Strange to say, but it felt good to be back on Galicia’s wild, windswept Costa da Morte, the Coast of Death. The landscapes of craggy estuaries, or rias, and rugged cliffs that are frequently battered by violent Atlantic storms, have a terrible but beguiling beauty. The coastline is dotted with weather-beaten towns and villages where fishermen have, for centuries, earned a living from a fearsome ocean.
It’s a region steeped in Celtic myth and legend that feels culturally alien to Spain’s south. Here they play the bagpipes rather than guitarra flamenca. No wonder the colonising Romans thought of this as the World’s End. I’ve been here on days when a mysterious sea mist rolled off the ocean and shrouded the landscape in silence. Two thousand years ago you might have believed you’d passed beyond the River Styx.
The main mystery when we arrived in the pretty, down-to-earth port of Camariñas, was why there were so many cars with Swiss licence plates. Camariñas isn’t a major tourist destination – I defy you to find a more low key coastal town in summer – and there seemed to be few non-Spanish visitors in town. So what was with all the Swiss people? It’s a long drive from the Alps even if the seafood is excellent.
The Swiss connections go back decades. Under Franco’s fascist government in the 1960s, Galicia was one of the most deprived areas in Spain. The area already had a history of mass emigration, much of it to the Americas. This time thousands of local people went in a different direction: to Switzerland on temporary working visas. Many settled never to return, except on summer holidays.
Who can blame them? Camariñas is set amidst disorienting scenery. Walk on the nearby coast and you could be forgiven for thinking you’ve been transported to a Caribbean island and the Norwegian fjords simultaneously. There are beaches that would not look out of place in more tropical climes, and craggy coastal areas backed by forests, where Scandinavians would feel at home.
The town itself is a colourful, if not always beautiful, jumble of tightly packed houses that run up a hill behind the port. The further up the hill you go the further back in history you seem to travel. Before it was a fishing village, Camariñas was a farming community. In the area near the 13th century Igrexa de San Xurxo de Camariñas, are centuries-old buildings and hórreos, typical Galician grain stores.
It is the harbour though that is the focal point of this working port. Fishing is still the lifeblood of the town, with over a quarter of the local population involved in the industry. Fishing boats line a quay that has row upon row of shellfish pots and fishing nets. The boats tend to be small, suitable for a day at sea in the coastal waters and estuaries. The catch includes mackerel, sardines, octopus, anchovies and shellfish.
For all it’s fishing credentials, Camariñas is equally fanous for an altogether unexpected cottage industry: lace making. Understanding how the town became a centre of lace making requires the separation of myth from history. Legend tells of an Italian woman who was rescued from a shipwreck in the 16th century. As thanks, she taught the local women the secrets of lace making creating a flourishing artisan industry.
The truth is more prosaic. Lace making was introduced to the region thanks to trade between Galicia and the Spanish Netherlands, which today is the Belgian region of Flanders. The textile industry was hugely important in Flanders and its no surprise that there was some technology transfer. The town’s women turned lace into an economic success story while the men were at sea.
Today, it is practiced more as a cultural rather than an economic activity. There is a museum to the industry in the town. It runs a lace school and lace making courses to teach lace making techniques and keep traditions that began in the 14th century alive. There are locally made lace garments for sale as well and lace-themed fashion shows. So non-touristy is the town though, there are no tourist trap lace shops to be found.
The real selling point of Camariñas is that it is a traditional Galician town going about its own business. There are some great restaurants in which you can eat fresh and delicious seafood, there are two very good local beaches – the wide arc of golden sand that is Praia de Area da Vila and, our favourite, the white sand of Praia de Lingunde with a friendly beach bar just behind it in the tree line.
We spent three relaxing days here. There is little to do other than relax, although there are some pretty dramatic coastal walks from the town that can be as challenging (or not) as you want to make them. On one short walk we could hear music drifting across the ocean from a town across the bay. It looked familiar. The telltale Santuario da Virxe da Barca told us it was Muxia, where we’d stayed two years ago.
