Carballo

First impressions: Inland town, sea breeze

Carballo sits eight kilometres inland, yet salt still flavours the air. At barely 100 m above sea level the town functions as Bergantiños’ service hub rather than a beauty contestant: 31,000 inhabitants, ranks of banks, estate agents and a Saturday market that clogs the centre until siesta time. The Atlantic is close enough that locals keep a towel and a 4 mm wetsuit in the boot; if the wind swings west they abandon coffee and reach Razo beach in twelve minutes.

That proximity shapes the rhythm. Mornings mean errands: queue for crusty pan de Carballo at Panadería O Campo, pick up tetilla cheese from the market stall wedged between sock-sellers and phone-case hawkers, bump into three cousins on the same mission. Afternoons are weather-dependent. If the sky stays pale blue, cars peel off down the AC-430 towards dunes and lagoon; if nordés howls, people retreat to river walks and the Balneario’s sulphur baths.

The town: More function than fairytale

Guidebooks sometimes struggle because Carballo offers few stand-alone sights. The fifteenth-century church of Santa María acts as orientation point; from its porch you can map the centre in five unhurried minutes. South runs Rúa do Recreo, glass-fronted shops and cafés where office workers prop elbows on formica at 10 a.m. for short blacks. East is Praza do Carme, underground car park (€1.20 an hour, free 14:00–17:00), taxi rank and weekend skateboarders. Nothing is postcard-pretty, yet everything works: good butchers, same-day dry-cleaners, even a shop that still mends umbrellas.

The market (Saturdays 08:30–14:00) is the best show in town. Fishermen unload live velvet crabs; greengrocers arrange pemento de Padrón in neat green pyramids; one stall sells only garlic braids and wire. Turn up before ten and you share aisles with gossiping grandmothers; arrive after eleven and the choicest fish have gone, but prices drop on the last crate of goose barnacles.

Coast on demand: Razo and Baldaio

Ten minutes of cornfields and suddenly the land drops into Atlantic rollers. Razo stretches three kilometres at low tide, smooth sand ribbed like a washed beach in Pembrokeshire. Summer brings surf schools, white canopies and a snack van whose owner, Pilar, learned English working a season in Newquay; she’ll warn when the rip is running. The break is forgiving, long lefts that British regulars rate “better than crowded Cornish peaks, just bring rubber.”

Baldaio, round the headland, faces due west and feels wilder. The lagoon behind it – protected wetland threaded with boardwalks – fills with dunlin and sandpipers in April and September. A 45-minute circuit starts at the fishermen’s car park, ducks behind dunes, then pops you onto the beach precisely when your boots start feeling redundant. Even in July you can find an empty 100-metre slice if you walk south past the access ramp; in February you’ll share it only with a lone kitesurfer praying the gusts stay steady.

Both beaches share Galicia’s honesty policy: no entrance fee, seasonal lifeguards, and a single bar that opens Easter week, July and August. Outside those windows bring water and a jumper; Atlantic wind can shave ten degrees off the forecast.

River, spa and winter refuge

When the coast misbehaves the River Anllóns offers shelter. The Paseo Fluvial leaves from the back of the industrial estate, a flat four-kilometre out-and-back shaded by alder and eucalyptus. Locals jog it after work; herons stand mid-stream like bouncers refusing entry. Parallel to the path, the Balneario de Carballo pumps 38 °C sulphur water into tiled pools. A 25-minute soak costs €10 and must be booked online the day before; weekends sell out to farmers discussing rainfall while neck-deep.

January seas can hit 12 °C and blow foam across the dunes. On those days the sensible itinerary is market coffee, spa steam, lunch of lacón con grelos (ham hock with turnip tops) and a slice of almond-heavy tarta de Santiago from Casa Mouriño. The town never closes, but evenings are low-key: bars shutter at 16:00, reopen 21:00, leaving streets oddly quiet at 19:00 – a quirk first-time visitors rarely expect.

Eating: Atlantic larder, inland prices

Sea-to-plate here is less slogan than routine. At O Recuncho da Seño on Rúa do Recreo octopus arrives tender, dusted with pimentón and served on a wooden board the size of a vinyl LP. Staff happily split one portion between two, sparing British couples the sight of eight rubbery tentacles they can’t finish. Caldo gallego, the region’s white-bean broth, costs €3.50 a bowl and tastes like smoky winter in a farm kitchen. Finish with torta de queso – a crustless cheesecake baked until bronzed – and a shot of herbal queimada if you enjoy theatrical flames.

Lunch menus hover round €12–14, wine included, cheaper than coastal traps ten minutes away. Evening dining is thinner on the ground; plan for 21:00 or eat early like the locals, then top up with late-night toast at a cafetería that doubles as the baker’s once ovens restart at midnight.

When to drop in – and when not

April–June: gorse yellow on the dunes, daylight until 21:30, beaches half-full. Temperatures mirror Devon in May; pack a mac for surprise showers.
July–mid-September: surf schools buzzing, market busiest, accommodation prices up 30%. Water reaches 18 °C – still wetsuit territory for most Brits.
Late September–October: luminous light, migrant birds over the lagoon, bars offering jornadas del pulpo (octopus festival weekends). Rain risk rises but downpours rarely last.
November–March: spectacular coastal storms, closed beach bars, €35 double rooms. Perfect for writers and photographers; hopeless for sunbathers.

Bank holidays bring emigrant families back from Brussels and Basel; the Festa do Emigrante (mid-August) triples pub noise but also adds free concerts in the park. Semana Santa processions are low-key – more village sincerity than Seville swagger.

Logistics, warnings, work-arounds

Getting here: A Coruña airport is 35 minutes by hire car, Santiago 45. ALSA buses link both cities to Carballo hourly; trains stop at nearby Cerceda-Carballo, four kilometres out, so taxi or 30-minute walk. Public transport to the beaches is patchy – one mid-morning bus returns mid-afternoon, useless if the surf turns on at dusk. A car, bicycle or willingness to thumb lifts solves the problem.

Staying: Options cluster round the núcleo: two business hotels with weekday discounts, several pensiones above insurance offices, plus country casas rurales in surrounding parishes. Nothing is more than fifteen minutes’ walk from Saturday market coffee. Weekend rates jump; book the spa before the room.

Etiquette: Saturday supermarket trolleys are territorial; eye contact and perdón work. In bars don’t expect free tapas – order racions and share. Tip a few coins, not percentages. Dress on the beach is casual but topless women still draw fishermen’s stares; further south at Razo the surf crowd evens things out.

Parting shot

Carballo will not keep monument-hunters busy for long, yet as a base it is hard to beat: real shops, real prices, real people, plus Europe’s wildest coastline ten minutes away. Treat the town as your larder and dry-clothes cupboard; let the lagoon, river and Atlantic surf fill the hours in between. Come home windswept, pleasantly salt-stained, and nobody needs to know you spent half the trip buying socks.