A Veiga

The village shop shuts at 14:00 sharp and won’t reopen until five. If you arrive at quarter past, the only sound is a tractor ticking itself cool and a chestnut tree shedding leaves onto the slate roof of the bar. That’s the first lesson A Veiga teaches: time here is still negotiated with the seasons, not with TripAdvisor.

Spread across the north-eastern lip of Ourense province, the concello occupies a high wedge where Galicia, León and Zamora meet. Altitude hovers around 850 m; in winter the thermometer can drop to –8 °C and the BV-901 becomes a curling sheet of black ice. Come May the same road is flanked by meadows so fiercely green they seem to vibrate. The population – roughly one human per square kilometre – is outnumbered by roe deer and, on most nights, by stars.

Why the map lies

A Veiga isn’t a single village but a scatter of hamlets strung along 165 km of mountain lanes. The road sign that proudly announces “A Veiga” sits eight kilometres downhill from the ayuntamiento, so following GPS alone can leave you circling a cattle grid wondering where the tourist office went. Hire a car in Santiago (Ryanair from Stansted, 90 minutes) or Ourense, and allow thirty minutes more than the sat-nav claims. Google’s walking times are equally optimistic: the popular loop to Laguna de Ocelo is billed at three hours; count on five if you stop to watch the kites quartering the ridge.

Practicalities are thin on the ground. Both bars – Casa das Pedriñas in Pradoalbar and O Fonte in Fontei – close for siesta and take only cash. The nearest ATM is 25 km away in A Gudiña; stock up before you climb. Mobile signal dies above 1 800 m, so download your track while you still have 4G.

What you’re really here for

There is no checklist of must-sees. Instead you get stone houses whose roofs sag like old horses, corredores (open wooden balconies) wide enough for a milk churn and a cat, and the smell of oak smoke drifting from chimneys built for winter-long fires. Pradoalbar has the best-preserved hórreo in the municipality – a granite granary on stilts, still used for drying chestnuts. Fontei keeps a tiny water-driven mill where an elderly resident will demonstrate the wheel if you ask politely in Spanish or Galician; English is met with friendly incomprehension.

The Bibei river cuts a slate gorge on the western edge. A five-minute scramble from the road at A Ponte brings you to a chain of emerald pools deep enough for a bracing swim when the air temperature edges above 25 °C. Fly-fishers work the pockets for brown trout; day permits are €18 from the tobacconist in A Gudiña, but the season closes from 1 October to March. Above the tree-line, summer pastures known as brañas are dotted with stone huts where shepherds once spent July and August. The walls are intact, the thatch less so; bring a bothy bag if you fancy lunch out of the wind.

Night comes suddenly

At 1 900 m the Trevinca massif is the highest ground between here and the Atlantic. The last ridge road ends at a radar station locked behind a NATO fence, but the track beyond is open to walkers. From the car park to the summit cairn is forty minutes; do it an hour after sunset and you’ll understand why British astronomers rate this “the darkest sky you can reach from Santiago in a day”. On a moonless night the Milky Way throws shadows; shooting stars leave after-images like camera flashes. Take a head-torch with a red filter – white light earns glares from the half-dozen astrophotographers who haul tripods up here most weekends.

Food that forgives the weather

Mountain cooking is built for calories. At Casa das Pedriñas the churrasco gallego tastes like smoky British ribs finished with sweet paprika; a half-ración is plenty after a six-hour walk. Tetilla cheese – mild, single-cream – arrives with a slab of quince paste that cuts the richness. Chestnuts appear in October: roasted, puréed into soup or candied and served with coffee. Local honey, sold in reused jam jars at the bakery, is floral enough to make you reconsider the stuff in Sainsbury’s. Vegetarians should ask for caldo gallego without lacón; the kitchen will oblige, but you’ll still get turnip tops and enough potatoes to sink a small fishing boat.

When to cut your losses

Winter is beautiful and brutal. Snow can block the BV-901 for days; some rural houses rely on wood stoves that owners light only if you phone the night before. Weekend breaks here have ended with guests huddled around the only electric heater, wondering why the pipes froze. Spring – late April to mid-June – brings orchids along the old drove roads and temperatures perfect for walking. September and October colour the chestnut woods copper, but mist rolling in from León can erase a ridge in minutes. Summer is warm and largely mosquito-free, yet the sun on open quartzite is fierce; start hikes early and carry more water than you think necessary.

One perfect slow day

Drive up at dawn, headlights cutting through drifting smoke from field-clearing fires. Park at Campobecerros and follow the stone path towards Fontei, counting stone crucifixes sunk into moss. By ten the sun has cleared the opposite slope and the chestnut canopy flickers with jays. Stop at the bakery for coffee and a slice of tarta de castaña still warm from the wood oven. Continue to the braña above A Canda where cows wear cowbells the size of grapefruit; the sound carries for miles. Descend for lunch – churrasco and a small Estrella – then siesta beside the Bibei pools. As the shadows lengthen, head for Trevinca’s radar track. Watch the sky bruise from sapphire to velvet, spot the International Space Station sliding overhead, and remember why you bothered to leave the M25.

Exit strategy

The last bus from Ourense reaches A Veiga at 18:00. Miss it and you’re either begging a lift or paying €90 for a taxi. Better to stay the night; double rooms in village houses start at €55, breakfast included. Check-out is never before nine – the hens haven’t even laid by then – and the owner will want to know if the stars behaved. Tell them they did, then crawl back down the mountain, windows open to the smell of broom and woodsmoke. Somewhere around 600 m you’ll re-enter phone range and the world will start pinging again. Ignore it until the plains of Ourense flatten out; the silence up top doesn’t travel well.