Muxia, Mugia in Spanish, seemed strangely familiar. More than anywhere else in Galicia it was reminiscent of the towns of Patagonia and Tierra del Fuego in Argentina. Muxia’s isolation amidst a rugged seascape, and its colourful houses with weatherboard exteriors would not have seemed out of place in Ushuaia. It should come as no surprise, between the 1850s and 1960s over a million Galicians left the region to go overseas.
Over half, some 600,000 Galicians, either seeking economic opportunities or escaping political persecution, emigrated to Argentina hoping to start a new life. The impact of that migration is still felt, a huge percentage of the total population of the region left for other parts of Europe or the Americas. After years of exporting its people and culture, including its architecture, today there is a trickle of people returning to Galicia.
Ever unpredictable, the Galician weather turned to rain as we approached Muxia, a small fishing village that has to be one of the most picturesque in the whole of Galicia. More surprising, as we drove into the village there had clearly been a huge fiesta the previous day. A double disappointment, but after we had checked into our apartment (with views over the harbour) we found a tiny restaurant in the back streets for a lazy lunch.
They served an unbelievably tasty and good value menu del dia that came with a bottle of wine. It was one of those lunches that lives long in the memory and, given the sheer volume of food, in the stomach as well. As the rain came down, we tucked into empanada Gallega, and one of those extraordinarily flavoursome seafood rice dishes that I can never replicate at home. Things came to an end with Queixo de Tetilla cheese.
We had been enjoying the hospitality of this family run restaurant for so long, we’d failed to notice the rain had given way to blue skies and blinding sunlight. It was a bit of a shock to the now heavily loaded system when we stepped into the street. Fearing we may not get any more good weather, our siesta plans were put on hold and we decided to do a little exploration.
It soon became clear that no one else had abandoned their post-lunch plans, the jumble of tightly packed narrow streets were mostly deserted. Although people may have been ‘tired’ from the festivities the day before. The clean up from which was still ongoing, but no one seemed too bothered by the 3 inch nails that were scattered all over the place. We mooched through the streets and arrived at the harbour.
Despite the recent influx of tourists, whether Camino walkers or the regular kind, this is still a fishing village. The harbour is filled with small fishing boats that daily bring in a haul of delicious seafood. The boats are painted in bright colours that, reflected in the water, makes for a cheerful sight. Equally arresting was a mural, A ninja Claudina e raspa dourada.
A work by Galician street artist, Joseba Muruzábal Pérez, it is one of a series called Fenómenas do rural that looks at the role of women in rural Galician life. This one is an homage to Claudina, a woman born in Muxia in the 1940s. Her father was a fisherman, her mother collected Percebes, the goose barnacles that are a delicacy in these parts. This was a dangerous job, mostly done by men, where one mistake could result in your death.
Claudina and her mother were female pioneers and knew only too well the risks – two of Claudina’s brothers died at sea. She is shown with almost superhero powers, leaping from rock to rock and finally back to the safety of dry land. It’s a beautiful piece, Claudina is as much a force of nature as the perilous ocean behind her. Nearby, more street art by local artists capture the relationship between women and the sea.
It was an extremely hard life, with more danger than most and limited rewards. You can see the appeal of leaving to start afresh in the ‘New World’. We were not feeling quite so dynamic and decided to head to the lovely Praia de Lourido for a semi-siesta and a swim.
