Spanish views from a small town

I was in luck. Yesterday the sun decided to peep from behind the clouds just a little bit, lightening up our souls. So, despite the work awaiting him preparing the firewood for the chopper this summer, my husband suggested going for a trip. He had been told by friends that Viana do Castelo in Portugal was pretty, so he wanted to see for himself.  We discovered pretty soon that most people on our side of the border had decided to go to that side of the border. On the road to Viana after getting off the tollway, we went into stop-and-slowly-go mode before Vilanova de Cerveira. Normally, the road is quick, but not yesterday. It seemed there were more cars with Spanish license plates on the other side of the Miño than on this side. I think some of the local Portuguese are also lamenting the tourist boom. After we left behind the coastal road, and embarked on the highway into Viana, traffic had become fluid again. We even found a place to park a small walk away from the center wit...

Monday was another one of those days I chose to wander. Unfortunately, late March can be tricky. Other years there would have been much more green. This year, however, green is starting to show its face along the warmer coast. Where I wandered, in the interior amidst the mountains, the green is still waiting for the white to melt. This prompted me to keep driving, and I didn't enjoy the trip as much, except for the moments of glee when I saw the highest peaks wearing their snowy hats. My trip, this time, wound through the Xurés mountains, into Portugal, and back into the province of Ourense, through the Couto Mixto. I began the visit in Bande, and finished in Bande. After leaving the motorways, I stopped at the reservoir in Porta Quintela, Bande. That is where the remains of a very large Roman camp lie, Aquis Querquennis (water of the Quercenni, a local tribe, probably oak worshippers of some kind). Unfortunately, Franco's love of creating reservoirs swamped it underwater. On...

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 a...

This week I have vacation. Today is my mental health day. This time, however, my husband convinced me to spend the night, as well. So I am ensconced in a lovely rural pension in the tiny town of Santa Colomba de Somoza in the Maragatería, León. There is an area in the province of León, roughly stretching from Ponferrada to Astorga, that is know as the Maragatería because that is where the Maragatos traditionally lived. These lands are rough and unyielding, so the people that settled here dedicated themselves to being the original truck drivers and transport specialists from the Middle Ages to around the nineteenth century, when the train tracks were finally laid down to Galicia. Every house here has a large portal that originally led to the stables. In them were kept various horses and mules, along with the other farm animals. Those helped them transport their goods from one point of Spain to the other. The most known route, though, led from Betanzos next to A Coruña, to Madrid....

There is a beautiful corner of the coast to the south of us called A Costa da Vela. It's to the north of Vigo, almost opposite the Cíes Islands, sentinels that guard the entrance to the Ría de Vigo. There are some villages scattered about, but the coast that faces the islands is a cliff area, fal ling in a steep slope down to rocks and crashing waves below. Al most along the middle of the coast is a small hill called Monte do Facho. Although it's not even two hundred meters above sea level, it dominates the coast line. And that is why it used to have a lighthouse at its summit. It's also the reason for its name. Facho re fers to a bundle of firewood and hay tied together and used to give ligh t . It (and feixe, which simply means a bundle tied together) come s from the Latin fascis , a bundle, fagot, or burden. Rather than being used as a regular lighthouse, it was used as a warning light . From the top of Monte do Facho you can see for miles up and down the coast....