Eons ago, back in February, when we first visited Galicia, the plan was to stay the winter. Off the beaten track, inexpensive, cool in summer and winter: Ideal.
Then, life happens and the best laid plans of mice and men go astray.
So, plan B was formulated. For those of you keeping score at home, it was really the original Plan A, but then who’s counting.
Then less than two weeks ago, while in France, an English sailor on a very big, beautiful sailboat, convinced me that to linger too long in the Bay of Biscay or even in Galicia or Northern Portugal, was cruising for a bruising.
Now, I may not heed, but I always listen. And now, having heard the same warnings yet again, I decided this needed to be one of those times I also heeded.
Thus, just last week, I bit the bullet and had to tell my three sets of friends who are coming to meet Dauntless and I over the next two months, and only weeks earlier had bought plane tickets to Spain, that they would have to change those recently bought tickets as Portugal was now the meeting point.
Galicia is out, Portugal is in.
And like most decisions, once made, it was clear to me, it was the right thing to do.
A Coruña is a wonderful town, wonderful food, beautiful people and fantastic wine.
We had two dinners in an absolutely great small restaurant, Vermuteria Martinez, that we had found in February. A must stop for anyone visiting Galicia.
But I also realized it was time for me to move on.
Now, even the extra stops I had planned over the next week have been nixed.
Sometimes the past is like an anchor.
One of those real expensive anchors with the hoop, plated in gold or platinum (or certainly priced as if they are) and while you hate to part with, having cost a small fortune plus your two middle children, you come to realize that it’s time to get the fire ax and cut that chain before you are dragged down.
Galicia and Spain, so many wonderful memories, in fact, nary a bad one, but now moving to the past. It’s time to move on.
It’s time to get to Portugal.
New places, faces and spaces.
But one cannot leave A Coruña, Galicia and Spain without a bit of melancholy or even “triste”
Thus a little Charles Aznavour seems appropriate at this time.