The Great Iberian Road Trip, Days 32 to 33: Halfway Round In Santiago

At the half-way point of our road trip, we can honestly say that Galicia has been a revelation. From the majestic sweeping slopes down to spectacular wide sandy spaces at the shore, to the charming fishing villages with their alluring restaurants; from the tiny coves with their secluded beaches and rocky outcrops, to the endless forests and valleys leading to the rivers that nourish this precious landscape, Galicia is a region overlooked in favour of the lowest common denominator, such as the Costa Del Sol or Mallorca.

It might not always be sunny here, but that’s all part of the charm – we don’t come here to just lie all day on beaches or beside pools and get slowly marinated in sangria, gin or beer. Nothing fills me with horror more than ending up in a concrete jungle like Torremolinos or Benidorm surrounded by the very people I’ve come here to avoid. I like entering restaurants where I am confronted by unfamiliarity; I like walking through streets where I can smell someone’s meal being cooked; I enjoy learning about local features from people I meet; I love sitting on benches or in cafés watching the denizens go about their daily routines; but most of all, I crave new experiences – I live for them, really.

So on Wednesday 31 July 2024, we set off for Santiago de Compostela. You hear about people who have walked the entire northern coast of Spain to reach this fabled city. So at the end of it, you expect to find a welcoming and peaceful place which will have made the whole walk worthwhile. And I have to say, on the whole, if I were a pilgrim having reached Santiago, I would immediately feel an overwhelming sense of relief.

Santiago de Compostela has the same vibe as other cities catering to the long-distance traveller: Zakopane, Innsbruck, Bad Tölz, Fort William, but as a centre of pilgrimage, is not as creepy as other religious destinations, such as Częstochowa, Rome or Lourdes. Especially Lourdes. My word, that place gave me the frissons. The ancient narrow streets made me think of Canterbury or York, the small squares took me to Como or Metz.

There were overhanging vines and trees shading courtyards with some incredibly attractive cafés or leisure areas. It radiated a welcoming air of tranquillity. But what stood out the most is, unlike those other religious destinations, none of the hostelries I passed wanted to rip off their visitors. In fact, quite the opposite – the workers in the three establishments we visited were all incredibly hospitable. I understood that they were aware the vast majority of those coming to their city were not of the richer sort that had the money to pay for top-notch accommodation. These were walkers who would always conglomerate in the least pretentious-looking inn and enjoy the company of like-minded strangers.

On the other hand, it’s not a city to spend a long time in. There is a limit to the number of narrow streets you can walk along without circling back on yourself. In the four or five hours we were there, I passed the same Danish family three times; they were just going in the other direction. However, there was a certain symmetry to the city that I enjoyed, and I would have loved to have spent more time there, but unfortunately, the children were becoming annoying.

I had parked in an underground facility about two minutes from the cathedral itself, and upon stepping out into the light, which had been sorely missing back at the murky, misty coast, we started our walk on a positive note. But as time went on, Dainoris and Milda slipped into their usual Tom & Jerry routine, much to the chagrin of Livia and us parents. But still, I managed to block out their constant chasing long enough to identify a decent place for lunch.

It's a sign of the type of city you are in when the senior serving staff begin by asking which language you wish to be addressed in. As a good innkeeper, he started in English, but I insisted on speaking to him in Spanish until he gave up. This is all part of Being Somewhere Else: I don’t think you can fully immerse yourself wherever you are until you are able to at least understand some of the written language, but preferably also the spoken. I don’t mean you need to be fully conversant, but what’s the point in going to a place if you can’t recognise the items on a menu or you can’t read signposts? Of course, I’ve known Spanish since I was 13, but he wasn’t to know that. He was doing his job, making me feel welcome.

While we perused the menu, the usual pandemonium broke out, resulting in the breaking of a bottle of juice and the spilling of their mother’s coffee. I more or less roasted Dainoris alive, although he felt quite ashamed without my reaction. Anyway, Bonny Bee ordered an elaborate chicken sandwich, the kids had some egg and chips. The menu was quite sophisticated and attractive, but in all the distractions I hadn’t had the opportunity to properly choose something and I asked for a large chorizo roll. When it came, that’s all it was – two dry pieces of bread and some chorizo slices inside. I was bitterly disappointed in my own lack of focus, and I didn’t blame anyone but myself. Some people like that type of food, but I personally prefer some lubrication with it: butter, remoulade or mayonnaise, some salad, tomatoes, maybe vinaigrette… but no, not this time. Hopefully better luck when we found a café for dessert.

