It's Chestnut Time!

Chestnuts are a big deal here in Galicia. You can tell by the sheer amount of words en galego associated with them. There's a verb for specifically picking up fallen chestnuts, soutar. There are also several words to describe chestnuts that leave the spiky burr on their own, restrelo, baguto, degaro. Words to describe chestnuts that didn't quite reach their peak (also valid for potatoes), bolerca. Words for chestnuts that have been boiled with their shell, zonco, mamota. Plus Galicia's favorite autumnal event: magosto. And with such an abundance of chestnuts in the provinces of Lugo and Ourense for centuries, structures were built specifically for them. Two-storey shacks (sequeiros) can be found near some forests, used expressly for drying chestnuts. Ouriceiras are small, circular stone structures without a roof, and a narrow opening just wide enough for a person to fit in. They were used to store the chestnuts in their burrs while safeguarding them from animals such as wild boars. On a visit to Marronda Forest which has a trail lined with chestnut trees, we noticed several of these ouriceiras. If I hadn't just recently read about them, I would have thought they were some sort of castro. 

Inside an out-of-use ouriceira

Pumpkin dip and wine bowl

This year for the first time, I've spent sunny fall afternoons collecting chestnuts myself. Sixteen pounds in three days! And there are still more to be collected. Needless to say that is a lot of chestnuts for one (or even two) person. One way to eat chestnuts is boiled with milk and cinnamon. I had never tried it like that until now, and it's delicious! Like eating a bowl of cereal. Chestnuts are actually more like a grain than a nut. That's why before America was discovered, Galicians basically lived off of chestnuts. Now potatoes have become a staple, and chestnuts are reserved for autumn snacking.

With so many pounds of chestnuts collected this year, we just had to celebrate a mini-magosto of our own. I'm not even sure it could be considered a real magosto since that is traditionally saved for the first 11 days of November. We did, however, have all the necessary foods. Aside from chestnuts roasted on an open fire, we also roasted chorizo and sweet potatoes (a tradition imported by our Catalan friend) and sipped red wine. And a very festive kuri pumpkin spread, if I do say so myself. With COVID-19 looming, that may have been our only magosto for the year. 

Some of the harvest drying, but alas, not in a sequeiro

The end of summer at 💀 A Costa da Morte (the Coast of Death)

Before fall turns to winter, time to look back once again at this year's Galifornia summer. People here often compare Galicia to California (jokingly, at least) because of all the coastline and beaches. Half of Galicia's borders are with the sea. While every summer people from Galicia and parts of Spain flock to the southwest region ---the Rías Baixas-- en masse, the Costa da Morte --a little further to the north-- remains relatively unoccupied. (Perhaps because the temperature there is set at 75º F for weeks on end, whereas in the Rías Baixas it can get hot, hot, hot) This was especially true for our visit in September, when visitors from other parts of Spain had already gone back home.

In the Costa da Morte, there really is a lot to see. This time we focused on Muxía and Camariñas, leaving plenty more to be seen on future trips. My previous experience with the Costa da Morte was a visit to the end of the earth: Finisterra. Although the Romans thought it was the end of the Earth at the time, it's not even the furthest west in continental Europe. In the summer months, the last rays of sunshine can be observed from Cabo Touriñán, close to Muxía. Right next to Touriñán's lighthouse is where we spent one of the trip's sunsets. A few other groups were there for the occasion as well. But we were the only ones who came prepared with some food for a makeshift picnic. How romantic! On another night, we watched the sun dip behind Muxía and the sea from the comfort of our campsite. It's funny how an occurrence that happens literally everyday is considered ¨romantic¨ or ¨inspiring¨ when we actually take the time to acknowledge it.

Left, monument. Right, A Virxe da Barca

But back to the trip! The campground we stayed at was halfway between Muxía and Camariñas, so we took a day to explore each. Muxía is unique because it juts out as a tiny, densely-constructed peninsula. It's claim to fame, however, is a small church at the tip of said peninsula. A Virxe da Barca is built atop giant stones, rising above the sea. Legend has it that the Virgin Mary came in a stone boat to tell St James (Galicia's patron saint) to keep on spreading the word. The stones currently around the church are supposedly remnants from that holy stone boat. Very close to A Virxe da Barca is a massive stone monument, cracked in half. It recalls the oil spill of the Prestige in 2002. That was an environmental disaster that spawned the catchphrase ¨Nunca maís¨ or never again.

Even the lacemakers
wear a mask

Camariñas is another seaside town, famous for its lacemaking. We visited the Lace Museum which had some lovely patterns including some decked-out masks for the COVID-19 era. I couldn't resist shopping local and got a more subtle black mask with some simple lace on the sides for ¨formal occasions.¨ Aside from walking along the boardwalk of the Costa da Morte's biggest port, there wasn't much else to see in Camariñas. So we got in the car and headed north along the coastline.

The first stop was another lighthouse: Faro Vilán. It included a delightful little museum about lighthouses and the Costa da Morte in general. The name, evidently, comes from the amount of shipwrecks that happened along the coast in the past centuries. But what makes it so dangerous? Several factors, including the simple fact that it was on the main route between the rest of Europe and southern Spain/Portugal/the Mediterranean. More ships, more shipwrecks. The random changes in depth near the coast don't help either. Suddenly its shallower and your boat has been destroyed by the rocks. It is also said that perhaps the fierce name was used ages ago to scare off rival traders from checking out the area. Who wants to risk sailing around the Coast of Death?

Red, white, and blue (sort of)

Faro Vilán

After the lighthouse, we followed the winding dirt road to some deserted beaches. Well, actually there were a total of two people on three beaches. Continuing our journey, we some how missed the English Cemetery, where they buried the dead of a British shipwreck in 1890. One downside of the Costa da Morte being mostly unspoiled is the lack of signage. We got lost/missed the turn-off several times. They don't even have the basic signs that say ¨TOWN NAME¨ when you enter and ¨TOWN NAME¨ when you leave a place. At one point we were driving through a village but weren't even sure which it was! Good thing we kept going because our destination Camelle was the next village over.

Camelle is a parish of Camariñas with only 1,000 residents. It is noteworthy, despite its size, for the creations left by a German artist named Man. He constructed dozens of sculptures of rocks along a jetty. Unfortunately, because they are right along the sea, each year they are in worse and worse shape. Before going, they warned us that it isn't as great as it used to be. But we had no expectations to compare it to. A few curious statues are still standing. That was good enough for us. 

Remaining art by Man

On the way back to the campground we stopped at a beach. With such sunny weather on the coast, one beach a day was the minimum. Although I myself am not a huge fan, I did go in once or twice. But after the warm water in Miño spoiled me, everything else seems frigid. In the Costa da Morte we mostly stopped at beaches with few sunbathers and surrounded by forests. The campground also had a beach right below it. That was handy for the recreational fisherman who caught us something for lunch!