Galicia, the Switzerland of Spain

by Annette M. B. Meakin

As we were returning to Noya, we passed on the road a woman carrying a large sack of flour on her head; her boots were tied together and slung above the sack, and she was walking barefoot. At a distance of about an eighth of a mile from Noya we again alighted from our conveyance, and ascended a short way up a hill to a tiny village hidden among the trees, to look at a stone with a Roman inscription which the villagers had discovered a few days previously. In the yard of one of the cottagers, built with slabs of ancient stone, we found the writing we had come to see; the woman who owned the cottage was quite aware that her find was likely to be valued by the local archæologists, and she was determined only to part with it to the highest bidder, so we contented ourselves with a photograph. The letters of the inscription are very clear where not broken away, as may be seen from the photograph.

DIS
MOSO
FLORI
NA . . . M

(To the gods, to Moso, his mother Florina, etc.)

The stone had formed part of one of the cottage walls; in a heap of rubbish we discovered part of a stone column about three-quarters of a foot in diameter, also the Doric base of a very much larger column turned upside down among a pile of stones. The friend who acted as my guide had found some interesting fragments of Roman pottery there a few years before, and was convinced that it was the site of an important Roman settlement. This gentleman presented me afterwards with a photograph of another Græco-Latin stone of the first or second century, found in that neighbourhood, on which, beneath a curious figure standing under a crescent, were the letters—

XAIPOS
VICTOR
NOIXV
VSTNP

The last line is the usual Voto Solute timens Numini posuit.

On 27th March we drove along the bridge over the river Trava, and skirted the southern shore of the ria by a road cut in the slope of a hill, a good road only finished in 1900. Almost all the roads round Noya are quite new; until some twelve years ago travellers had no choice but to ride or go on foot. Every step of this drive was beautiful; the day was fine, and the ria looked like a Swiss lake beneath us,—it might have been Lake Como, with its mountain scenery on either side. On our left was Monte Barbanzos, looking far more like a range of peaks than one single mountain—its base spreads over five Spanish leagues. This mountain is partly covered with furze and partly with grass; it has no trees, but the mountains on the opposite side of the ria are mostly covered with pines, which stood out in a fringe against the sunlit sky as we retraced our steps to Noya. The shore below us formed numerous little bays and inlets with beaches of silvery sand, perfect for summer bathing. Here the ancient Iberians are thought to have dwelt before the arrival of the Celts; the latter were a continental people, but the Iberians loved to dwell by the sea. An archæologist who has explored this part tells me that the names here are very like those of Italy (which land was also partly peopled by Iberians). A little farther on we passed the spot where a famous trovador of the thirteenth century is said to have lived—he was one of those whose erotic verses are preserved in the Vatican collection. At last we reached a particularly snug little bay which still retains the name given it by the Romans—Portosino, Portus Sinus. From here the telegraph wire ran through the pine trees to Son. On a little neck of land which forms the bay of Portosino we visited a factory for tinning sardines; boats belonging to it bring the fish to a little landing-place two yards from the factory door. Behind the factory was a garden, a regular old English garden—but for its tropical fruits—with a straight path down the centre hedged by shrubs, and bushes of stocks, red and pink, in full bloom; between the garden and the house of the owners of the factory there was the typical Gallegan wash-tank, with sloping stone sides on which to rub the clothes; here a woman with bare feet was washing linen in the running water, which entered the tank on one side and left it on the other; trees sheltered the tank, and beyond was an arbour over which there climbed a variety of cacti with red flowers and finger-like leaves of dark green. In the garden I noted fig trees as broad and sturdy as an oak; there were also lemon trees laden with ripe lemons; we had passed a grove of orange trees a few minutes before, some of which were in blossom. A huge pear tree, white with blossoms, overhung a good piece of the garden, and near it was a Nispera Japonica (Japanese Medlar), with its fruit already the size of green cherries.

We plucked branches of blossoming black thorn from the hedges which lined the road, and then alighted beside a pine wood to gather a remarkable plant which local fishermen employ to poison trout; it is in no way injurious to the fish for eating purposes, and saves the trouble of waiting for a bite!

Near Portosino, but on the opposite side of the ria, there are twelve boat-building establishments; boats of all sizes are built there, some large enough to cross the ocean, but only sailing boats. They supply the whole coast with fishing boats, and the pine woods upon the neighbouring hills supply them with timber. But Noya’s most important activity is the exportation of pines to Cardiff.

Sometimes English ships come into the ria; and when our fleet is stationed at Villagarcia the officers visit the neighbourhood of Finisterre and enjoy some good sport. Borrow wrote, “Certainly in the whole world there is no bolder coast than the Gallegan shore, from the debouchement of the Miño to Cape Finisterre.” Opposite Portosino to the north of the ria we could discern the port of Muros, a town that has so long been famed for its beautiful women.