An Open Mind In Galicia

Many pilgrims have followed this route through the ages. Slowlyi nching their way, by foot, to theme dievalcity of Santiago de Compostela.

- Pete Geall

Granted, not many have done so in such comfort. Riding high on life, sprinting along the well appointed motorway that skirts between the Spanish mountains of Pico de Europas and the North Atlantic. We sunk a tepid service station ceveja an hour from our destination, served by a grinning, gap-toothed attendant who recognised in us the unquenchable thirst that travel affords; forging onwards to Santiago we fired spent pepita husks out of the van window onto the rain lashed road, an offering of sorts.

We had found, in our brief sojourn through northern Spain, that the rain had not fell ‘mainly on the plains’ but mainly on top us. A sodden dark cloud had accompanied us on the lengthy drive, having that morning decided to abandon a similarly wet, yet familiar spring time Hossegor scene for the unknown path. A path which despite being well trodden for those with religious inclinations, is often ignored by surfers who favour the well plundered, but guaranteed surf riches of South West France and the Basque country.

The North West region of Spain known as Galicia, is afflicted with that unique kind of sweeping write off that surfers love to bestow on certain locales around the world. Ask a friend, even someone who hasn’t visited and they will often repeat a wellversed opinion, garnered from group think and patchy statements from the first edition Stormrider guide. ‘It is wet’ they proclaim, ‘You have to wear a 4/3 steamer and boots - In the summer! they exclaim. But so often is the case with any hard-held sentiments, if you crawl beneath the half-truths then a different picture can emerge.