Called the ‘Peninsular of Peace’ the small town of San Cibrao grew up around the pre-20th century industry of fish salting, and today is still industrial with a gigantic aluminium factory providing employment and a markedly orange focal point amongst the beaches.
At its highest point the Punta Atalaya lighthouse from 1861 looks out across the waters to the Dos Farallons Islands, the origin of a local legend of Maruxaina, a mermaid living in an underwater castle nearby.
Every August the town celebrates her with a festival that culminates at midnight when local seamen wade out into the waters to fetch the statuesque figure or La Maruxiana and carry her to a place of judgement where she is deemed to be a protector of the town, or its enemy. Always acquitted, the verdict is the signal for the town to party long into the early hours on beaches lit by torches and bonfires.
Fish salting was a practice brought to Spain by the Romans and endured for centuries as the main way of preserving the freshly caught fish of the Atlantic and Mediterranean.
At San Cibrao it employed girls and women who mined sea salt and then cleaned and coated the day’s catch unloaded by boys assisting the fishermen.
The ruins seem a small site on the town’s Cubelas Beach but they have, in part, been taken down and relocated in the centre for their own preservation. We squeezed along the narrow passageway of Rua Beiramar promenade, along a high stone wall built onto the coastal rock and passing the ruins of the factories in front of the pretty white sandy beach of Praia Pericon.
The motorhome parking area was on the edge of town, in a very pretty spot overlooking Cubelas beach, the opposite side of town to its main industry.
The Alcoa aluminium smelter was shut down during the pandemic but today was in full, belching swing. ‘Exhorbitant energy prices’ had threatened its re-opening but earlier this year, employees voted to back a stronger smelting facility powered in the main by two windfarms.
Two thirds of the town are employed there and just driving past the enormous site took five whole minutes.
Having a day off work meant a train ride back west to Viveiro. The station seemed newly unkempt, and the ticket office was boarded up. We crossed the tracks on foot to wait for the two-carriage train.
A long and loud hoot hailed its arrival and boarding it we were immediately greeted by the driver who had dashed out of his front seat to ask us our destination. Herein lay a problem. Neither of us had a clue how to say it.
I punted on “Por Favor dos billetos para Vi-VEER-Roe” to his obvious consternation. He ventured “BiB-eDo” to which we simply agreed. He waved us into seats and had no means of selling us a ticket. We hooted our way inland, mainly though steep cuttings carved out of the limestone rock which occasionally opened onto rural scenes of pasture and small holdings.
The train was clean and efficient, the driver was pleasant and had a comical way of just managing to time his dash back to his seat before the train felt like it was going to move of its own accord. It was a narrow-gauge railway with a single track.
The timetable was arranged so that passing trains were accommodated only at a few stations and not every service was a stopping one. We arrived with 90 minutes to spare before needing to catch the return train back.
Viviero sits on the Ria of the same name. It has a compact and intact Medieval centre built out along the waterside and entered through an ornamental gate.
We paused to admire the terraces of smart three storied apartments above arcaded shops and fronted by ornate galerias, glassed in balconies that let sunlight in and rain and humidity out, vital on this green and rain-washed coast of Spain.
Passing through the arched stone Gate of Carlos we explored narrow streets and pretty squares, where older people watched kids playing football, teenagers massed in packs and a stray cygnet made its interested way up to the Iglesia de Santa Maria del Campo and convent. We wished it well.
A striking sculpture of the Los Heraldos del Encuentro reminded us of the Brotherhoods we had seen on our last visit to Spain, during Semana Santa at Easter.
The Viviero Brotherhood keeps its Medieval tradition of sounding the hours of the crucifixion with drumming and horn blowing.
Back on the train and expecting to see the driver, we were pleased to meet Jose the guard who both corrected our pronunciation and sold us a ticket. “Bib-AIR-o” had been our enjoyable destination!
