A Capela

A Capela does not line up neatly for photographs. The municipality is a scatter of hamlets stretched across the high ground between the Ría de Ferrol and the river Eume, 35 minutes inland from the coast by car. One moment the road dips into moss-green oak woods; the next it breaks onto a ridge where stone granaries stand on stilts above potato plots and the Atlantic wind rattles loose tiles. There is no square to sit in, no promenade, no “mirador” crowded with coaches. Instead, lanes peel off the AC-141 and disappear into holloways sunk deeper than car roofs, leading to places whose names – Montoxo, O Regueiral, Ventos – appear only on local signposts.

Granite, rain and the absence of monuments

The parish church of Santa María sits half-way up a slope in the centre of A Capela itself. It is not a cathedral in miniature, merely a thick-walled rectangle of grey granite patched in different centuries. Step inside and the air smells of extinguished candles and damp hymn books; the font is 17th-century, the altar rail 19th. Outside, a cruceiro – a wayside stone cross – leans at the angle of a man fighting the wind. These crosses turn up wherever tracks meet: some carved with the Virgin, others so eroded that only the base remains. They are not listed on glossy leaflets; they are simply part of the working landscape, like the stone-walled cow paths that thread between smallholdings.

Traditional horreos – raised granaries topped with a stone cross or weather vane – survive in surprising numbers. Many still hold maize or hay, and farmers expect you to shut the gate after a curious glance. Counting them becomes an informal pastime on a short walk: eight in the hamlet of O Viso, another five at Montoxo, each one slightly different in length or roof pitch. Their stone legs are capped with flat discs, “tornarratos”, designed to keep rats out; the engineering is medieval, the problem universal.

Walking without way-marks

There are no pay-and-display trailheads here. Locals follow corredoiras – narrow footpaths that run from village to village – and visitors are welcome to do the same, provided they accept three realities. First, the paths are still used by tractors and livestock; second, they turn to ochre glue after rain; third, the only map that shows them is the 1:25,000 Xeographic Institute sheet sold in Ferrol bookshops. A straightforward circuit leaves from the church, drops past a waterfall on the Rego de Briz, then climbs back through eucalyptus and chestnut plantations in just under an hour. Longer routes link to the Fragas do Eume, one of Europe’s last coastal Atlantic forests, but signposts disappear at the municipal boundary and mobile coverage is patchy under the canopy. Spring brings wild garlic and early orchids; October turns the woodland copper and sends mushrooms up through the leaf litter. In July and August the undergrowth is dry, the paths dusty, and the shade welcome.

The coast from the hills

Although A Capela sits 300 metres above sea level, the sea is never far from view. On clear mornings the ridge road gives a sight-line across the Ría de Ferrol to the naval dockyards and the low headland of Prioriño. Drive 25 kilometres north-west and you reach the beaches of Valdoviño and Pantín, both exposed to the same Atlantic swells that bring surfers to international competitions each winter. The contrast is abrupt: from mist-hung oak to blowing sand in half an hour. Fishermen’s cottages at Valdoviño sell percebes (goose barnacles) at €45 a kilo when the boats get out; inland, €12 buys a plate of pulpo a feira and a glass of local Mencía in the bar at O Pobo, provided you arrive before the 3 pm kitchen close.

When the weather decides the timetable

Galician weather is not a background detail; it is the co-author of any itinerary. A Capela’s altitude means it can be wrapped in cloud while Ferrol enjoys sunshine, or vice-versa. Even in June the temperature can drop to 12 °C after dusk; carrying a light waterproof is less precaution than uniform. Winter brings weeks of horizontal rain and the occasional sleet shower, but it also empties the lanes and makes the stone walls run black with water, a sight that converts well to monochrome photographs. Bars keep wood stoves alight and serve caldo gallego – a broth of potatoes, greens and chorizo – for €4 a bowl. If the day collapses into steady rain, the covered market in nearby Pontedeume (15 minutes by car) sells Queixo San Simón and honey from the Fragas, and the 16th-century pazo of the Counts of Andrade is open for self-guided visits at €3.

Eating, sleeping and the question of staying put

Accommodation within the municipality amounts to two rural houses and a handful of village rooms rented out under the “casa de aldea” scheme. Expect stone floors, low doorways, and Wi-Fi that flickers when the wind shifts the antenna. Prices hover around €70 a night for two, breakfast included, but you need to book by phone; websites are sporadically updated. The only public bar in A Capela itself opens at 7 am for coffee and churros, closes at 10 pm, and serves whatever the owner’s cousin has brought from the coast that morning. For a wider choice, drive ten minutes to Pontedeume where mesóns line the main street and weekday menús del día cost €12–14.

Getting there, getting round, getting away

A Capela is not on the Camino Inglés, the nearest pilgrim route; most walkers hurry through Pontedeume and Monkroy on their way to Santiago, never turning inland. Public transport reflects that indifference. Monbus runs one daily service from Ferrol at 1 pm, returning at 6 pm; miss it and a taxi costs €35. A hire car is therefore essential if you want to stitch together coast and mountain in the same day. From A Coruña airport the drive is 50 minutes on the AP-9 toll road (€6.45) then country lanes. Petrol stations close at 8 pm and none operate on Sundays; fill up before the weekend.

Why bother?

Because some parts of Spain refuse to arrange themselves for tourism, and that reluctance can be refreshing. A Capela offers no ticketed attractions, no souvenir stalls, no sunset viewpoint thronging with influencers. What it does offer is the sound of a blackbird echoing under slate eaves, the smell of eucalyptus after rain, and the realisation that entire communities still organise their lives around small fields, short winters and the price of shellfish. Come with boots that tolerate mud, a map that folds, and enough Spanish to ask whether the path ahead ends in a farmyard. Stay for one slow afternoon, or for a week of mornings spent walking from village to village while the fog lifts and the granite turns pink in weak sun. Either way, leave before you start expecting something grander; A Capela will never meet that expectation, and that is precisely its value.