Galicia

Stretching from Ribadeo in the north to Vigo in the south, Galicia is an autonomous region in NW Spain, with a coastline of 930 miles and is home to 2.7 million people, most of whom speak Galician. It is heavily forested and has a lush, green verdant landscape reminiscent of western Ireland or Wales and, together with its strong Celtic roots, it feels quite different to central and southern regions of Spain. 

Megalithic tombs, ancient settlements, horreos (stone grain storage on stilts), houses with stones on roofs, river estuaries, sandy beaches, eucalyptus and pine forests and colourful fishing harbours all make this little corner of Spain feel so different to its drier, brasher, busier southern shores. These photos are from a trip we did in our campervan in January 2024.

It attracts nearly half a million visitors annually, many drawn to the pilgrim routes which radiate to the capital Santiago de Compostelo. Varying in length and difficulty the seven main Camino de Santiago paths cross different terrain, the most popular being the Camino Frances (French Way), a 35 day, 500 mile walk from St Jean Pied de Port in France. Some people cycle, most walk, some are travelling completely independently, others are in organised groups and are having their luggage transported to the next hotel. Each one doing it for their own personal reasons. 

Another less arduous walk is the 120 mile Camino des Faros (Lighthouse Way), from Malpica to Finisterre. We’ve seen many lighthouses on this trip from out at sea but we also did part of the northern coast lighthouse route in our campervan. There’s a huge variety of shapes, sizes and colours - many easily accessible by road or walking trail.

I was sat in the laundrette in Muxia killing time waiting for our week’s worth of stinky, salty clothes to finish their wash cycle and got chatting with a Polish guy.  He said he had walked from Bilboa and was camping enroute - now that’s dedication at this time of year! He’d been in a forest south of Muxia when the gale force winds and rain blew through on Tuesday, almost flattening his bivouac. He had treated himself to a much deserved hostel in Muxia, setting him back €10 a night and, once he’d loaded all his sodden clothes into a machine, he headed off in search of a coffee. I’m not sure how he was getting home or whether he’ll take his trusty bordón (pilgrim’s staff) with him which he left behind in the laundrette.