We paid and continued our walk around the historical part of the city, which was actually larger than I expected, until Dainoris became unbearable: screaming, laughing, using me and his mother as obstacles to prevent Milda from catching him, and other obnoxious mischief. I wasn’t going to stand for it any longer – sometimes, the little scoundrels need to know you mean it when you dangle the Veiled Threat at them. Having told him numerous times that he wouldn’t get a dessert if he carried on, when we arrived at an enchanting café in a courtyard, we ordered for us and the two girls. Dainoris sat there and watched everything.

Now… when I say he wasn’t happy, this is not even scratching the surface of his fury. His face was so red, he could have stopped the traffic on a busy road. He was making noises that sounded like a muezzin’s call to prayer, but which attracted the attention of more people. But once the acceptance kicked in, he just let it happen and became extraordinarily contrite. Since then, he has calmed down somewhat, but the whole incident kind of put a dampener on the visit. Bonny Bee and I were virtually ready to curtail the trip and just go back to thrust them in front of the TV.

But instead, we found a playground for them to let a little steam off. I think it was for the best – get a lot of the bad energy out. After a while, we headed to the car park, and drove home in relative silence. Everyone was asleep, except the driver… We passed some really beautiful villages, hills and valleys, forests, bays and harbours on the way back.

Dropping them at the apartment, I decided to head to the bakery where we picked up the keys, as they have some excellent bread. Rocio was there, and she was glad to see me. I asked for one of their ring loaves and noticed some of the tempting homemade cakes. This place was not the usual pâtisserie in that it was very unpretentious and down-to-earth both in service and in the wares. I asked for five of their square crème patissière pastries and she added another five tubular ones plus some orange sponge cake and a shorter and wider baguette-type loaf, all on the house. And when I came to pay, she said they only took cash, but I was three euro short.

“No problem, I’m sure we’ll get by!” came her cheery response. I will never get used to such pure-hearted selflessness, and here was just the same. While I was in there, a man walked in who addressed me in English. He seemed to know who I was – I think he was in the café the other day, but I can’t be sure. It turned out he was from Valencia too, and we frequented some of the same places. How weird was that?!

The first day of August crept up on us so suddenly. It signified the halfway point of our circumnavigation of the Iberian Peninsula. We have been to four of the nine locations I have lined up for us, and we will be heading south to Portugal, a country I have never visited but have heard lots of good things.

For our last day, we spent most of it relaxing in the apartment. The weather was cloudy most of the day but by about 5, the sun peeked out and we took one last trip to Fisterra to visit Batidor, the Hungarian café with the exquisite cakes. And my goodness, what an array of fineness there was. Livia took a pure chocolate cake; Milda had a crème patissière with a biscuit pastry topping; Bonny Bee and Dainoris shared a chocolate sponge roll, and I decided to have three medium- and small-sized cakes, including a cherry filo roll that will remain long in the memory, a baked plum tart, and a tarta de Santiago, all of which were paradigms of first-class bakery.

These days I don’t usually gorge myself on food like I used to – in fact, I am 10 kilograms lighter than this time last year. And in the last month, I shed three of those kilograms, so this was a reward for my perseverance. My night swimming in the sea, the daily walking, the heaving of heavy bags every few days, and my own reduced appetite, have all left me getting nicely slimmer.

Later that evening, I packed the car with most of our larger belongings, and took a last walk to the beach for a night swim. It felt a little creepier than usual, I don’t know why. I just had the feeling there was another presence in the cove. The tide was out and I decided not to swim as the sea was shallow for quite a long way, so I went for a walk to the other end on the main beach. With the tide so low, I could reach it from the cove without going back to the road. The night before there had been several fishers lined up along the water’s edge, but not tonight. There was the square root of nobody.

When I returned to the cove (which I shouldn’t have done – I should have left via the main exit on the larger beach), access to the road is via a short but steep incline to a path between a hedge and a stone wall, just wide enough for two people. It was at this point that whatever was there made itself known. I heard a thumping from behind me on the beach. I hurried up the path pointing my torch down behind me to make sure nobody (or nothing) was following me. I am very experienced in making a connection to the spirits, who are often benevolent and harmless, but this was a different feeling altogether.

And now on our road trip, we make our way southwards.

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