In the far west, green Spain turns blue. At the foot of pine and eucalyptus forests, the Death Coast hides in its sheets of fog its jagged coastline, strewn with lighthouses and heckled by winter storms.

In summer, long beaches of clear sand spread out, soon swallowed by rock, wind and ebb. Past the promontory of Cape Finisterre (with two “r”), where one would like to believe that Europe ends, another coast takes shape: softer, more populated, cut by deep rias, these river valleys reconquered by the sea , now devoted to mussel farming.

There, in well sheltered folds, cities have grown up on the trade routes of sardines and salt: Noia, Cambados, Pontevedra: so many charming stops marked with the seal of medieval, Renaissance or Baroque architecture.

For Santiago de Compostela, read our weekend idea dedicated to the city.

A Coruña and the oldest lighthouse in the world

It was in A Coruña, or Ferrol, that English pilgrims disembarking on their way to Santiago de Compostela. Little arms, these British: compared to those who walked for weeks to reach the tomb of the apostle James, they only had 72 km to travel! It remained to brave the high seas, pirates and gusts of wind. One can imagine their relief when, finally, the ruiniform lantern of the Tower of Hercules (photo) stood before their eyes…

No lighthouse in the world can take advantage of such continuity: it has been two millennia since it was built by the Romans, to prevent their ships, who came to source tin, from impaling themselves on the Death Coast. La Torre has survived the barbarian invasions and medieval dark nights to find his fire in the XVII th century; soon afterwards it was endowed with the fine apparatus of stones which is still his.

At the other end of the peninsula, the old castle of San Antón, now an archaeological museum, stands guard in front of the modern port. Above, the old town has no reason to hide on the heights: the plague victims and filibusters have disappeared. There remains a short interlacing of steep alleys, winding between the igrexa Santiago and the Colexiata Santa María do Campo – each as beautifully Romanesque as the other.

At tapas time, the heart sways. Here, the cool oasis of the praza Xeneral Azcárrega, in the shade of the plane trees and magnolias. Below, the urban theater of the very baroque praza de María Pita, invaded by terraces.

A world of wild coasts

Forget the playas del Orzán and the Riazor, seaside HQ of A Coruña. No sooner have the hideous suburbs disappeared from the rearview mirror than a world of wild coastlines takes shape. Here is the lagoon and dunes of Baldaio, the carpet of sand and the pine forest of Praia de Baldarés, the lighthouse and the short chaotic cliffs of Punta Roncudo lulled by the waning light of day.

The Coast of Death is like that: we don’t really visit it, we rather peck, from one place to another, a beautiful image, a moment of pleasure or solitude, a swim, a fresh breeze in the nose.

In Traba, we would forget ourselves for a moment. Some are tempted, who camp in their combi or their motorhome, roof clad with boards and kite wings. Leaning against the fields, the immense beach stretches towards the horizon, delimited by plump rollers and peaks in dragons’ spines.

At the edge of the small port of Camelle, the improbable granite sculptures of Manfred Gnadinger stand in front of the waves. A long-term backpacker who has become a hermit, the old German lived here in a makeshift hut for more than 40 years, assembling pebbles rolled by the surf like a postman.

Local authorities speak pompously of the Museo do Alemán (photo). It is much better than that: a corner of crude and ephemeral art that returns to nature since the death of the old man.

The English Cemetery

The adventure begins soon after, towards the hamlet of Arou, thrown on a hostile side of the coast, facing a beach strewn with large rocks. No port here: the men must pass the point to find their boats, asleep on a sample of strike sheltered from a flotilla of islets.

The prettiest way to reach Camariñas, the Ruta do Litoral hugs the coast, moves away from it, returns there, gradually abandoning the tar for the clay.

Faithful to its myths, it suddenly plunges into the fog, opaque to the point of obliterating the pitfalls which, one day in November 1890, sent the HMS Serpent deep down. Despite the proximity of the coast, only 3 of the 175 sailors on board survived: those who had put on their life jackets. It is after this catastrophe, it is said, that the Royal Navy made them compulsory … Old empty walls of tombs contain the bones of the disappeared in the English Cemetery.

