Sanxenxo

The beach towels start appearing at dawn. By nine, Silgar's golden arc is already dotted with sunbathers staking their claim, though the real rush won't begin until the Madrid plates arrive around eleven. This is Sanxenxo's daily summer choreography – Galicia's most celebrated stretch of sand playing host to a very Spanish kind of beach politics where towel placement is serious business.

Sanxenxo sits where the Ría de Pontevedra meets the Atlantic, forty-five minutes west of Santiago de Compostela. What began as a small fishing community has evolved into Spain's answer to Cornwall-meets-Chelsea, where weekenders from the capital moor superyachts alongside working fishing boats. The permanent population of 18,000 swells to ten times that in August, transforming the seafront into a parade of designer swimwear and late-night vermouth sessions.

The beaches themselves justify the fuss. Silgar, the main urban beach, curves for nearly a kilometre with sand fine enough for castle-building and water that surprises first-time Atlantic bathers with its relative warmth – protected by the ría, it reaches 22°C in peak summer. Behind the promenade, hydrangeas bloom improbably large in the salt air while pine trees provide natural shade along the coastal walk. It's undeniably beautiful, though beauty here comes with a soundtrack of DJ sets and the perpetual hunt for parking.

Venture beyond Silgar and the coast reveals different personalities. Areas beach, five minutes drive south, offers more breathing room where local families outnumber fashionistas. Montalvo faces open Atlantic swells – popular with surfers when the conditions align, though the red flag flies often enough to frustrate paddleboard rental companies. Each cove has its own microclimate; morning fog might cloak Silgar while Portonovo's main beach basks in sunshine ten minutes away.

The working port keeps Sanxenxo grounded. At 6am, before tourists stir, fishermen unload the night's catch – glistening turbot, razor clams, the small squid that will appear grilled at lunch. The daily auction in the lonja is open to visitors who don't mind 7am starts and the rapid-fire Gallego of the bidding. It's here you'll understand why the restaurants take seafood so seriously; most serve fish that was swimming the previous day, simply grilled with olive oil and lemon, letting the Atlantic flavour speak for itself.

Spanish visitors already know Sanxenxo's reputation for nightlife that doesn't start until most British toddlers are asleep. Restaurants begin serving dinner at 9pm, but the real action begins post-midnight when bars along Paseo de Silgar fill with perfectly groomed twenty-somethings nursing gin-tonics the size of goldfish bowls. It's glamorous in a distinctly Iberian way – think Marbella but with better wine and less footballer bling. Dress codes trend smarter than British seaside standards; the shorts-and-trainers combo that works in Magaluf will feel underdressed here.

Food follows Galicia's greatest-hits formula executed with confidence. Pulpo arrives on wooden boards, purple tentacles dusted with smoky paprika and coarse salt – tender enough to convert octopus-sceptics. Cachopo, two veal fillets the size of dinner plates sandwiching ham and cheese, challenges even teenage appetites. Most restaurants will warn British couples that one portion feeds two, though they still watch amused as visitors tackle the impossible. Albariño wine, produced in vineyards visible from town, offers crisp relief from summer heat with peach notes that pair naturally with seafood.

The glamour has its flipside. August brings traffic queues from the N550 junction back to Pontevedra, hotel rates that triple overnight, and beach experiences closer to Benidorm than wilderness. Finding space for a towel after 11am requires military precision, and restaurant bookings need making days ahead. The Spanish solution is timing – June and early July offer the same sunshine with half the crowd, while September's warm seas and emptying beaches feel like discovering a different resort altogether.

Sanxenxo works best as a base rather than destination. Ten minutes inland, vineyards producing Albariño stretch across the valley of the Rías Baixas – most offer tastings without appointment, though few speak English beyond wine vocabulary. The pretty town of Combarro, fifteen minutes east, shows what coastal Galicia looked like before tourism, with stone horreos (grain stores) on stilts rising from the shore. Boat trips to the Illa de Ons, forty minutes across the ría, provide proper escape – walking trails through Atlantic scrub to empty coves where gulls nest undisturbed.

Practicalities require planning. A car transforms the experience, letting you escape the high-rise strip for smaller beaches where locals still picnic on Sundays. Parking disks operate in town centre – hotels provide them, though spaces remain competitive. Even August evenings can drop to 17°C when Atlantic fog rolls in; that light jacket British visitors pack "just in case" will get worn. Cash remains king at beach kiosks, and most ATMs charge €2 unless you use Santander or Bankia machines.

Out of season, Sanxenxo reveals its split personality. November through March sees many seafront bars shuttered, the promenade returned to dog-walkers and retired locals who've watched the town's transformation over decades. Hotel prices plummet to £45 per night, though you'll need that jacket for afternoon walks. Some visitors prefer this honest version – a working Galician town where fishermen's wives still sweep doorsteps at dawn and the bakery serves coffee strong enough to anchor ships.

Whether you choose summer's buzz or winter's authenticity, Sanxenxo delivers what it promises: proper Spanish beach culture without the British fry-up concessions of southern resorts. Just remember to book restaurants, arrive at beaches early, and abandon any notion of a quiet fishing village. This is where Madrid comes to play, and they've been perfecting the art of beach life since long before package tours arrived.