Train rides from Britain to Spain put me close to the picturesque region of Ribeira Sacra, which is home to river gorges, chestnut orchards, and a variety of historical sites
Human settlement layouts have always been impacted by modes of transportation. Europe built beautiful railway stations as rail travel became popular in the 19th century. I pass through some of the most magnificent examples in route to Spain by rail, including those in Paris, Barcelona, and Madrid. I dump my bags at the modern Chamartín station in Madrid and head straight to the cathedral of St. Anthony to see the Goya frescoes before heading back to catch the Renfe train back to Ourense in Galicia.
My sister Jo and I set off on a week-long walk in Galicia’s lesser-known Ribeira Sacra region, which is close to Portugal’s northern border. After dusk, we arrive in the city of Ourense and ride in a cab into the mountains from the station. Over the next five days, we plan to walk back to Ourense. The taxi’s headlights shine on sparsely inhabited villages and thick forests as it climbs the mountain. “This place is so wild up here,” the driver says. “I’ve seen wolves on this road at night.”
In the village of Parada de Sil, we stay the night in a room above the bar. We begin to look forward to what is to come the next morning. The early light casts a warm glow on the forested cliffs across the trail and a few small wine terraces as it goes along the edge of a steep river valley. There aren’t any other hikers around until we arrive at the abandoned Santa Cristina monastery, where the trail begins to meander among ancient stands of sugar chestnuts. Many of the stone villages seem half-forgotten.
It’s like the residents abruptly left, perhaps for Venezuela, seeking better prospects
We go through the small streets of Castro and find strange wooden box buildings resting on long granite legs. Do they resemble tombs? One of the few surviving residents, an old woman dressed in a pink robe, steps out. She laughs at my estimation. “Not graves, please. They are maize storage containers, called hórreos.”
“Where did everyone go?”
She gives a shrug. “Everything is gone. A few travelled to Venezuela, Brazil, and Argentina. Some, including me, came back. When I departed in the 1950s, I only reached Madrid.”
The great exodus from Galicia and the Ribeira started in the early 1800s, but because of the severe winters, it accelerated in the 1850s. More than a million had gone by 1960, and emigration slowed down but persisted throughout the 1990s. We find farmhouses with falling balconies and sinking pantile roofs. There’s an open wardrobe door, a tin plate on a table, and a dusty coat perched on a peg.
It’s as though the locals got up from their meal and abruptly moved to Venezuela in pursuit of opportunity and hope—presumably because it seemed like a better alternative at the moment.
The elderly woman verifies that wolves have returned and are currently pursuing the herds of deer that wander through the abandoned sweet chestnut woods.A few of the trees are more than a millennium old.
We spend the night in the Santo Estevo monastery, which has been transformed into a parador hotel. There are no howls from the wolves, but bats fly through the cloisters and owls hoot in the twilight. Two days later, at Os Peares, we cross the River Sil and continue our journey deeper into the interior. Here, some settlements are completely abandoned, while others just have one surviving inhabitant, usually an old woman wearing a headscarf. Steps of stone lead up to once-charming balconies that are now inhabited solely by cats and goats.
Bill and Juan Carlos are renovating a deserted fortified palace-farmhouse, Roman-style.
Bill, an American, and his companion Juan Carlos first came to Turbisquedo twenty years ago with the intention of restoring a fortified palace-farmhouse that had been abandoned. It is built like a Roman villa, with thick stone walls and a central courtyard, and is furnished with books, antique furniture, and tapestries. Bill’s trip turns into an engrossing tour through local history, providing a window into the unrest that prompted people to leave the area. It belonged to Captain Taboada, who in the 1830s Spanish Civil War chose to side with the wrong group. Even though he fought for independence and freedom, he was surrounded here, captured, and executed without a trial.”
Bill shows us to a first-floor bedroom. “By constructing the fortified tower following her husband’s passing, his widow made sure the house would never be taken again. This chamber is where the hidden entrance is.”
Once within the tower, one can see how cleverly the builders interlock the large stone blocks to protect the structure from artillery attacks. “The concept was for the family to seek refuge here and defend themselves.” But there was never an attack. Rather, there was a descent into chaos. Now that the land has been restored for farming, Bill and Juan Carlos are concentrating on it. The enormous camellia trees serve as a striking reminder of the area’s pleasant temperature, which first drew inhabitants.
Another treat is in store for the next evening: spending the night at the Casa Rectoral vineyard in San Eusebio and then taking a long stroll down to the River Miño and into the city of Ourense. This city is a real gem that is frequently disregarded by travellers. We wander over the Roman bridge before taking in the contemporary marvel that is the Millennium Bridge, which allows pedestrians to meander along a concrete ribbon that loops around it.
And at last, we reach what could be the perfect way to end a long hike—apart from a train station, of course: a string of naturally occurring hot springs beside the river. Even though several of these springs are now opulent spa facilities, we prefer the free public swimming areas. I take a seat next to a family, the adults lounging while the kids splash around in the water. The old woman tells me, “Our grandfathers left Galicia for Venezuela.” “But now we’ve returned.”
