I was off again recently in search of top feeds – and I certainly found them. Galicia, Spain’s northwest region, is edged by a jigsaw of luminous estuaries flowing into the Atlantic Ocean. These, it turns out, are a haven for shellfish (cockles, clams, mussels, oysters, scallops), molluscs (octopus, squid). The ria de Vigo, the southernmost of Galicia’s 18 estuaries, became my base for sampling superlative mariscos joined by myriad Atlantic fish that are caught offshore. Not only that, I got a taste of what’s on offer in the gently rolling interior.
Vigo – all about the sea
Vigo, Europe’s largest fishing port, heaves with fishermen who supply daily auctions beside the harbour (starting at 4.30 a.m., so inevitably I was late) before the seafood is whisked away to top restaurants and wholesalers all over Spain and abroad. Boat-lovers have it all here, from trawlers to tugs and speedboats, ferries crossing the estuary, private yachts of all sizes and even historical schooners. Add to that the hundreds of mussel rafts and it’s an uplifting, totally marine-oriented sight.
A little history at Vigo’s Museo do Mar – and a pinch of cocaine
Other than that, Vigo has a fascinating history, much of which is explored at the Museo do Mar perched at the mouth of the estuary. Completed in 2006, the museum was originally designed by the celebrated Italian architect, Aldo Rossi, but he died before completion. Maybe he would have tweaked it further as I found the vast, labyrinthine structures far too much – albeit packed with fishy and marine information. But it’s worth going there if only to watch the Atlantic waves breaking below.
One trade that isn’t covered in the museum is the very active drug trade along this coast, notably tons of cocaine shipped in from South America in narco-subs. It’s just too easy for these mini submarines to sneak into the coves of the estuaries from larger boats in the Atlantic.
Prowling through Vigo
In the town itself a wealth of seafood-loaded restaurants, taverns and tapas bars are helped by delicious local wines. Crisp white Albariño dominates though I didn’t turn down a personal favourite, berry-flavoured red Mencia), both from the surrounding Rias Baixas. You can read the finer details of my foodie-trail in the feature I wrote for The Guardian here. Lots of top tips – proof that I never hold back where food is concerned. And for more detail on Galicia’s finest morsels, read my older post here.
I delighted in prowling through the curling lanes of Vigo’s old town with their typical Galician façades of sober granite. This was where I sampled a few taverns and revelled in the magical nocturnal atmosphere. Compact and steep, it feels like another world.
The Ensanche, or ‘widening’ – a Catalan imprint on Vigo
Crowning this casco antigo (old town) is the very different Ensanche district. Here it feels like you’ve changed countries as the modernista (Belle Epoque) buildings wouldn’t be out of place in Barcelona, even Paris. In fact the Ensanche is a relic of Catalan entrepreneurs who initially arrived in Vigo in the late 18th century to bring a new fishing technique from the Costa Brava. Next they set up fish-salting factories (a Roman tradition) and finally, in 1879, introduced canning factories.
The latter were inspired by Breton / French factories who had supplied tinned sardines to Napoleon’s marauding troops – clearly a great energiser. Canning was the turning-point for Vigo which blossomed into a prosperous town full of chic shops, wealthy inhabitants and ornate architecture. By 1918 it was producing over one million cans of seafood annually while spin-offs such as can production, lithographed labels and shipbuilding all added to the monetary pile.
Trawlers started travelling further and further afield whether to Argentina or South Africa, preserving their catch by freezing directly on board. The next step was over-fishing – ongoing today – which led to fish farms. Again this is causing problems as outlined in David Attenborough’s latest film, Ocean. One fisherman told me that some of his colleagues are even flown out to South America to spend four months working, before returning home for another four months. It’s a hard slog of 15-hour days and pay according to the amount of fish caught. And the planet?
Hit the hills – and the furanchos!
Out in the Galician hills, I discovered another side to local foodie traditions – furanchos! Few visitors know about this 300-year old custom which closes the annual wine season, roughly between March and July. Typical of the Rias Baixas hills, it sees small-scale family wineries opening their doors to sell off their surplus accompanied by homemade tapas. It started as a neighbourly gesture before mushrooming into quite a money-earner. However objections from registered restaurants have now instigated a strict set of rules. As a result, many are morphing into restaurants themselves.
However furanchos are truly a mixed bunch, as you can see on a website guide by two Viguenses. Tables might be set up in a leafy garden, in a garage, a lean-to, or in the family living-room. But what you’re certain to get is young wine straight from the vineyard alongside pimientos de Padrón, tortilla, croquetas, empanadas or jamón.
This reminded me of a tradition I discovered near Trieste, in northwestern Italy smack on the border of Slovenia. Very similar in style, their osmize are all about farm food, locally-made wine and sitting in sunny gardens (I was there in summer luckily) to revel in local specialities. Read all about the tasty habit here.
Furancho reality
Back in Galicia, Juan Vidal, co-author with his wife, Lorena Cancelas, of the guide, laments recent changes: “Furanchos are part of our rural culture and history, but they’re being destroyed by over-regulation. Some have become restaurants – but that’s not the original idea. It’s about keeping local wineries alive”.
Yet here I was sitting with this couple of aficionados in an extension of the owners’ less than stylish living-room. A wall of plastic sheeting, a corrugated roof and an antiquated stove. It was early in the furancho season, so there wasn’t a huge choice of venue – but the wine was good, the tapas excellent and our ruddy-cheeked co-drinkers perfect reflections of rural Galicia. 12 euros each. Hard to complain really.
