Peapod on Purpose

Spain and Portugal were always high on my must-visit list; Spanish food is one of my favorites, my dad’s side of the family comes from Spain, and we’ve heard many great stories from others who have visited both countries. But because you can’t see the whole world in a year, we’d narrowed down our list of countries and these ones got cut. We’d come to terms with missing the Iberian Peninsula, with plans to return on our next European vacation. Or so we thought.

Then we found ourselves sitting down to book the last few flights and train tickets for the final leg of our trip, and the flights from Belgium were less than $50/person (including bags). So we went for it! We hopped on a quick flight from a small airport outside Brussels to Santiago de Compostela, a town in northwestern Spain we’d never heard of before. We drove an hour to the coast and pulled up to an apartment on the estuary of a sleepy seaside town. 

The claim to fame for this region of Spain (Galicia) is the Camino de Santiago, a Catholic pilgrimage ending at the alleged burial site of the apostle James. We still don’t fully understand the purpose of a pilgrimage, but it seems like a really long walk during which people of the Catholic faith spend time in prayer and reflection and visit various churches along the way. Most people we encountered assumed we were there for the pilgrimage, since Galicia isn’t a popular region of Spain to visit for other reasons. We read over and over that we wouldn’t really experience Spanish culture by visiting this area, but whatever we experienced was amazing.  

Within five minutes of pulling up to our house, the host family (who lived downstairs) had already offered to babysit the kids so James and I could grocery shop alone. We took them up on the offer and ran off to the store. JUST KIDDING. It was a nice idea, but we’d never do that…it would be so rude to leave a kind woman with our hangry children. 

We headed out for dinner at 7:00 PM after a long day of travel, for our first dose of “Spanish time.” Upon sitting down at the restaurant, we quickly learned that the kitchen wouldn’t open for dinner service until 8:00 PM, and it would be appetizers only for us. Which worked out great, because the Spanish know how to do appetizers. The polpo a feira (boiled octopus tentacles topped with EVOO, paprika and salt) became me and Little Pea’s new favorite food, and the Iberico pork was to die for. 

We woke up the next morning and went to the grocery store in search of food, only to find that 9:00 AM was way too early to expect a store to be open. This was the start of us completely giving up on any semblance of a “normal” American schedule, when bedtime shifted to 10:00 or 11:00 PM and there wasn’t a child to be seen before 9 o’clock in the morning. It was also our first (but not last) experience of a true siesta culture. The hours between 1-4 PM were a sacred time, when shopkeepers and schoolchildren went home for lunch and a nap. The kids may or may not have been yelled at in Spanish two days in a row while swinging in the backyard, before we realized we were disturbing the neighbors. 

The town we stayed in was tiny and beautiful and known mainly for traditional granaries called horreos. We literally stepped into a square to see women hanging the wash and calling to each other from their balconies, like it was a scripted moment. Except it was just real life. One morning we were out for a walk on the beach, and we followed the sound of bagpipes until we encountered a tiny procession carrying a statue of Saint Rita through the town streets and ending at the tiny church where we could hear the sopranos singing through the open door. If we were looking for a true cultural experience, we’d found it. The kind that isn’t advertised with a website and is announced by hanging paper fliers on the doors of the townspeople. 

While our apartment was on the sea, it wasn’t a swimming beach. So a few days after our arrival, the kids and I set out to experience one of the beautiful beaches this region is known for. We parked the car, gathered our belongings, and went in search of the perfect spot. While there were few beachgoers that day, it was less than two minutes before I realized my fatal mistake: failing to prepare the kids for…topless sunbathing. Thankfully, all the women were over 60 years old and not offended by the double-takes or loud inquiries. We found a spot behind some rocks and enjoyed a few hours of sun and sand as we shivered and realized why Europeans take their beach vacations in July and August. 

We had several other adventures in Galicia, including visiting a beautiful castle and a peaceful hike by a stream. But what stands out to me the most were the sweet small towns and the food. We loved walking the tiny, cobbled city centers and saying “ciao” to every old man sitting on his stoop. (No, “ciao” is not a typo, it’s the common greeting in this part of Spain, where the primary language is Gallego and not Spanish.) We fell in love with the arroz con pulpo, not to be confused with paella which is much drier and less flavorful. On more than one occasion, we found ourselves sitting at a restaurant, watching the sunset while savoring every bite of the seafood-filled rice dish and wondering how this was our life.

After ten days in Combarro, we woke up early to start our journey to Povoa de Varzim, Portugal. While it’s really only a 2-hour drive between towns, it took us all day to get there. It involved a one-hour drive in the wrong direction to return our rental car, a four-hour bus ride to the nearest big city, and another hour-long train ride, followed by a 30-minute walk with our bags. All in the name of staying within our budget. (BTW, did you know that setting a budget and following it for an entire year is really complicated?! We came in about $1000 under budget when all was said and done. Props to JP, because my only role in that situation was spending the money.)

