Next,
it's back to the coast and the town of Avilés. This has a hellish
hinterland of old industry, all smoking chimneys and rusting sheds.
These northern provinces, iron- and coal-rich, were Spain's major
workshop and the industry still clings on. But the town itself has a
rather fine medieval core, with colonnaded streets, small squares and
many noble palaces, a nice size to wander around at random.
We stayed in the
Palacio de Avilés, now an NH hotel, which has a lovely interior,
with grand staircases and wide, tapestried passages. There is a
formal garden and a park behind, and the hotel faces onto the main
square, with the grand facade of the town hall opposite. The
restaurant provided one of the best bargains of the trip, with a
fixed price meal of three courses for 20 euros, including water and
wine. Santiago, our extremely friendly young waiter, insisted on
filling up our glasses frequently; and they obviously had a chef who
cared, with some mouth watering offerings.
Nearby is a
beautiful beach, at Salinas, unfortunately backed by insensitive 70s
residential blocks, but great for a long walk on the blustery, grey
day we were there.
We also
visited Gijón (Xixón in the local language), a lively town with
some fine very early Romanesque churches, set on rocky promontory
between two beaches. There is a bagpipe museum: we gave it a miss.
Our road, the A8,
continued to burrow through mountains and fly over wide estuaries as
we travelled on into Spain's most remote community, Galicia. This
region has a strong Celtic heritage, with a fondness for cider and
bagpipes (smaller and more tuneful than the Scottish variety) much in
evidence. In this northern part of Spain you can find many
red-headed, pale skinned individuals who would look perfectly at home
in Scotland or Ireland. Each of the autonomous communities has its
own language these days, although judging from the roadsigns,
Asturian is not so different from Castilian (though they call it
Bablé, which may be a joke). However, Galician is closer to
Portuguese and the two can understand each other. We passed rapidly
along this far north western coast to A Coruña, a bustling port
city.
The medieval core
was built defensively on a rocky peninsula. Some pleasant streets
here but signs of neglect with many empty buildings, especially on
the less fashionable side where we stayed, which however has a very
nice beach. There are signs that the local authority has put a lot
of money in recent years into the port side of the city, with many
smart bars facing onto newly renovated streetscape by a marina and in
the nearby vast pedestrian square, Praza María Pita. She was a
local heroine who rallied the troops when Sir Francis Drake attempted
to invade the city, home port of the Armada.
In fact, the
English and this town have a lot of 'previous'. It was the main
port for trade with England, and for English pilgrims going to
Santiago, and John of Gaunt was married to a Galician princess and
tried to take over the throne. His descendants included Isabella,
the Catholic Monarch. It was also the site of a Dunkirk-style
retreat by British forces during the Napoleonic wars.
Just behind the
port esplanade is a network of narrow streets crammed with tapas
bars, and crammed with people too at the weekend when we were there.
This is how the locals eat: in fact, there are very few formal
restaurants. We happened upon a delightful bar where a well tattooed
staff member chatted and guided us through the options, not just the
traditional tapas basics but many innovative options too, including a
delicious ceviche. Very nice, and she also recommended an excellent
and cheap bottle of the local vino tinto.
We walked around
the head of the peninsula, which is a little bleak in places, with
some ill conceived municipal housing, but features the Torre de
Hércules, a huge foursquare stone tower, which claims to be the
world's oldest functioning lighthouse. Its core is second century
Roman, although it has been overbuilt over the years. It is now a
world heritage site.
We took a side trip
from A Coruña to Cap Finisterra – 'the end of the world' – in
the far NW corner of Spain. This is also the end of the line for the
keener pilgrims who, not content with trekking on foot to Santiago de
Compostela, carry on a few days, some of them burning their boots
when they get here! You could understand how this once felt like the
end of the world.
We also visited one
of the best beaches we have ever encountered, hidden and untouched,
with just a boardwalk across the marshes behind, near Carnota, just
to the south. So good that we came back next day en route to
Santiago and found ourselves literally the only people on the beach.
A perfect crescent of soft white sand, backed by marram grassed
dunes, with the wild Atlantic waves crashing in. Above Carnota on a
remote mountain road amidst a forest of elegant wind turbines, we
found a fantastic panorama back to the cape and the sparkling sea, an
eagle's view of this rugged coast.
