(Posting this from a slow wifi cafe in Ferrol which is a great little city.... access to email, internet and wifi is really not easy where we are.... But the scenery is amazing. JWTurner would have loved the whole atmosphere).
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We're staying up on the hillside
above Pontedeume now, PG to the Finnises who have rented a bare stone house
with a view over the valley, and a primal hush apart from about one car an hour
going past. Last night we watched someone's wedding-party fireworks down on the
edge of the town. The little dawg was frightened, trembling. Only a hour or so
before, the thunder and lightning had bashed down around us, in another of the
torrential rains which keep this district so green, and give life to the mossy,
ferny Fraga (Atlantic rain forest).
That is where we went today -
nosing through the prosperous suburbs and little farms, and then up the side of
the mountain, snaking along beside the river which dropped down below us, dark
and green, with great boulders interrupting the silky smooth surface. We were heading for the other monastery
(having seen Monfero the other day). Here you can approach only on foot, or by
bus - but they are not clever at telling you you must have a ticket to board
the bus until you have driven a mile or so past the ticket office. The ticket is free, but obligatory. We shuttled back down to get our tickets, and
scramble onto the half-empty charabanc which proceeded back up the narrow
river-side road, forcing hardy pedestrians onto the precipitous verges, or to
squeeze into the rockface on the upper side.
Disgorging, we cross the river far beneath, and breathe in the delicious
fragrant forest air. All around are ferns and mosses of every colour and
size.
The path up to the monastery
(Caaveiro) is quite steep, about a kilometer according to me, and made of
lovely end-on slate slabs. We are the only English around, and most other
people seem to be Galician rather than Spanish. The monastery was built and
rebuilt during various ages on a promontory between the Eume and a smaller
river, all this way high up, with waterfalls and cliffs all around. That geeky
urgent pious urge to hermitise in groups pushed them to attempt the
almost-impossible. It reminds me of photos of Chinese monasteries. A series of
sturdy stone halls and accommodations are linked with steep steps and tiny
courtyards. The chapel is pleasingly simple. Modern intrusions of gantries and
stairwells are made of iron or steel, and clang and ping as you clamber up or
down. A few books and faded display
cases reveal remarkably little. On a
side 'road', down the other side, is the remnant edifice of a watermill which
must have been very exciting when it worked - grinding chestnuts perhaps, or
the faces of the poor.
We ordered a little bocadillo and
glass of water, stomped back down to the bus which was jam packed this time, and
rocked back to the carpark. The forests are so steep, and human activity so
tightly confined to the road, that any wild animals (reputedly boar, stags,
wildcats etc) must feel pretty much free to do what they want as long as they
stay away from the road, and don’t mind standing at an extreme angle on the
ground.
Back to town - a trip to Mr
Wong's amazing supermarket to buy a couple of extra pillows, and some nails -
and then a snack lunch at Zas - berberechos, anchovies in vinegar and zorza y
patates. Madame makes a kiss to us all with her fingertips because we all three
have blue eyes ('ochos azul').
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