Leaving Foz behind, we had a short, scenic drive to Ribadeo.
The sun was shining, the roads were quiet, and for once, Mary didn’t feel the need to tell me to slow down.
The big draw here was Playa de las Catedrales (Cathedral Beach), a place we’d heard so much about. Towering rock formations, natural arches, and golden sand. It was the stuff of postcards.
Now, the trick to visiting Cathedral Beach is timing. At high tide, it disappears beneath the waves, but at low tide, it reveals its breathtaking rock structures.
We parked up, changed into our beach gear, and strolled down like proper tourists, cameras in hand.
It was stunning.
The kind of place that makes you stop and say, “Wow,” even if you’ve seen a hundred pictures of it before.
Naturally, we took a million photos, including one where I attempted to lean casually against a rock arch like an explorer, only to misjudge the tide and end up with soaked shoes.
Mary was thrilled. “That’ll be one for the scrapbook,” she said, as she snapped a picture of me squelching back across the sand.
After the beach, we wandered into Ribadeo for a late lunch. A charming café with a harbour view served us fresh octopus and a cold Albariño, and we sat back, soaking in the easy pace of the town. We watched fishermen tending their boats, kids running along the promenade, and an older couple dancing to an accordion player nearby. “Now this,” Mary said, raising her glass, “is what retirement should feel like.” I couldn’t have agreed more.
We spent the rest of the afternoon strolling through Ribadeo’s quiet streets, admiring the mix of grand old mansions and colourful fishing cottages. Mary popped into a shop selling handmade ceramics while I found a bench with a view of the estuary, feeling very much like a man who had finally figured out how to slow down.
As the sun started to dip, we made our way back to Wanderlust, our trusty home on wheels, ready for the next stretch of road.
A Night in Viveiro
From Ribadeo, we took the coastal road toward Viveiro, a gorgeous town nestled between rolling green hills and the sea.
The drive itself was a treat: twisty roads, dramatic cliffs, and views that made me briefly consider taking up landscape painting. Mary wisely suggested I stick to driving.
Viveiro was charming, with old stone streets, a lovely waterfront, and enough history to keep Mary entertained while I located the nearest bar. We checked into a small guesthouse for the night, giving Wanderlust a well-earned rest.
The room had a tiny balcony overlooking the estuary, and Mary immediately claimed it as her reading spot.
After freshening up, we set out to explore.
The town’s medieval charm was impossible to ignore. We wandered through the old quarter, passing the imposing Porta de Carlos V, a grand stone gate that made it feel as if we’d stepped back in time. I joked that I’d much prefer defending a walled town than storming one, to which Mary replied, “You’d be useless either way.”
Dinner was a revelation. We wandered into a local sidrería, where the owner was determined to introduce us to every cider available.
He demonstrated the traditional Asturian way of pouring—raising the bottle high and letting the cider splash dramatically into the glass. I gave it a go, and let’s just say the floor got more cider than my glass.
(The locals found this hilarious.)
The food was just as good. Pulpo a la gallega (Galician-style octopus) arrived on a wooden board, sprinkled with paprika and olive oil. I was skeptical at first—octopus had never been my go-to dish—but one bite and I was converted. The tender, smoky flavor was unlike anything I’d had before. Mary, of course, had known all along and took great pleasure in watching me admit she was right.
The evening took an unexpected turn when our enthusiastic cider host decided we needed to join in on a local tradition—an impromptu game of “who can drink the most cider without looking ridiculous.”
I was, predictably, terrible at it. Mary, on the other hand, handled it with the grace of someone who had spent a lifetime keeping me out of trouble. By the time we left, we were a little wobbly, very full, and utterly delighted with Viveiro.
The walk back to the guesthouse was peaceful. The streets were quiet, the air was crisp, and the faint sound of waves lapping against the shore made for the perfect backdrop. “I think I could live here,” Mary mused, leaning into me as we walked. I smiled. “I think you say that in every town we visit.”
Tomorrow, another stretch of coastline awaited. But for tonight, we had everything we needed—a cozy room, a balcony with a view, and the kind of memories that only seem to happen when you least expect them.
