A Guiri in Galicia - part two

Saturday March the 19th

The beautiful Corcubión estuary as viewed from Cee beach

After adding another type of animal to the collection of things I've eaten in my time, the surprises during our weekend up north just kept on coming. Never having been to the area before, I had a vague idea what to expect but to describe Galicia as pretty would be like calling Shakira reasonably attractive. It really is a green and pleasant land. With cooler summers and more rainfall than many other parts of Spain, the verdant countryside is a delightful mix of pine forests, rolling hills and charming little villages. Our base for the weekend, Cee, whilst being a small sized coastal town with a population of around eight thousand, was no less agreeable and proved the perfect place to stay. Cee is the largest of several different settlements along either bank of the ría de Corcubión, itself more of a large, tidal inlet of the Atlantic Ocean than any kind of estuary, and the principal town of Cee county, (Comarca). In such pleasant surrroundings the relaxed feel to our time away began almost immediately.

A scary drop of stuff

First port of call on Saturday was the quaint and quite tiny fishing village of Camariñas, where, following a leisurely stroll around the harbour punctuated by a late morning coffee, we retired to an absolutely fabulous harbour side restuarant. What awaited was a sumptuous two hour feast of locally caught fish, which, no doubt at all was happily swimming around without a care in the world just a few hours earlier. The only stuff fresher was still in the water! As is customary in Spain, meals are invariably followed by a complimentary liqueur and this establishment was no different. I must have eaten a wee bit too much because I failed to spot the clues on the bottle which was labelled HIJOPUTA, itself very similar to a grave insult in Spanish, and featured a bowl of flame. I was about to sample for the first time Orujo, a Galician speciality and the hottest thing I've ever drunk. Anywhere! Years ago I used to own a knackered up old Datsun, if this loopy juice had been around then I swear I could have rust-proofed the entire vehicle. Once I'd got used to it though, the third and fourth shots went down a treat and I was feeling no pain.


Short sighted stupidity caused an ecological disaster

With my vocal chords almost frazzled by the local equivalemt of hydrochloric acid, the next stop on our itinerary was one of my favourite parts of the weekend and the scene, amongst many other similar locations, of an entirely avoidable ecological disaster the region was fortunate ever to recover from. In November 2002 an ageing Greek tanker m/v Prestige which should never have been certified as safe to put to sea, was caught in a storm off the Spanish coast, and, fearing for the safety of his vessel and crew the captain requested assistance from the Spanish authorities. This was denied and he was ordered to steer away from the coast north into French territorial waters, the French too declined to offer help, instead ordering the stricken vessel south towards the coast of Portugal who sent naval frigates to prevent it approaching any nearer. The stand off continued for six days with the, by now, badly damaged tanker barely afloat 250 kilometres out to sea. Finally, it broke in half and sank, releasing millions of gallons of oil into the ocean, most of which was washed ashore over the coming days with the Galician coastline bearing the brunt of the contamination.


Spring 2003 left - Spring 2011 right

Fast forward eight and a bit years and little trace remains of the blinkered self interest and bungling of the three different nations involved. Thousands of volunteers risked their health over many months, defying the threat from carconogenic oil residues, to restore the area to it's outstanding, almost unspoilt, natural beauty. Thanks to their hard working and unselfish efforts, I was able to stand close to the waters edge, camera in hand feeling the spray in my face from mountainous waves driven ashore by the gale force Atlantic winds. Unfortunately, in my eagerness to capture that perfect shot, I slipped on the rocks and tore the arse out of my jeans; thereafter I was compelled to endure something of a pretty drafty next couple of hours. Nothing to do with that fifth tumbler of rocket fuel. Honest!