A stone’s throw away, the wind is so strong that it caused the sand to flow back to the top of the mountains, creating the astonishing “rising” of the Enseada do Trece (204 m).

Later, too late, the Spanish authorities erected the lighthouse at C abo Vilán, which guards the entrance to the Camariñas estuary. Well sheltered from swells, the eponymous port still lives to the rhythm of the unloading of sardines – which roast on the sidewalks, facing the cafes on the seafront.

The ocean, at the end of the pilgrimage

The tradition, going back to medieval times, is in full resurrection: arrived in Saint-Jacques-de-Compostelle, some pilgrims continue their journey to the ocean.

Many first reach Padrón, a quiet little town where, beneath the altar of the church, sits an improbable witness to legend: the stone mooring dick to which the boat carrying the body of Saint James would have been moored from Palestine…

Some prefer Muxía in honor of the Virxe da Barca, sheltered in his austere sanctuary (XVIII e s) licked by breaking winter storms. Then they go along the coastal paths, passing the flat moors of Cape Touriñán on the way to Nemiña (pretty beach) and the ultimate goal of their wanderings: Cape Finisterre.

Geographically speaking, the Portuguese Cabo da Roca is located further west. But, in ancient times, it was believed that the world ended here, facing the gray blue of the Atlantic. Faith mixes in these places with myths – and especially with that of Ara Solis, this “stone of the sun” adored by the Celts, at the place where the declining star of the day slides behind the horizon.

At the end of their efforts, the pilgrims burned their clothes on the long and beautiful praia Langosteira, at the eastern entrance to the port of Fisterra. Then they let themselves slide into the water to complete their purification ritual. Washed of their ultimate sins, they were ready, at last, to set out again in search of a new life.

Head for the Rías Baixas

After Cape Finisterre, a new Galicia is emerging, softer, more populated. The coastline here is cut by five large river valleys invaded by the sea, the Rías Baixas. They are bordered by small ports and towns. The landscapes, in the hues of watercolors, alternate wild portions, muddy tidal flats and seaside areas a little too developed.

In Carnota, in Lira, two funny birds stand on their heavy stilts: the longest hórreos in Galicia. If these amazing stone granaries on stilts, intended to protect the corn harvests, bloom along the roads of the region, none reaches such proportions: 34.80 m long in Carnota, 36.50 m in Lira!

In the depths of its ría, the port of Noia experienced a prosperous period in the Middle Ages. There remains a nice historic center, watched over by an army of saints and old musicians adorning the Gothic portal of its cathedral. Beyond, we go back in time even more: clinging to a promontory islet, the castro de Baroña (photo) is one of those fortified Celtic villages that dotted the Galician coast.

A little further, the pretty pine forests fade to make way for bare, warm coasts where the sand is piled up. In the Corrubedo Natural Park, the dunes run endlessly towards the estuary of the Rio do Mar, where the paradisiacal Praia da Ladeira is spread.

The longest moving dune in Spain stretches here, 1.3 km long. In the background, two lagoons create oases for migratory birds.

Cambados, capital of albariño wine

Partially closed by the O Grove peninsula, the ría de Arousa, the largest of all, forms like a small inland sea on which float several islands – and a multitude of bateas, these platforms used for mussel farming.

Widely seaside, it lets glimpse, in the south, immense tidal flats and sandbanks, where the mariscadoras strive, day after day, to collect cockles and clams.

Anchored on the eastern flank of the bay, Cambados brings you back to the Spanish Golden Age. We enter it as in a theater on the remarkable square of Fefiñáns (photo), framed on two sides by the palace of the same name, with sublime Plateresque architecture (Renaissance).

Cambados is the capital of albariño, an excellent little fruity white wine that is drunk under Galician arbors … A museum is dedicated to it and a party is even dedicated to it, at the end of July.

