Santiago de Compostela
September 19 – 26, 2022
Monday – Tuesday – Wednesday – Thursday – Friday – Saturday – Sunday – Monday
Sunday – Santo Estevo – Santiago de Compostela
Map Link
Despite my misgivings about the wedding reception interfering with my sleep, no such thing happened. I slept like a baby on what was our second to last night of the tour. Today we would end up back in Santiago de Compostela, return the keys to our bikes and pack our gear. But wait! I’m getting ahead of myself: we still had a day of riding ahead of us.
Breakfast was the usual affair: buffet with no planned meeting time, yet most of us ended up in the restaurant together and sat near to each other. There was an interesting feature at all of our breakfasts on this tour: bamboo tongs. I don’t know if this is a Spanish thing, a post-Covid thing, or a Parador thing. The point is, every breakfast setting had a bent bamboo stick that was to be used to select your food from the buffet:
It was a clever way to make sure that people didn’t touch everything on the buffet, and I appreciated that even though they were single-use, they were not plastic. Most of all, I appreciated not having someone else’s grubby fingers all over my tasty breakfast pastries!
We were leaving Santo Estevo shortly after the sun had started to light up the sky. Of course at this time of year, that isn’t a terribly early time. We were pulling our bikes out of the depths of the parking garage by 9 am and riding back up the hill, leaving the ancient village behind us. Hana had promised us a different route than our bumpy entry roads, and for that we were all thankful.
There was the tiniest bit of backtracking but then a wild left turn appeared! We were heading down to the Sil River and the road there was buried in the forested hillsides.
Capela de Santa Maria
Working our way down to the river
Approaching the Ribeira Sacra Overlook – which we did not stop at
Early sighting of the Santo Estevo dam infrastructure
This was a most excellent way to start the day. It was cool (about 11° C) but the road surface was dry, clean and smooth. As we were losing elevation, it was taking longer for the sun to reach us, but eventually it climbed high enough to bath us in its feeble warmth. The landscape was a mix of dry vegetation and bare, rough rocks. The group established its morning pecking order, with me near the back to catch the photos that I could. I admit that I was enjoying this section a little too much to really care about taking more pictures. Plus, I was kept on my toes as the road stayed high above the river, cutting into the slope and following every little bend and twist of the canyon walls.
Riding through the Iberdrola-Presa de San Pedro hydroelectric power plant
Tight squeeze
The Sil River transformed into the Minho River and its demeanor changed: it was now much wider and more languid and the road adapted accordingly. We had left behind the secretive forest road and joined a high-speed, high traffic one. It being a lovely Sunday morning in a more populated area, there were now many sport bikes to wave to as they sped by.
The “parking area” signs always makes me think of a person sitting on a toilet, reading the newspaper
Deep shadows at the river’s edge
As we entered the city of Ourense I had a sense of déjà vu: the name sounded familiar, and as I saw the bridges that spanned the Minho it suddenly looked familiar. We had stayed here in 2017 and had taken the time to explore the vibrant waterfront that the city offered. Not this time: we rode directly through the city and continued on our way, back into the rural countryside.
Photo from our visit in 2017
It was a rather uneventful morning. We left the river and cities behind and crossed through a hilly region made up of forests and fields as we continued west. Today lunch would be on the Atlantic coast! The sun had finally made a full appearance and was busy burning off the residual clouds that were low over the landscape. Our route had left behind the more popular and heavily trafficked areas and we once again had the morning to ourselves.
¡Buenos días señora!
Entering Pontevedra
Pontevedra: Ponte dos Tirantes
The approach to the roundabout at the Ponte dos Tirantes bridge was proceeded by a sharp turn further back in the city. Mac and Micah were last in line and they got caught at a red light at that turn. But we weren’t going straight through at the roundabout, and Hana needed to make sure that we didn’t lose anyone with this change of direction. Hana’s solution to waiting for them wasn’t to pull over (which was fair, since there was no where to pull over on this busy road), but instead to go into the roundabout – and not exit.
We were a parade of motorcycles going around and around and around, trying to stay out of the way of the thru traffic but still keeping ourselves together as we waited for the approach of the last two motorcycles. And then they appeared and we all made our exit, out along the Lérez River and on to the last few miles before we were greeted by the dark blue of the Atlantic.
