O Grove

The tide is out and the granite slipway smells of diesel, seaweed and yesterday’s catch. At 7 a.m. the market hall is already echoing with auctioneer Spanish so fast it sounds like machine-gun fire. Between the crates, a woman in rubber boots flicks a razor-clam between her fingers, testing its weight the way a wine merchant swirls a glass. The sea is not scenery here; it is payroll, pantry and weather report rolled into one.

O Grove sits on a low, wind-scoured tongue of land that almost – but not quite – becomes an island. A single road bridge and a narrow causeway fix it to the mainland, and every tide tries to saw the link in half. The village itself is small: five thousand souls, one main street, three bakeries, two fish factories and a harbour that still earns more from seafood than from selfies. Cruise up from Vigo airport (40 min, £25 taxi if you pre-book) and the first thing you notice is the colour of the water: bottle-green near the shore, then a sudden Atlantic indigo where the ria drops away.

The Ria is a Larder

Seventy per cent of Europe’s mussels grow on the raft-strings that checkerboard the estuary. The white buoys look like a giant’s game of draughts from the hilltop mirador of Siradella, a 170-metre bump you can drive to within five minutes of the top. From here you can read the whole geography: the sand-spit of A Lanzada curving west like a drawn bow, the island of La Toja glittering under its pines, and the distant smudge of the Cíes if the air is clear. Don’t bank on that – Galician mist has a habit of wiping the horizon clean off the slate.

The easiest way to understand the numbers is to climb aboard one of the small yellow boats that leave the yacht harbour at 11 a.m. A £12 ticket buys a 45-minute circuit round the rafts, with a netful of mussels hauled up, steamed in seawater on deck and served with a plastic cup of Albariño. The wine tastes of green apple and salt; the mussels are so fresh they still hold the morning chill. Trips run Easter to October; English commentary only on the first sailing, so turn up early or brush up on seafood Spanish.

Beaches for Every Wind Direction

A Lanzada faces full west and behaves like Cornwall without the surfers. When the northeasterly drops the swell can be gentle enough for cautious paddling, but an Atlantic low will churn up metre-high dumpers and strip the sand of day-trippers. Even in August the water rarely tops 19 °C; British children accustomed to North Sea temperatures last longer than the Madrid families who retreat after ten minutes. If the flags are red, shuffle round to the southern side where Area da Cruz and Raeiros face the ria. The water is flatter, warmer by a couple of degrees, and the cafés still charge village prices – £2.20 for a café con leche and £1.80 for a buttered croissant the size of a house brick.

Carreirón Natural Park occupies the southern tip of the peninsula. The path is board-walked through pine and dwarf oak; turn your back to the caravan sites and you could be on a Hebridean islet. Bring binoculars in April or October – spoonbills and ospreys use the inlet as a motorway service station.

La Toja: Belle Époque in Miniature

Five minutes across the little iron bridge lies the island that package brochures still call “exclusive”. In truth it is tiny, wooded and oddly quiet. The Gran Hotel La Toja, all white turrets and green-shuttered balconies, was built in 1907 when northern Spain discovered spa cures. You can still swim in the thermal pool for £18 day-rate, though most visitors pad straight to the chapel lined with local scallop shells – every surface, even the altar rail, mosaic-ed in pearly discs. The bus service from O Grove is patchy; hire bikes instead (€15 a day at the harbour) and you can freewheel back downhill in under ten minutes.

What to Eat When the Boats Come In

Forget paella. Here the order of the day is whatever landed at dawn. In May that means tiny clams called coquinas, sweet and tasting faintly of cucumber. July brings velvet crabs, October the spider crab; locals insist each month has a signature shellfish and restaurants will cross half the items off the menu if the weather kept the boats in port. Rule of thumb: if the waiter warns you the crab is “caro hoy”, believe him – it will add £18 to the bill but you’ll remember the meat for years.

The safest starter for British palates is zamburiñas – miniature scallops grilled with lemon and parsley. They arrive sizzling in the shell, no chewiness, no mysterious tentacles. Kids usually approve, especially if you bribe them with churros afterwards from Café Doria on the promenade. Portions are tapa-size; order two plates per adult or you’ll be eyeing your partner’s last mollusc.

Wine lists are short and local. Albariño is the default white, crisp enough to cut through brine yet softer than Sauvignon. House bottles start at £14 and the worst you’ll get is perfectly drinkable. Red drinkers should try the lighter Mencía – think Beaujolais with a pinch of Atlantic salt.

When to Come, When to Stay Away

Spring is the sweet spot. From late April the gorse on Siradella turns fluorescent, cafés put tables outside and hotel rates hover round £65 for a double with sea view. May afternoons can hit 22 °C, but the breeze keeps walks comfortable; take a light fleece for sunset. September copies the weather but adds the grape harvest buzz and the tail-end of mussel season. Both months let you park free within five minutes of anywhere you want to be.

Avoid the fortnight around 15 July when San Martín fireworks start at midnight and continue until the supply runs dry. Streets grid-lock, Airbnb prices double, and every restaurant queues onto the pavement. October’s Seafood Festival is calmer but still busy – book accommodation six weeks ahead and accept that you will queue 25 minutes for a £4 plate of steamed mussels. Winter is mild, often 14 °C by day, but Atlantic storms can blow for a week and some hotels simply shut the doors until February.

The Practical Bit, Without the Bullet Points

Fly into Santiago or Vigo; both have direct Ryanair and Vueling flights from London between April and October. A hire car is worth the extra £20 a week – the bus from Santiago takes two hours and finishes at 8 p.m., murdering any chance of late tapas in town. Parking in O Grove is free on-street outside July; even in peak season you’ll find space along the harbour after 6 p.m. when the day-trippers roll out. Market day is Wednesday: arrive before 10 a.m. for razor-clams and you can watch fishmongers slicing octopus while you queue for coffee.

Bring a jacket in August – the Atlantic breeze can feel like a British spring evening once the sun drops. And remember the village shuts on Sunday afternoons; plan a beach picnic or drive to Combarro for stone granaries and horreos if you need entertainment.

O Grove will never win Spain’s beauty contest. The architecture is functional, the odd hotel block regrettable. What it does offer is a place where the working day still rises and falls with the tide, where lunch is whatever the ocean provided that morning, and where – if you time it right – you can eat better seafood than London’s top restaurants for half the price and none of the theatre. Turn up with realistic expectations and an empty stomach; the Atlantic will do the rest.