Monterrei

The evening bus from Verín wheezes to a halt beside a petrol station. From here it's a twenty-minute climb up a lane that smells of eucalyptus and hot pine needles. Then the trees part and Monterrei's fortress appears, floodlit against a ridge that feels more Castilian than Galician. The battlements face south, towards Portugal—so close that on a clear night the castle lights twinkle back from Portuguese hills ten miles away.

This is Spain's driest corner of green Galicia. While the coast drowns in Atlantic drizzle, Monterrei basks under a rain-shadow that gives it almost Mediterranean summers. Vines love the combination of hot days and cool, star-filled nights; the local wine carries the valley's name and a crispness that converts even committed Sauvignon drinkers. The DO Monterrei label is still under most British radar, which keeps tastings relaxed and prices humane—expect to pay €8–12 for a bottle of Godello that would cost twice that if it came from Rías Baixas.

Up on the Rock

The castle complex isn't a single building but a small walled town: keep, count's palace, pilgrim hospital and the late-Gothic church of Santa María de Gracia. A footpath rings the entire perimeter; follow it clockwise and you get a lesson in military geography. Arrow slits frame the Támega valley road, the same route Portuguese merchants used when this frontier shifted with every treaty. Information panels are in Castilian and Galician, but the views translate themselves—rows of vines, red-tiled hamlets and, far below, the N-532 threading towards Chaves.

Inside, the Torre del Homenaje rewards the 76-step spiral with 360-degree vistas. To the north the land rises to the sierras of Ourense; southwards the ridge drops so sharply that swifts wheel beneath your feet. The tower's vaulted chamber sometimes hosts small exhibitions—one year medieval coins, another year local embroidery—so it's worth poking your head in even if you've read that "interiors may be closed".

Practical note: the car park sits 200 m below the gatehouse. The final stretch is steep, cobbled and shadeless; flip-flops are a bad idea, pushchairs trickier still. If mobility is limited, you can still get the money shot from the mirador halfway up, then retreat to the parador terrace for a glass of white while everyone else sweats to the top.

Between Two Countries

Monterrei the comarca spreads well beyond the castle hill. Drive ten minutes east and you hit the Portuguese border at a stone bridge over the Támega. No flags, no fanfare—just a weather-beaten plaque and café owners who switch language mid-sentence. The cross-frontier routine feels casual because both sides have been EU partners for decades, yet the fortress reminds you this was once the violent edge of Castile. Archaeologists still turn up musket balls after heavy rains.

Down in the valley, the riverbank has been tamed into a 6-km walking and cycling path, the Camino Natural. It's flat, paved and suitable for children on scooters, but bring insect repellent in summer—the Támega's reed beds breed enthusiastic mosquitoes. Halfway along, the medieval bridge at Pazos has wide parapets perfect for a picnic of empanada gallega bought in Verín's morning market. If you're lucky, the local angling club will be casting for barbel in the pools below; they'll happily explain the technique in a mixture of Galician and gestures.

Wine, Water and Winter Fires

Most visitors tick the castle and leave, but Monterrei rewards a slower circuit. The valley floor is polka-dotted with bodegas whose stainless-steel tanks glint between vines. Visits aren't drop-in; phone or email a day ahead and someone will appear with keys and stemmed glasses. Bodegas Gargalo offers a comparative tasting of three Godellos—steel, barrel and skin-contact orange—while smaller Quinta da Muradella prefers an informal chat among the barrels and a chance to buy library vintages unavailable elsewhere. Drivers can spit; non-drivers often leave with the boot half-full because even the top cuvées stay under €20.

Four kilometres west, the spa town of Cabreiroá (part of Verín municipality) bottles the same mineral water that fills Galicia's hippest cafés. The public thermal pools open afternoons only; entry is €6 and you need a swimming cap, sold at the desk for €2 if you forget. The water emerges at 63 °C, rich in calcium and bicarbonates, and the outdoor pool stays blissfully warm even on January evenings. British visitors who expect Bath-style Georgian grandeur will be disappointed—it's a functional 1990s complex—but locals treat it as a social club, so you get more chatter than chlorine.

Speaking of January, the province's biggest carnival erupts in Verín the week before Lent. Costumed figures called Cigarrons sprint through the streets brandishing whips made of cow bladder. The noise is tremendous—bells, drums, firecrackers—and accommodation sells out months ahead. If you fancy joining, book early and pack earplugs; if not, steer clear until Ash Wednesday, when the valley reverts to library hush.

Where to Lay Your Head

The Parador de Monterrei occupies the former count's palace inside the fortress walls. Rooms are small—thick stone limits space—but the restaurant terrace faces west, straight into sunset over Portugal. Weekend rates start around €160 B&B; midweek packages dip below €120 and include a castle tour after closing time. Cheaper beds lie down in Verín: Hotel Vía Gala has underground parking and a rooftop pool for about €70, while Hostal Pizarro above the main square charges €45 for clean, simple rooms above a café that opens at 07:00 for coffee and churros.

Eating in the fortress is limited to the parador's menu, so most visitors descend to Verín for dinner. Try Asador Solla for churrasco—paprika-dusted pork ribs grilled over vine cuttings—or Taberna O Bodegón if you fancy octopus but prefer it sliced into bite-size pieces rather than the traditional wrestling portion. Vegetarians survive on tortilla and padrones, though the latter can pack a chilli punch. Portions are large; two raciones usually feed three Brits who lunch.

Getting Here, Getting it Right

No railway reaches the valley. The closest trains terminate at Ourense (50 km) or Zamora (90 km), so a hire car is essential. From Porto airport it's a straight two-hour run up the A7, exit 17 towards Chaves, then the N532. Santiago airport is nearer in miles but slower on mountain roads; allow 1 h 45 m plus photo stops. Fuel is cheaper on the Spanish side—fill up before you cross back into Portugal.

Weather catches people out. Monterrei records 300 sunny days a year, but altitude (castle at 660 m) means January frost and April showers. Pack layers even in July, when the wind can whip across the battlements. And remember the Spanish clock: lunch finishes at 16:00, kitchens reopen 20:30 at earliest. Arrive at 18:00 hungry and you'll be foraging at the filling station.

The Honest Verdict

Monterrei isn't a cute hamlet to idle away a week. It's a half-day highlight that works best woven into a longer drive through northern Portugal or coupled with Ourense's hot springs. Come for the fortress views, stay for the wine cellars, linger if you crave silence broken only by church bells and the clink of pruning shears. Manage expectations, bring sturdy shoes, and you'll leave wondering why more British travellers haven't worked out that Galicia's south-eastern corner serves castle history, spa soaks and crisp whites—without the Atlantic rain.