O Pereiro de Aguiar

The road out of Ourense climbs gently at first, then suddenly remembers it’s in the Serra do Cando and pitches upwards. In less than fifteen minutes the motorway noise is gone, mobile signal flickers, and the sat-nav announces you’ve arrived—though there’s still no village in sight. Welcome to O Pereiro de Aguiar, a municipality that prefers to keep its houses hidden behind oak hedges and its best views at the end of a muddy lane.

A Parish Map Rather Than a Place

Forget the Spanish cliché of a neat plaza mayor and church bell tower. O Pereiro is an administrative jigsaw of thirty-odd parishes scattered across 70 square kilometres of smallholdings, chestnut groves and granite outcrops. The population hovers around 5,000, but you’ll rarely see more than three people together unless it’s Sunday morning outside Santa María church. What the area lacks in postcard density it returns in breathing space: lanes where the loudest sound is a cow bell, and tracks that lead steadily uphill until the Minho valley appears as a silver ribbon far below.

Altitude makes the weather here noticeably cooler than in Ourense’s thermal basin. On summer evenings the thermometer can drop eight degrees between city and countryside; in winter, fog pools so thickly that locals delay the school run until the caminos reappear. The reward is air that smells of damp moss and woodsmoke, and night skies dark enough for Orion to cast a shadow.

Walking Without Way-Marks

Official hiking routes don’t really exist; instead, you string together pista forestales—stone-lined farm tracks—that link one hamlet to the next. A typical outing starts at the chapel of San Xoán de Arcos, follows an irrigation channel eastwards, then climbs to the abandoned mill of O Foxo. From there a grassy ridge opens west towards the cathedral spire of Ourense, visible only on the clearest days. Round trip: two hours, 250 metres of ascent, zero entrance fees. After rain the granite slabs turn slick as ice; approach shoes with decent tread are more use than polished walking boots that never quite grip.

Cyclists appreciate the same web of lanes, though gradients hit 12% without warning and cattle grids appear at the worst moment of a climb. A mountain bike with chunky tyres beats a road machine every time; the nearest hire shop is in Ourense bus station, €25 a day, but you’ll need a car rack to get it here.

Thermal Insurance Policy

Being only twelve kilometres from one of Spain’s most prolific hot-spring towns is the area’s secret weapon. When mist closes in, drive ten minutes to the free outdoor pools at Caldas de Outariz. Stone terraces channel 65-degree mineral water into a series of shallow basins beside the Miño; wooden changing huts, flood-lighting and a 24-hour opening policy mean you can soak under the stars while the rest of Galicia watches Netflix. Bring €1 coins for the locker, and flip-flops—the decking gets slippery.

Back in O Pereiro the thermal heritage is subtler. Occasional stone fonts dribble warm water into cattle troughs; locals fill plastic bottles at the roadside spring of As Burgas de Pereiro, claiming it cures everything from gout to grey hair. There’s no spa, no gift shop, and nobody will charge you for the privilege.

What Passes for Sights

The monuments are pocket-sized. A cruceiro carved in 1708 stands where three lanes meet outside the village of Parada; moss has blurred the Evangelists’ faces, but you can still make out a skull wearing a cardinal’s hat, a reminder that even bishops end up as fertiliser. In Sabadelle, the pazo of San Lourenzo hides behind iron gates—look for the coat of arms showing five scallop shells and a wolf. The house is private, yet the owner doesn’t mind photographers leaning over the wall as long as you don’t trample the vegetable plot.

Inside the parish church of Santa María a single Baroque retable glitters with guilt-inducing saints. Mass is at 11:00 on Sunday; arrive early and you’ll hear the priest switch between Galician and Spanish mid-sentence, depending on which octogenarian he’s greeting. Donations for roof repairs sit in an ashtray formerly used for incense—drop in a couple of euros and you’ve subsidised granite tiles for another winter.

Eating Between Farmyards

There is no restaurant row. Instead, three roadside grill houses open for lunch only, shutters rolling up at 13:00 sharp. Order polbo á feira (octopus with pimentón) if you’re feeling brave; if suction cups make you squirm, the empanada gallega travels well and tastes decent cold on a hillside. Expect to pay €9 for a filling menú del día—soup, pork shoulder, wine and coffee included. Cards are accepted, but the terminal is often “broken” until you produce a €20 note.

For self-caterers the Supermercado Cidade in the municipal capital (one petrol pump, two aisles) stocks local tetilla cheese, mild enough for children weaned on Cathedral City. Pair it with a €4 bottle of Ribeiro white, light and apple-sharp; screw-top, no ceremony required. Shop hours: 09:00–14:00, 17:00–20:30, closed Sunday afternoon—plan accordingly or face supper composed of crisps and Orangina.

When to Come, When to Stay Away

Spring brings orchards of white blossom and the smell of gorse drifting uphill; by late May the chestnut canopy is fully unfolded, shading paths that would otherwise bake. Autumn is equally gentle, with the added entertainment of locals hammering stakes for mushroom nets—boletus edulis fetches €30 a kilo in Ourense market, so foragers guard coordinates like state secrets.

High summer is workable if you start early. Daytime temperatures can reach 32 °C in the valley, but mornings stay fresh above 400 metres. The fiesta mayor on 15 August fills the sports hall for midnight queimada (flaming aguardiente) and bagpipe dancing; accommodation doubles in price for exactly one weekend, then halves again.

Winter is quiet, occasionally snowy. A dusting transforms the stone walls into monochrome graphic art, but rural lanes ice over and the council doesn’t always grit. Carry snow chains if you book between December and February; without them a modest incline becomes a toboggan run.

Beds, Not Boutiques

There are no hotels. Tourism here means four rural houses, each sleeping six to ten, priced €80–€120 a night for the whole property. Owners leave firewood stacked beside the hearth and a bottle of home-brewed orujo in the freezer; expect Wi-Fi that functions only in the kitchen, mobile signal that retreats upstairs, and hot water heated by the same wood you’re supposed to chop. One house, Casa da Escola, occupies the village primary school closed since 2005—blackboard still intact, now scribbled with visitors’ wine-stained tasting notes.

If you need a reception desk and minibars, stay in Ourense and commute. The city’s Parador runs to €150 a night, but a family room at Hotel Irixo five minutes from the cathedral costs €65 including garage parking—drive here for breakfast views instead.

Getting Here Without Tears

Fly to Santiago de Compostela with Ryanair or BA from Gatwick/Stansted; collect a hire car and head south on the A-52 for 75 minutes. Petrol is cheaper at the supermarket fuel station just outside the airport—fill up before you leave the ring road. There is no train; the bus from Ourense departs twice on weekdays, once on Saturday, never on Sunday. Miss it and a taxi costs €25, assuming you can persuade the driver to leave the city.

Once installed, distances shrink. Ten minutes puts you back on the motorway, twenty lands you among the river-canyons of Ribeira Sacra, forty delivers the Atlantic at Sanxenxo. Use O Pereiro as a base camp, not a cage, and the whole of inland Galicia unrolls like a ribbon.

Parting Shots

O Pereiro de Aguiar will never compete with the wow-factor of Spain’s costas or the buzz of Santiago. What it offers instead is the chance to slow down until you notice granite sparkling after rain, or the way cattle breathe steam into sunrise. Come equipped with a car, a waterproof and modest expectations, and you might leave wondering why more people don’t swap cathedral queues for tractor tracks.