A Gudiña

The road climbs steadily from the coastal plains, and somewhere around kilometre 90 on the A-52, the air thins and the landscape shifts. Pine forests give way to scrubland, stone walls appear like vertebrae across the hills, and suddenly you're at nearly a thousand metres. This is A Gudiña – not the Galicia of rain-slicked granite and fishing boats, but a frontier town where Spain's northwest corner meets the high plateau of Castilla y León.

Between Two Worlds

A Gudiña sits astride the N-525, the old silver route that once carried Roman legions and now funnels modern pilgrims along the Via de la Plata camino. The dual carriageway roars past the town's eastern edge, a reminder that this is very much a place of transit rather than destination. Yet step away from the service stations and truck stops, and you'll find something altogether different: a working mountain town where slate roofs slope at improbable angles to shed winter snow, and where the church bells still mark the hours for farmers who've worked these slopes for generations.

The contrast is immediate. Along the main drag, concrete blocks house estate agents, bakeries and the ubiquitous Pulpería a Gudiña chain, its orange signage promising octopus cooked the traditional way. But wander fifty metres into the old quarter and the modern world recedes. Here stands the Iglesia de San Martiño, its baroque tower weathered to the colour of old pewter, overlooking a handful of streets that haven't changed much since the 18th century. The granite houses huddle together as if for warmth, their tiny windows facing south to catch whatever sunshine penetrates these heights.

Walking Country

This is hiking territory, though you'd never know it from the tourist literature – mainly because there isn't any. The town's tourist information office opens sporadically, and the maps pinned inside its window show hiking routes that exist more in theory than practice. Better to simply walk. Head west from the church and within ten minutes you're on dirt tracks that thread between broom-covered hillsides. The camino proper climbs steeply towards Campobecerros, a hamlet 8 kilometres distant that marks the next stage for weary pilgrims. It's a tough pull – the path gains 300 metres in altitude before dropping into the valley beyond – but the views back across the Sierra de San Mamede make the effort worthwhile.

For something gentler, follow the signs to A Frieira, a twenty-minute stroll through allotments where elderly residents tend potatoes and cabbage in plots marked out with granite stones. The village itself is barely a dozen houses clustered around a stone cross, but the granite architecture is textbook Galician mountain style: thick walls, tiny doors, and hórreos (grain stores) perched on stilts to keep rodents at bay. Between October and December, these same paths fill with locals carrying plastic buckets, foraging for chestnuts and wild mushrooms – though they'll be cagey about their favourite spots.

Weather Realities

Let's be clear about the climate. At 960 metres above sea level, A Gudiña experiences weather that bears little resemblance to the misty warmth of Santiago or the rias of the coast. Winter arrives early and stays late. Snow falls from November through April, and night-time temperatures of -10°C are commonplace. The A-52 becomes treacherous with surprising speed – Spanish drivers who barrel along at 120 km/h in sunshine are reduced to crawling when the weather turns, and the Guardia Civil regularly close the pass entirely.

Summer brings its own surprises. Days can be glorious, with clear blue skies and temperatures reaching 25°C, but the altitude means temperatures plummet after sunset. That lightweight fleece you packed for coastal Galicia suddenly feels inadequate. Spring and autumn represent the sweet spot: May and September offer settled weather, warm days and cool nights, plus the added bonus of empty trails and hotel rooms at sensible prices.

What to Eat and Where

Food here is fuel rather than fancy. The local speciality is, unsurprisingly, octopus – but not as you know it from Mediterranean Spain. Pulpo a feira arrives on a wooden platter, the purple-white tentacles sliced with scissors and dusted with smoked paprika, served atop cachelos (boiled potatoes) that soak up the coral-coloured oil. It's surprisingly un-fishy, more like tender pork than seafood, and even British visitors who baulk at the idea usually polish off their portion.

For breakfast, Cafetería O Parrulo on Rúa do Medio serves churros that would pass muster in Madrid – thick, ridged doughnuts with proper hot chocolate for dipping. The menú del día in most bars offers three courses, bread and wine for €10-12. Safe choices include lomo asado (grilled pork loin) or tortilla española, though the adventurous might try caldo gallego, a hearty broth of greens and potatoes that warms bones chilled by mountain air. One word of warning: restaurants observe strict Spanish hours. Kitchens close at 4 pm and don't reopen until 8.30 or 9 pm. Arrive at 6 pm expecting dinner and you'll go hungry.

Practicalities

Getting here requires planning. The nearest airport is Vigo, 140 kilometres distant on winding mountain roads – allow two and a half hours driving time, more if you stop for photographs or get stuck behind a timber lorry. Santiago de Compostela airport adds another 30 kilometres but offers more UK flights. Car hire is essential; public transport exists but runs to Spanish rather than British schedules, with buses that connect more in theory than practice.

Accommodation options are limited but adequate. The Hotel Pazo de A Gudiña occupies a converted manor house on the outskirts, its stone walls two metres thick and its restaurant serving mountain specialities to a mostly local crowd. Rooms start at €60 including breakfast, though weekend rates rise when Spanish families descend for country breaks. Budget travellers can find pilgrim albergues for €10-15 per night, though these fill quickly during camino season.

Cash remains king here. Several cafés and the smaller shops are cash-only, and the nearest 24-hour ATM lurks inside the Eroski supermarket on the edge of town. English is rarely spoken beyond basic phrases – download an offline Spanish dictionary or prepare to communicate through gestures and goodwill.

The Honest Verdict

A Gudiña won't suit everyone. If you're seeking picturesque plazas filled with tapas bars and souvenir shops, drive on to Ourense or Salamanca. The town's historic core is tiny – barely three streets – and much of what you'll see is functional rather than beautiful. Evenings are quiet, shops close early, and entertainment consists of watching the sun set behind the mountains from one of two bars that stay open past 10 pm.

Yet for those who appreciate authentic Spain, who value substance over style, A Gudiña delivers something increasingly rare: a mountain town that exists for its residents rather than visitors. Come prepared for weather that can change in minutes, pack walking boots and a sense of curiosity, and you'll discover a Galicia that few British travellers ever see – one where eagles circle overhead, where chestnut woods stretch to the horizon, and where the simple pleasure of a coffee taken in a bar full of locals speaking rapid Gallego feels like travelling back several decades. Just remember to bring a jacket. Even in August, the wind up here has teeth.