Our return through Spain take us through its northern coast initially, having taken the mountain route on the way across. The drive showcases ancient stone cottages with slate roofs and a specifically Galician architectural feature, ornate glassed in balconies. Even the freeway has been beautified with precise hedging dividing the lanes.
Like many of the small villages in mid afternoon, most shops are closed, but the restaurants are in full swing with patrons spilled out into the streets.
There’s a touch of ladies who lunch in the atmosphere – the favoured accessories por dia (of the day) are poodles, the tinier the better. They peak out from under tables, jackets and handbags, often “dressed” in ribbons. I think I prefer the black kitty I found.
There’s lots of explore with a coastal path that offers a series of bays and beaches, each a little more progressively wild until it’s truly wild – the Atlantic in all its glory. There’s lots to explore – rock pools full of fat green anemones with pink tipped tentacles,
We have interesting neighbours too, a group of Spanish travellers, the men determined to make friends. The insist on plying Chris with a killer homemade grappa, me with cakey treats and in the way travellers do, exchanging travel stories and tips. Quite a feat given that between us, we have around 30 communal words we understand.