Crossing the Lérez River in Pontevedra
Colorful hotel near the coast
We reached the Atlantic shortly after Pontevedra and then fought our way through little coastal town after little coastal town. It was the same when I was here before: a narrow road, lots of businesses and feeder roads, and a high number of vehicles of all kinds. It was a little frustrating, but I split my attention between the traffic and the views.
Although we were following the coast, it was not a “flat” road. Instead, it went from being almost level with the shore to gaining enough elevation to give us views like this one:
Mirador A Granxa at – you guessed it! – A Granxa
A rare (partial) group shot at the view point
We did not follow the coast all the way to our lunch destination of Cambados. Instead we shot north and cut off the rest of little peninsula that we were on. On one hand, it was disappointing not to see more of the coast, but on the other hand, it was nice to get away from the coastal town traffic. But inland roads are cool, and the one we were on was close enough to the water to still give some interesting variety to the landscape. I found that the architectural style was slightly different than other regions we had ridden through. I suspect that this little corner of Galicia was isolated enough from other areas that it was able to keep a hold on its own identity.
Tidal flats / estuaries
Someone likes their granary
Wood shingled siding
It wasn’t much further when Hana pulled into a large, mostly empty parking lot. We were in Cambados and it was time to enjoy some fresh seafood! We parked the bikes and, like little ducklings, followed Hana and David as they led us towards the center of the town. As it was in Potes, there was no set location for our meal, but this time Dan and I decided to stick with Hana and David and eat where they ate.
Our guides
The heart of Cambados
The Canadians took seats at an outdoor area on a main pedestrian street, with Mac and Micah following them. Hana, David and Dan stopped instead to check out the street vendor offering up freshly steamed mussels. They couldn’t resist and bought a plate to munch on while we decided where to eat.
A clever device to split open the mussels
We took a table near the mussel vendor and placed our orders for lunch. More mussels were consumed and the four of us enjoyed a nice quiet conversation. It was good to be able to talk with our guides some more, laughing about our time in South Africa and discussing the current tour and its pros and cons. The two of them not only run a good tour, they are good people.
Post-meal carnage
Dan tidies up his plate
While lunch was delicious, it wasn’t enough. We were in need of dessert! Fortunately, there was an amazing sweet shop just a few doors down that would satisfy our sweet tooth – all of them, in fact.
Is that really just a massive block of meringue?
Yes. Yes it really is a massive block of meringue
It was too much. We had to call in help from some others in the group and even then it was almost too much. Almost. With dessert mysteriously consumed we took a much-needed walk. Cambados has a long history with surprising roots in the Celtic tribes.
From a BBC travel article:
“While Scotland and Ireland are most commonly associated with the Celtic people, the roots of the culture are spread throughout Europe. More than a millennium ago, a Celtic tribe known as the Gallaeci settled in an area north of the Douro River. The region became modern day Galicia, which is in northwest Spain and is today considered the seventh of the original Celtic nations…”
I first became aware of this historic connection when we were here before, having lunch in the nearby town of O Grove and hearing bagpipes while we strolled the town’s streets. We later went and visited the historic “Hill fort” of Castro de Santa Trega, an amazing archeological site located on a prominent hill with vast views over land and sea.
There was no such evidence of the Celts in Cambados as we walked around its quiet streets. But there were still some very historic buildings and interesting shops to look at.
“The historic town of Cambados in Galicia is in an area which has been inhabited for a long time. The Celts settled here in the first millennium BC (their artifacts have been found in the hills surrounding Cambados) and even the Phoenicians were here – they were spreading through the Mediterranean in c.1500BC-300BC. Today there are three main ‘centres’: the historic centre around Fefiñáns Square, the old fishing village of San Tomé, and the newer town in between the two.”
“The Church of San Benito is a Romanesque church at heart but it was restructured in 15C and 17C. Two large granite figures, balboas, armed with shield and slub, protect those buried in the church and protect the church and the square.”
Cambados’ waterfront
Homage to the fishing history of this region
With lunch behind us, it was time to head to our final stop on this tour: where it all began, in Santiago de Compostela. We were back on the coast briefly before heading inland once again. We rolled along a very fast stretch of empty roads through thick forests, but this did not last long. All too soon the roads were not the idyllic romps through fields and forests. They weren’t entirely unpleasant, but there were a lot of towns and traffic.
We were six kilometers from the hotel when it happened: I made a poor judgement call and it bit me.