But nothing beats browsing the cellars and vineyards of Pazo a Capitana, a handsome fortified manor of the XVII th century the area fenced. Alongside the albariño, an amazing espadeiro is produced there, made from a black grape variety typical of the Miño region. It is still produced, as in the past, in an impressive rough stone press, four centuries old.

Timeless villages

The north coast of the Pontevedra estuary leads, like a funnel, to Combarro. If shops and restaurants have invaded the coastal street, the town retains an ineffable charm with its stone hórreos (photo) perched on the very edge of the estuary.

In the background, old calvaries stand on as many tiny plots drowned in the laurel pink and bougainvillea. Christ looks serenely towards the land, the Virgin, more worried, towards the sea.

Barely leaving the coast, another world opens up, more serene. Pines and eucalyptus cover sierras with intertwined nipples, where villages and hamlets are scattered. In Armenteira, in Poio, monasteries draw time brackets. Time goes by without an hourglass, punctuated by the tears of rain gradually eroding the Romanesque, Gothic and Baroque sculptures that bloom on the stone.

Further on, in Soutomaior, a proud medieval castle clings to the past, its machicolations well cut out against the blue of the Galician sky. Feudal par excellence, this bastion has softened a shy Gothic loggia, added to the XIX th century, which opens on the lawn of the first enclosure. It is accessed, as in the past, by a short drawbridge.

Vigo and Pontevedra, rival cities

The elegance of the emblazoned squares and houses of its historic center testifies to this: Pontevedra was once the most important city in the south of Galicia. Enriched by the sardine trade in the Middle Ages, she saw the construction of the Santa María, the flagship of Christopher Columbus.

Then Pontevedra sank, little by little, into the doldrums of the sand. Better situated at the mouth of its estuary, Vigo supplanted it when the ships, growing larger, needed a port in deep waters.

Pontevedra has not lost its zest for life. Pontevedra dá de beber a quen pasa, says the saying, in Galician. In the evening, it’s true, the crowd invades the terraces of the praza da Leña (photo) and the nearby praza da Verdura, where firewood and vegetables were once sold. Tapa to tapa, from bar to bar, the center, largely pedestrian, does not fall asleep before dawn.

The great museums, monasteries and, above all, the splendid basílica de Santa María la Mayor should not be overlooked. Responding to the Plateresque facade, a rare Romanesque counter-portal is adorned with around forty scenes from the Old and New Testaments.

Vigo certainly does not have the same charm. First fishing port in Europe, the city vibrates to the sound of cranes unloading giant trawlers and container ships. Drowned under a gangue of more or less unsightly modernity, the old district of O Berbés has retained a little something of an intermix, with its steep alleys and its itinerant vendors.

But we stop specially to visit the interesting Museo do Mar de Galicia, installed in an old cannery, on the outskirts.

The Cies Islands

Off the Rías Baixas, floats around twenty islands and islets of granite. Since 2002, four of these archipelagos have been part of the parque nacional marítimo terrestrial das illas atlánticas de Galicia, covering more than 83 km 2 (including only 12 km 2 of land). Some have always remained uninhabited, but others, such as Ons and Cíes, saw their village gradually evacuated from its population.

Accessible from Vigo, Baiona or Cangas, the Cíes Islands (4.3 km 2) are among the most beautiful. We land there at the end of the praia das Rodas, a long tongue of white sand closing a brackish water lagoon, elected in 2007 as one of the 10 most beautiful beaches in the world by the Guardian!

On the right, a path leads to the nice praia das Figueiras, shaded by large eucalyptus trees, where you can easily do without a swimsuit. On the other hand, it is difficult to climb to the Faro de Cíes, perched on the top of a promontory (175 m), by an open path climbing in hairpins. From this eagle’s nest, a magnificent view is discovered of the ocean and the harrow of cliffs on the west coast.

A branch of the path descends to the smaller Faro da Porta, crossing the nesting areas of the leucopheus gull. There are hundreds of them nesting here. Tireless, the parents take turns to bring back the fish required by the young speckled brown. While waiting to be able to fly in their turn, they enjoy a breathtaking panorama of the South Island and the entrance to the Vigo estuary.

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