Somozas, As

The stone cross appears first, half-obscured by morning mist at a junction where three lanes meet. Beyond it, an hórreo—Galicia's distinctive granary on stilts—stands sentinel beside a farmhouse whose slate roof has turned silver with age. This is As Somozas, 30 kilometres inland from Ferrol's shipyards, where the Atlantic's influence fades into something more elemental: rain-soaked earth, the lowing of cattle, and villages so dispersed that locals measure distance in minutes rather than miles.

The Lay of the Land

As Somozas isn't a single village but a patchwork of 22 parroquias—rural parishes—scattered across 70 square kilometres of rolling countryside. The municipality sits at 400 metres above sea level, high enough for weather systems to collide spectacularly. One moment sunshine illuminates the carballeiras (ancient oak woods); the next, fog rolls in so thick that the neighbouring farmhouse becomes a ghostly outline.

This isn't countryside manicured for visitors. Field boundaries follow medieval patterns. Farmers still drive their tractors down narrow lanes where brambles scrape the paintwork. The landscape changes with the light: emerald green after rain, golden brown in high summer when the grass burns off, and a thousand shades between when autumn arrives.

The administrative centre—barely a village, more a cluster of buildings around the town hall—contains the only chemist, a bank that opens three mornings weekly, and Bar O Recuncho where old men play cards beneath a television showing fútbol on mute. Everything else requires wheels. The nearest supermarket sits eight kilometres away in Pontedeume, itself hardly metropolitan.

What You'll Actually Find

Churches here serve believers, not tourists. The 16th-century Igrexa de San Xoán in Vilar maintains its original granite font where generations have been christened. If the door's unlocked, slip inside: the interior smells of beeswax and incense, with naive frescoes flaking above the altar. Photography is tolerated, silence expected.

Hórreos appear everywhere—beside manor houses, in farmyards, even serving as garden sheds. These stone-and-wood structures, raised on pillars to deter rodents, evolved when cereals mattered more than tourism. The finest example stands beside Pazo de Meirás (technically in neighbouring Sada, but As Somozas supplied much of its workforce). Count the museos—flat stones topping the pillars—decorated with fertility symbols that scandalised visiting priests.

Walking tracks exist, though you'll need detective skills to follow them. The PR-G 163 Ruta da Fraga loops five kilometres through oak and chestnut forest, starting beside the sports centre. Waymarking is sporadic; download the track beforehand. After rain—and it rains often—sections become ankle-deep mud where Wellington boots prove essential. The reward is absolute silence, broken only by woodpeckers and the distant bark of dogs guarding distant farms.

Eating and Drinking

Forget tasting menus and fusion experiments. As Somozas feeds people who've spent daylight hours mending fences or milking cows. At weekends, families pile into Asador O Palleiro on the main road for caldo gallego—a hearty broth of cabbage, potatoes and grelos (turnip tops) that arrives in terracotta bowls. The pulpo á feira (octopus) is properly tender, dusted with paprika and served on wooden plates that have seen decades of service. A three-course lunch with wine costs €14; they're not interested in credit cards.

Midweek options shrink dramatically. Café Bar Central opens early for farmers needing coffee and churros before market, but stops serving food by 3pm. The village bakery sells empanada gallega—savoury pies filled with tuna or zamburiñas (small scallops)—that make perfect picnic fare if you're heading for the hills. Buy before noon; they often sell out.

The Seasonal Reality

Spring brings wildflowers to roadside verges and the first cogomelos (wild mushrooms) to the markets. It's also when tracks become bogs and locals regard muddy walkers with amused tolerance. Summer delivers reliable sunshine—temperatures hover around 25°C—but the landscape loses its lushness, turning the colour of burnt toast. Autumn paints the oak woods copper and brings magostos—chestnut roasts where neighbours gather around bonfires, drinking queimada (flaming orujo spirit) while someone recites the conxuro (Galician witches' spell). Winter is raw. Fog lingers for days, drizzle falls horizontally, and the heating in rural houses struggles against stone walls two feet thick.

Getting There, Getting Around

Public transport barely exists. Monbus runs one daily service from Ferrol—departing 1pm, returning 6pm—which serves more as social service than viable tourism option. Renting a car at A Coruña airport (45 minutes away) isn't optional; it's essential. Roads are generally good, though the final approach to hamlets like San Pedro de Soandres involves single-track lanes with passing places. Sat-nav loses the plot here—download offline maps and prepare for agricultural traffic.

Parking requires common sense rather than permits. Don't block field gates; farmers need access for tractors wider than your hire car. The sports centre offers the only formal car park—free, invariably empty, and convenient for the forest walk.

The Honest Assessment

As Somozas won't suit everyone. If your idea of rural Spain involves whitewashed villages and tapas trails, stay on the coast. This is working countryside where tourism remains incidental, where English isn't spoken (though patience and basic Spanish go far), and where attractions don't so much announce themselves as wait to be discovered.

Yet for those seeking authentic Galicia—where neighbours still share hornos comunitarios (communal bread ovens), where every stone wall contains centuries of labour, where the night sky remains dark enough to see the Milky Way—As Somozas delivers something increasingly rare. Come prepared for weather that changes hourly, for tracks that test your footwear, for hospitality that's genuine rather than professional. Bring waterproofs, curiosity, and enough Spanish to ask directions. Leave expecting nothing beyond what the land chooses to reveal.