Spanish views from a small town

Yesterday, my husband and I went for a drive all around the peninsula of the Morrazo, from Marín, to Bueu, Beluso, Cangas, and Moaña. It's a peninsula on the south coast of Galicia that stretches into the sea between the inlets Ría de Pontevedra and Ría de Vigo. Parts of the areas we stopped at were, not deserted, but manageable, without great crowds of people. Yesterday was a holiday, and the lucky ones didn't go to work on Monday, so they went on a mini four day vacation. Some, too many, came to Galicia. At Cabo do Home, a finger jutting down at the edge of the peninsula against the open Atlantic, it was a foretaste of summer crowds. I drove into the parking area and immediately searched for a spot to turn around. Whatever beauty could be seen was banalized by so many people. As I headed back to the road, someone from another part of Spain by his accent, warned us that we had a piece of plant stuck in our license plate. Outside these villages, atavistic memory is being lost...

Yesterday I took a mental health day. It's a day in which I get in my car and go wherever I feel like going, leaving all responsibilities behind for one day. Yesterday I decided to go to Porto in Portugal. It's about two and a half hours away from where I live. I've been there before and I like the city. It's similar to cities I know in Spain, yet different enough to know I'm in another country. It's an old city and the first time I saw it was on a rainy day. Its tired buildings with crumbling façades, dirty ceramic tiles, and peeling paint made it seem ancient and poor. A row of houses.   It looked as if it wanted to retire from the modern world and rest quietly forever on the banks of its river. The next time I saw it, it looked old and poor but lively instead of tired. That day it looked like an old grandmother who threw on her brightest shawl and put on her reddest lipstick to go to the fair. The sun was shining hot and it was near the Eve of St. John,...