We had been flying along ever since lunch, covering the miles with the push of one who is eager to get home. Or maybe this was what it was always like to ride directly behind Haha – I hadn’t done it often enough to know. She was in the lead with me right on her heels when we went through yet another roundabout. This one had only two exits: straight through and the “9 o’clock” position. There were two lanes entering the roundabout, in the roundabout, and exiting the roundabout. Following Hana from the left lane when entering, I noted the car slightly ahead of me in the right lane. Because I learned that you should only be in the outer lane when taking the next exit, my mistake was assuming that they would do just that and take the first exit. With that in mind, I planned to exit from the inner lane, staying to their left the entire time and utilizing the two lanes leaving the roundabout. Therefore I was more than a little surprised when I looked to the right as I started my own exit and they were still in the outer lane, not exiting at all!
I hit the brakes but it was not enough to stop me from hitting the car; the bike and I fell over. I landed hard and the bike was out of sight. In fact, everything was out of sight because after a short slide, I ended up on my back and all I could see were numerous faces swarming above me, most of them strangers, asking if I was OK. Meanwhile Dan was talking to me over the comms and asking if I was OK. It took me a minute to answer him, as I had knocked the air out of my lungs. Eventually the air came rushing back and I was able to talk normally. I told Dan that I felt good enough and that I wanted to stand up. Dan was then hovering in my sight and made me take “physical inventory” of myself. How were my feet and legs? Could I move my arms? Did my back hurt? Everything felt about as good as could be expected and by now I really wanted to stand up. The faces in front of my visor all looked concerned but cleared away while Hana and Dan (I think? it really has become a blur) helped me to stand up.
The next half hour was a chaotic mess. Someone had picked up my motorcycle and rolled it over to the curb. The car I had hit had circled around and parked, the driver and passenger both anxiously asking about me and what had happened and what should happen next. My knee hurt, but otherwise I felt fine, the motorcycle was fully functional, and I was blaming the driver for not exiting when he should have. But with the arrival of the Spanish police, they informed me (via Hana) that I did not have the right-of-way and I should not have tried to exit from the inside lane. I knew this – I just didn’t want to admit to it. My ego wouldn’t let go of the idea that if the car had exited like they should have, none of this would have happened. It is human nature to shift the blame to anyone but oneself, so I blamed the Spanish driver. I blamed Haha for taking the bad lane choice. I blamed the engineers for even putting two exit lanes on the roundabout. The “if only…!” thoughts rolled through my head. With over thirty years and over 250,000 miles on motorcycles, I should have known better and followed the “ride your own ride” rule. It was a bitter pill to swallow.
Google Streetview of the roundabout’s exit
Motorcycle damage never looks bad (yay for insurance!)
Cars, on the other hand, show everything!
I forcefully declined an ambulance or a visit to the hospital. By now my knee felt a little better and I was confident that I could ride the motorcycle the SIX KILOMETERS to the hotel. To think that after six days of riding some of northern Spain’s best roads, putting on I-have-no-idea-how-many-kilometers, I did this at practically the door of the hotel. I felt bad for the rest of the group: we were supposed to have a relaxing afternoon back in Santiago de Compostela and here I was, wasting it at the side of the road. No one gave me any grief about it, of course, but I still felt bad. With the departure of the police and the damaged car, our group mounted up and made the rest of the journey without incident. I will say that Hana took the remaining roundabouts at much slower pace, and I stayed in the outside lane.
The motorcycles were now parked in the garage of the same hotel we had started from. Any baggage that we had left behind for the motorcycle tour was gathered up and we all retired to our rooms to refresh and relax. I was concerned that although I felt fine now, that I would wake up with bruises and aches. There was a pain in a couple of ribs on the side that I landed on, my little finger was swollen, and my right knee was sore. I took a couple of preventative Aleve, showered, and rested on the bed for a while before joining the others in the lobby to prepare for our evening dinner time stroll.
The tallying of the Wine Bill
Someone was tired after finishing their pilgrimage
It was our last evening together. Tomorrow morning we would all go our separate ways, back to our homes and our every-day lives. But the tour wasn’t over yet! We had one more meal together and more wine to drink! We dined at a different restaurant then the last time were were here, making the leisurely walk back into the heart of the old town for the last time as a group. We had created a WhatsApp group where photos had been shared on a nightly basis (the source of some of my group shot photos – thanks, everyone!). Contact information was exchanged and offers of “If you ever come to X, you are more than welcome!” were shared. It was a good group of people that had gathered for this trip, and for that I was thankful. One rotten egg could have tarnished the entire tour.
Spanish sunset
The last supper