When we stepped on board the train, there were just a few scattered seats. The big kids sat down on the opposite side of the same car, while Little Pea took the reserved seat and James and I stood holding onto our five bags so they wouldn’t slide into other passengers. The train filled quickly, and we lost sight of the kids after a few stops. But since we were near the only door in the car, we knew they were fine to sit and read. After about half an hour, I pushed my way through the hordes to check on them.  It turns out they had chosen a seat up next to a homeless man whose pants were unzipped and whose feet were propped up on Big Pea’s chair on either side of her legs. He was clearly intoxicated and had tried to strike up a conversation with them several times. And bless them, they were completely oblivious to the situation as they buried their noses in their books. 

Upon our arrival at the apartment, we noticed the streets below were closed to parking, and we anticipated a farmer’s market in the morning. Well, we woke up to something so much better. During the night, many streets had been filled with gorgeous, colorful artwork (made from dyed, recycled paper). The designs, which looked like carpets covering the streets, were in stark contrast to the gray day and drab colored houses in our neighborhood. The effect was stunning. We didn’t see any other signs of celebration as we made our way to the train for church, but a little research showed us that it was the start of the Sao Pedro festival, a monthlong celebration of the area’s patron saint: Peter.

After making the 80-minute trek to Porto, we found a beautiful group of believers to worship with and connected with another traveling family, which is always a fun time of sharing information and experiences. And now I will pause to take a minute to tell you about the grocery store lunch experience. 

All over the world, the grocery store is a place people gather to enjoy lunch together, whether diners are choosing from the delicious variety of hot items served behind the counter, a ready-made sandwich, or something off the shelves (that they can microwave or cook with hot water). We’ve been to grocery stores that have a full food court inside with a variety of cuisine, and convenience stores with just a counter to eat your packaged sandwich. There’s almost always an eat-in area that’s full with teens, families and the elderly. Think of Whole Foods, but for those who don’t want to spend $100 on lunch. We’ve spent a lot of meals in the grocery store over the past year, and Porto was no exception. It was also the first time we tried Pastel de Nata, the sweet egg custard tart that might be my new favorite dessert. 

After church and our grocery store lunch, we hopped on the train to head back home. To our surprise, we encountered a long religious procession… tramping through the middle of the intricate artwork in the street. How could they?! All that work to disturb the beauty after just a few short hours seemed like a real shame. There were what seemed like miles of small children dressed as angels, priests holding censers, teen girls adorned as if it were their quinceañera and young men carrying statues of saints. We were immediately hushed upon walking up to the crowd and instructed to watch in reverent silence. Finally, at the end of the procession, a marching band came through and struck up a tune. Now it was party time. 

As we walked home, we came across street vendors selling traditional breads and cookies, including a tasty ring of brioche-like, coconut-flavored sweetbread. The kids ran to the balcony of our third-floor apartment to watch as the (now lively) parade made its way up the street directly below. We never saw where the actual festival took place, but we heard the fireworks from our bedroom into the wee hours of the night. By the next morning, there was no sign that the streets had been covered in hundreds of pounds of colored paper mere hours before. 

Since our apartment was only two blocks from the beach, we spent most of our time at the oceanfront playground, exploring the tidepools, or trying to force our cold bodies into the even colder water. Apparently, the unseasonably cold weather was a precursor to (what felt like) the hottest summer ever in Europe.

While in Portugal, we also adventured to a local harbor to see a recreation of a 15th-century sailing ship that was used during the age of exploration. Sailing was on the mind, since we’d visited a harbor the prior week in Spain where at least one of Christopher Columbus’ ships was built. The kids had a jolly time playing “ship’s crew,” while James and I pulled up some boxes to watch and fielded questions like “what’s this for” (while turning to Google for the answers, since we are decidedly not seamen).

On our final weekend in the country, we spent the day in Porto. And let me tell you, the city was stunning and full of life. The architecture was gorgeous; the city center was walkable, and the tile artwork on the exterior of the buildings was something we hadn’t seen anywhere else in the world. At one point during the day, I found myself photographing a striking mural. As I walked closer to investigate what was inside, my kids had a good laugh. They had already realized what I had missed; it was a Taco Bell.

That day, we also saw a massive rabbit sculpture made from trash, we strolled through The Ribeira to admire the iconic, colorful row houses and we climbed a staircase that must have had at least 400 steps. I think someone actually counted, but it wasn’t me. We also watched some older teens jump off the Dom Luis I bridge into the Douro River, and I had a mom moment when I held my breath waiting for them to resurface. No teens were harmed, and we moved on with our day once I’d confirmed they were safely on dry land again.

We’re so thankful we added Spain and Portugal to our itinerary; our time in the countries turned out to be an absolute dream. The slow pace of life, the warm people and the seafood will have a place in our hearts forever.