored and inhabited by Jesuits expelled from Portugal in 1912 until 1932, when the Republic nationalized all property of the Jesuits. During the Civil War it was used as a concentration camp for captured Republicans, after which it was abandoned. Some years ago it was announced that a luxurious hotel would be established there and the monastery would be restored to that end. But that came to nought with the crisis, and when we visited yesterday, the ruins were silent.
As the afternoon was wearing on, when we reached A Guarda, we didn't stop to walk around, but went straight to the road that leads up to the top of Santa Tegra, the mountain right on the corner of the Galician coast. Up near the top, there is a large hill fort that dates from around the first century B.C. There is also a chapel dedicated to Santa Tegra almost at the top of the hill. It dates
from around the twelfth century, and was probably built on what had been considered a holy site in ancient times. From the summit there is a panoramic view of this corner of Galicia. Literally, the hill is on a corner of our geography. Looking down, you can see where the river Miño meets the Atlantic, and the Portuguese coastline on the other side. The sandbars in the mouth of the river, which have made it difficult in recent years for the ferry to cross the Miño, can be seen just below the surface of the water. On Portugal's corner the town of Caminha lies sprawled from the river to the green woods that surround it. The Miño stretches upwards, though Tui is still slightly beyond the horizon.
The wind from the sea was strong, and despite the hot sun it was chilly up there. As in almost every other place we stopped since Baiona, the hilltop was far from lonely. Families and small groups of people from all over were climbing up and down. Almost thirty years ago, I had visited on a field trip organized by the parish priest for the catechists. My cousin was one, and she signed my mother and me up for the trip, since we were there on vacation at the time. It was the summer of 1988, and the field trip went from Tui to Santa Tegra, to a sanctuary just outside Baiona. Then we went back home through Vigo and over the Rande suspension bridge, which I first saw just after nightfall that year, with the lights of the towns surrounding the darkened waters of the Ría de Vigo twinkling like sentinels along the darker hills. That day there were few people up on the hilltop, and we had the run of the place, our bus the only vehicle in the parking lot. Times change.
The last time we were there was around twenty years ago. I remember we visited twice, once while we were dating, and once shortly after getting married. The only things that haven't changed are the fort and most of the buildings in the historical section. Everything else has distorted itself until it is simply unrecognizable. New buildings have sprouted, some right in the old streets. The marina has grown. From being anchored right next to the sea wall, the replica of the Pinta is now out in the middle of the marina. Visitors pay at a little cabin on the sidewalk and then walk down a catwalk out to the caravel. The only thing that hasn't changed is the fort on the hill in the bay. It's been a Parador Nacional since 1966. Ever since then, those with the appropriate bank account can spend their vacation nights there.
And those who can't afford it now have a myriad of establishments scattered all over the rest of the town. The place was choc-a-bloc with tourists and visitors from all over, though mostly from other Spanish cities. It reminded me of
Why the Galician Baiona (Bayona in Castilian Spanish) and the French Bayonne (Baiona in Basque) have the same name is a mystery to me. But I do know that the Galician Baiona is famous for having been the first European port to receive news of the New World. On March 1st, 1493, Martín Pinzón arrived in the caravel Pinta, of the Niña, Pinta, and Santa María fame. It was the first stop before heading down to
From there we set off down the coast. I have memories of having driven a few kilometers along it over twenty years ago. My husband doesn't, but I remembered a windmill from the plains of Castille misplaced at a camping site right by the sea. The coast from Baiona down to A Guarda is summed up in mountains falling down to the sea. There are no giant cliffs like along the north shore of Galicia. But the waters are not as tranquil as those in the estuaries. From Cabo Silleiro down to A Guarda the coast faces the open Atlantic. The horizon blurs into a fusion of sky and sea, the nearest land the New World. Along the middle of the way down is the town of Oia.
Oia is famous for its former Cistercian monastery which faces the ocean. It was founded in the twelfth century and eventually became rich in productive land. Right in front of it is a small, encircled bay where now fishing boats bob on the currents. At one time the monastery was the objective of pirates and marauders. As a preventive measure, it had artillery and armed soldiers always at the ready. The monastery stopped being that when Mendizábel appeared on the liberal political scene in 1835, and expropriated all Church property except those churches used by parishioners. From then on it slowly decayed into ruins. It was temporarily restored and inhabited by Jesuits expelled from Portugal in 1912 until 1932, when the Republic nationalized all property of the Jesuits. During the Civil War it was used as a concentration camp for captured Republicans, after which it was abandoned. Some years ago it was announced that a luxurious hotel would be established there and the monastery would be restored to that end. But that came to nought with the crisis, and when we visited yesterday, the ruins were silent. As the afternoon was wearing on, when we reached A Guarda, we didn't stop to walk around, but went straight to the road that leads up to the top of Santa Tegra, the mountain right on the corner of the Galician coast. Up near the top, there is a large hill fort that dates from around the first century B.C. There is also a chapel dedicated to Santa Tegra almost at the top of the hill. It dates
The wind from the sea was strong, and despite the hot sun it was chilly up there. As in almost every other place we stopped since Baiona, the hilltop was far from lonely. Families and small groups of people from all over were climbing up and down. Almost thirty years ago, I had visited on a field trip organized by the parish priest for the catechists. My cousin was one, and she signed my mother and me up for the trip, since we were there on vacation at the time. It was the summer of 1988, and the field trip went from Tui to Santa Tegra, to a sanctuary just outside Baiona. Then we went back home through Vigo and over the Rande suspension bridge, which I first saw just after nightfall that year, with the lights of the towns surrounding the darkened waters of the Ría de Vigo twinkling like sentinels along the darker hills. That day there were few people up on the hilltop, and we had the run of the place, our bus the only vehicle in the parking lot. Times change.
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