Travelling the Mariña Luguesa

The seashore of the province of Lugo was our destination this September. Last July we went to Viveiro to the Resurrection Fest to see Scorpions, but we didn't see the town. So, Thursday we returned and visited without excessive visitors surrounding us.

That northern shore is much shrouded in clouds and fog during the summer, thanks to the prevailing northeast winds. The sun does come out, but later in the morning, and the temperatures rarely go very high along the coast. Which is why on Thursday we enjoyed cool seabreezes, while at home temperatures went up to around 30ºC/86ºF. 

Viveiro is a very old town. There are Iron Age remains that were found in the area, and the Romans had a town here. The Moors invaded and laid waste. It was rebuilt, and the Vikings then had some fun of their own. In the fifteenth century, its lord mayor, Pardo de Cela, led a rebellion against the Catholic Monarchs, the revolta dos Irmandiños, and the economically important port lost a bit of its importance. The French invaded during the War of Independence in 1809 and were knocked back. Things then kept quiet except during the dictatorship of Primo de Rivera in the 1920's, and the town kept out of the limelight during the Republic and Franco's dictatorship. 

We entered through one of the few surviving gates to the old town. It's the gate built in honor of Charles V of the Holy Roman Empire (Charles I of Spain), in 1548. It's directly in front of the medieval bridge, Ponte da Misericordia, built in the same century and still in use. The September sun was leaving its long shadows, even at ten thirty in the morning. Inside the gate, there's a shrine of Saint Roch, patron saint of the town. Many towns have him as a patron saint, probably because many towns suffered from the plague, and he is supposed to be the champion of plague sufferers. It's much like Saint Barbara is supposed to protect one from lightning because her father was struck dead by lightning after beheading her for being a Christian. Saint Roch was apparently cured of the plague by his dog, who licked a bubo. We're talking primitive medicine here based on legends; don't look at me.

It happened to be market day, and market day seems to be limited to food in Viveiro. At least, in the Plaza Mayor of the old town. If there were stalls with clothes and other stuff somewhere else, we don't know. Many of the people selling were locals with food from their kitchen gardens, and late-summer flowers. Others were already professionals that go from market to market with their fruits and vegetables, and sweets. We've seen loose teas for sale, and hand-crafted candies at medieval fairs, but at this market there was a stall with candies normally found commercially in supermarkets. 

We wandered through the town, admiring the architecture, and the glassed-in balconies popular throughout the north of Galicia. Most were well-kept, and it seemed we had chanced on the main shopping street, though there were few national chain stores. The majority were locally owned. From this street, we went upwards and away from the river Landro, to the higher streets of the town. There, we found ourselves in front of the replica of the grotto of Lourdes in France, only the statue represented the Virgin of the Immaculate Conception, to which the convent on whose grounds it was, was dedicated to. It was only built in 1925, but many local people seem to believe that miracles can work long distance. There were wax figures of different afflicted body parts, and pictures wedged between the stones. When we were there, an older lady approached, crossed herself, and started praying. 

We continued wandering, and looked at the locked church Santa María del Campo. By the name, it was probably built on a spot venerated by forgotten peoples outside the town walls, because it translates into Saint Mary of the Fields. From there we wandered and found ourselves looking at cast iron statues of the Klan. 

They weren't truly the Klan, it's just the capirote that penitents wear during processions of Holy Week. But when I first arrived in Spain, they looked suspicious enough. The three figures were outside the San Francisco church, where all the paraphernalia is kept. While wandering the cloister after visiting the church, a man approached us and told us to follow him to see a museum sight. It was a room where some of the things are kept during the year and are on display. It turned out that the artisan that created the figures lives and works in Rianxo, our township. The world is a handkerchief. 

From Viveiro we went north and east, passing by Celeiro, the port that has taken over what Viveiro once did. We reached a long beach, Praia da Area. That's where our wanderings began along the seashore. From there we went up a hill to a viewing point, where we looked out on the Ría de Viveiro, westward to Estaca de Bares, the most northern point in Spain, and eastward to Asturias, lost behind the horizon. We followed narrow lanes, sometimes paved with a fine, thin yellow dirt that ended up covering our rear window. We visited beaches covered in brown seaweed, where the sea rolled out wave after wave on the wet sand. There were no tourists. We had the day to ourselves. At most we found locals, including percebeiros, who had picked a large sack of percebes, goose barnacles considered a delicacy. 

We even found the ruins of a church and hermitage on a cliff above the sea. It was dedicated to San Tirso, whose mutilated body, according to legend, docked on a stone boat at the foot of that cliff. The ruins that remain are from the seventeenth century. But that structure was built on ruins that date from the early Middle Ages. And that structure had been built on what was left of a castro, or hillfort. It was abandoned in the 1920's when a newer church was built in the village of Vilachá. Now, it's slowly tumbling in the general nature of stones, and visitors sometimes use it for purposes very different from the original, deducting this from the quantity of crumpled tissues in one corner. 

We were winding up our trip when we reached San Cibrao. It's a small town, with a large aluminum factory nearby, and little is left of the old town. At that point, we had left behind the unpopulated, semi-wild coast and had come face to face with civilization. We still wandered along the coast, though, to Burela and Foz. Burela is one of the richest towns of Lugo. It's greatest industry is albacore. There are large boats with crews made up mostly of immigrants, especially from Cabo Verde, which also makes Burela one of the towns with the largest birthrate in Galicia. Which someone, somewhere, should take into account. Flourishing permanent industry = plenty of decent jobs = larger families. Unfortunately, being a rich town means that most of the old, poor houses were razed to build large apartment blocks. The same thing happened in Foz, where not much was left of the old town. But, from there, we turned the prow of our car homeward. We were tired and the day was ending. But we will return.