Fornelos de Montes

The road into Fornelos de Montes drops so suddenly from the A-52 that your ears pop. One minute you're cruising past industrial estates outside Vigo, the next you're threading between eucalyptus plantations that smell more like a cough sweet factory than Spain. It's disorientating – and that's rather the point of coming here.

Fornelos isn't a place that announces itself. There's no medieval quarter to tick off, no cathedral spire rising above terracotta roofs. Instead, you'll find a scatter of stone houses across five parishes, connected by roads that twist like dropped string. The council headquarters sits in an unassuming modern building next to the municipal pool. The village proper, if you can call it that, is essentially a junction with a bakery, two bars and a pharmacy.

What You're Actually Looking At

The landscape is the main event. Granite houses hunker down against Atlantic weather, their slate roofs weighted with stones against the wind. Corridors of chestnut and oak (carballeiras in Galician) break up the eucalyptus monoculture, creating a patchwork that changes colour with the seasons. In April, the slopes glow with gorse flowers. By October, chestnut husks split open on the branches.

Stone granaries on stilts (hórreos) stand beside houses like small stone boats. They're not museum pieces – locals still use them for storing corn and drying chestnuts. The same goes for the cruceiros, those distinctive stone crosses you'll spot at crossroads. One 17th-century example sits half-hidden beside a modern garage in A Canicouva, its carving weathered but still sharp enough to make out the Virgin's face.

Water is everywhere. Streams (regatos) cut deep valleys, powering the occasional ruined watermill. After heavy rain, they roar. In summer, they shrink to a trickle that reveals stone channels built centuries ago. The municipality sits at 400-600 metres, high enough that Atlantic storms sometimes deposit snow while the coast stays mild.

Walking Without a Waymarked Route

The Spanish article mentions "no single star route" and it's absolutely right. What you get instead is a network of forest tracks and old paths connecting hamlets. The classic circuit starts from the church of San Andrés, follows a paved lane past abandoned farmhouses, then drops into oak woodland. After an hour, you emerge at a viewpoint where – on clear days – you can see down the Tea valley towards Portugal.

Clear days aren't guaranteed. Morning mist rolls in so thick you can't see ten metres. Locals call it the bajinazo, when clouds get trapped between hills. Walking in it is oddly magical – sound travels strangely, and you navigate by the gurgle of invisible streams. Just don't expect panoramic photographs.

Proper walking boots are non-negotiable, even for short strolls. Galician granite becomes lethally slippery when wet, and wet happens a lot. The municipality gets 1,800mm of rain annually – double Manchester's average. Paths turn to streams, streams to torrents. Bring waterproofs even in July.

Practicalities Your Sat Nav Won't Tell You

Fill up before you arrive. The village's single petrol station closes at 8pm and all day Sunday. The nearest 24-hour pump is 25 kilometres back towards the motorway. Similarly, the cash machine outside the bank has a habit of running empty on Saturday evenings just when the bars are filling up.

Food shopping is refreshingly basic. The bakery opens at 7am and usually sells out of Galician rye by 10. The mini-market stocks local honey, tinned tuna and little else. For vegetables, there's a weekly market on Tuesdays – essentially two stalls on the main road. Plan accordingly.

Eating follows rural Spanish hours. Kitchens start at 8.30pm earliest. Between 4pm and then, only Bar Central does cold sandwiches. Casa Chalan grills excellent pork ribs – plain, non-spicy, chips on the side, portions big enough to share. The house wine arrives in ceramic cups rather than glasses; it's light, slightly fizzy and dangerously drinkable.

When to Come and When to Stay Away

Spring works best. April brings wildflowers, May sees chestnut trees in fresh leaf, and the streams still have winter's volume. Temperatures hover around 18°C – perfect walking weather. October's good too, with added chestnuts and mushrooms, though paths can be slippery with fallen leaves.

Summer is trickier. The municipal pool (open mid-June to mid-September, €2 entry) is a godsend when temperatures hit 30°C, but walking becomes a dawn-or-dusk activity. Midday heat reflects off granite, and shade can be scarce on forest tracks. August also brings fiestas – processions, fireworks, temporary bars serving octopus and beer. Accommodation books up months ahead.

Winter is properly wet. The Serra do Galiñeiro often gets snow while the coast stays clear. Roads become treacherous, particularly the PO-532 towards Pontevedra. Some tracks become impassable. Unless you're specifically equipped for winter walking, visit another time.

The Reality Check

Fornelos de Montes rewards the right expectations. Come seeking medieval charm and you'll leave disappointed. The place functions as a living municipality, not a heritage set. Stone houses have satellite dishes. Farmers drive quad bikes rather than donkeys. The nearest souvenir shop is 40 kilometres away in Santiago.

What you do get is space to breathe. On week-day mornings, you can walk for an hour without meeting anyone except perhaps a farmer checking his cows. The silence is profound – just wind in the eucalyptus and the occasional church bell. At night, stars shine with a clarity impossible near the coast.

British visitors tend to treat it as a stopover between Santiago and the Rías Baixas. That's sensible – a night here breaks up the drive and gives a taste of inland Galicia that most coastal tourists miss. Just don't try to "do" Fornelos in an hour between cathedral visits. The place reveals itself slowly, path by path, season by season. Some visitors come once and never return. Others find themselves plotting return trips before they've left the municipality.

The road back to the motorway climbs just as steeply as the descent in. In your rear-view mirror, the eucalyptus forests recede, looking once again like nothing very special. Which, in a way, is exactly their charm.