The Adjusted Normal, 50. Another Drive Down the Coast

Yesterday, we went for a drive. It was sunny with bands of clouds at times, and pleasant temperatures. A cold front came through this past night, without any rain, and now the clouds are starting to break up, and the pleasant temperatures continue.

We drove down the coast again, but this time to places we hadn't been in a long time, probably in years. First, we crossed the bridge over the Ulla to Catoira. Being the first Sunday of August, we shouldn't have been able to do that without dodging crowds of people, all watching the disembarkment of the Vikings from the bridge, and the rowdy battle and carousing that then ensue.

Another victim of the devil virus is the annual Romería Vikinga, a festival that started in 1961 as a way to remember the history of the Torres do Oeste, the name by which the ruins of the Castellum Honesti are now known. They were first built upon Roman remains in the ninth century, after an incursion by Normands up the Ulla river raided Iria Flavia, and brought the invaders practically to the doors of Santiago de Compostela. I've never been to the festival, but it's supposed to be rowdy, with red wine flowing inside and out, and plenty of sardines, mussels, and other viands for sale. More frugal people simply take their own picnic lunch.

Outside Vilagarcía, we got on the system of highways that interconnect and help avoid small villages, to come out at the bottom of Cambados and onto the road that leads to O Grove. Again, we shouldn't have been able to traverse Cambados so easily. The Festa do Albariño should have been in full swing, with streets cut off, and people wandering around carrying glasses of wine and half-empty bottles of albariño wine. This is an exaltation of the local wine that began back in the 1950's, and every year chooses the best albariño wine of the region. There are huts set up by the different adegas, or wineries, where people can taste the offerings and buy bottles, to drink on the spot or to take home. It's a week long celebration, with different activities, and concerts at night. Not this year, though.

We continued down the coast road, to O Grove, and crossed the isthmus to the peninsula it sits on, passing by the dunes and fine sands of the Lanzada beach to the left of us. There is an extensive parking area, but it was only half full. Throughout the peninsula of O Grove, while full of cars and people, we could still find spots where to park with not very much difficulty. Another testament to the powers of the devil virus.

Once on the peninsula, we drove to the town that takes its name from the peninsula. Or gives it. There, a bridge took us to the Illa da Toxa.

The Illa da Toxa was once used by the neighbors of O Grove to pasture their animals, and was once accessible only by boat. Legend goes that someone left their infirm donkey there to die, in a swampy corner. After some weeks had gone by, the owner came by with the intention of burying the animal, and found it had recuperated after drinking from a thermal spring. Whatever the truth, in the nineteenth century, the thermal waters of the island were found to be medicinal, and the resort was born. Soap was made with thermal water at a small factory that only stopped production when the brand was bought by a larger holding, and soap making was taken to just outside A Coruña. (Over twenty years ago, it was re-sold to the group Wella, who promptly shut down the factory in A Coruña, and took fabrication to Slovenia. The soap, La Toja, is no longer what it used to be.) The Grand Hotel dates from 1909, and the bridge from about the same time. It quickly became a spot for the elite to visit, and now there are extremely expensive and large homes hidden behind walls, an expensive urbanization of luxury flats, a marina, a small golf course, and a pine grove.

It's one of those areas that concentrate money and pedigree. In the late 1980's the Bilderberg Group even held a meeting here. While the Grand Hotel doesn't charge per night what some, more luxurious, hotels charge in other areas, it isn't cheap, with the lowest price €190 per night. It's been a touristy spot ever since it was first built up, and people can rent bicycle carts to wander around the small island. There are also women selling all sorts of trinkets made with shells. Once upon a time, the shells were harvested by the women, who then created necklaces, bracelets, and all sorts of souvenirs. Now, the shells are commercialized shells, and not at all local.

Except for the urbanization, I don't think it's changed much in the past thirty or forty years. The island chapel is still covered with the flat-sided scallop shells. The same, or similar, bicycle carts are still available to rent. The women still set up their stalls with shell souvenirs. The hotel gardens still exude their superiority. I remember visiting with a small cousin, and two cousins from Bilbao in the summer of 1984. My parents had first visited back in 1968, on an excursion, with friends. There is a picture of them with friends in the pine grove, where they had their picnic lunch. My mother is holding my two year-old cousin, one of the Bilbao cousins who visited with us years later. I hadn't been born yet. My father is standing at the far right, with his hand raised, probably holding a cigarette. Times change so much, and yet they don't change.

From there we drove to the other side of the peninsula, and came upon an archeological site. Called Adro Vello, it's fenced off behind a chain link fence set up to protect what precious little is left of the site from further depredation. All you can see are stones that seem to create a square shape, and what seem to be empty graves. To one side is the beach, filled with people, even in pandemic. To the other side, cutting over part of it, is the road and a building. It was uncovered in the late 1990's, and pretty much left to fend for itself except for the chain link fence. Apparently, the oldest ruins are a Roman villa and a saltern, where salt was collected. There are also the remains of a Visigothic church from possibly the sixth century. Further down the coast archeologists speculate there may have been a hill fort, but any evidence is most likely long gone.

We wandered for a good part of the afternoon, and my husband swore that we would return in the off season, to better wander the shores and the towns. All in all, it wasn't a bad afternoon.

Life continues.