Slippery, lime- green moss

Slippery, lime- green moss lined the rocks and boulders of the pathway as it snaked up the hill through the inevitable Galician eucalyptus wood. I was alone. A few sharp sounds, a dogs barking or doors slamming, ricocheted up from the village below. The only other noise came from the sea, the wind and the birds. It was easy to conjure up the images of the ancient Galicians who had walked this path from Iron Age times onwards. The view from the top of the mountain was breathtaking. He Cíes islands seemed close enough to touch and , to the north, the islands of Ons and Sálvora lay placidly in a deceptively calm ocean. I could see the mouth of the Ría de Arousa to the north. The view stretched beyond that reaching, at least in my imagination, to mainland Europe’s most westerly point – Cape Finisterre, the End of The World. The Atlantic. Almost bare of ships, stretched out towards America. Inland, meanwhile, chimney-smoke drifted across the lowlands and onto the glassy waters of the ría.

How could one not be owe struck by the mysteries of nature, or be given to thoughts of deities and spirits, in such a spot? Wide flat slabs of granite, very slightly hollowed out, are scattered on the peak here. There is also a tiny, round, weather beaten eighteenth century look-out post of grey, lichen-clad blocks. The little mountain gains its name from the fires that used to be lit here to guide boats home. The flat stones, or ara, of which 130 have been found, were used as sacrifical altars in Roman times. The God worshipped then was called Berobreo. Like Santa Marta, he could cure. Archeologists believe this, too, was a place of pilgrimage. Some aras still bear inscriptions asking for the gift of good health.

From the book ‘Ghosts of Spain’ By Giles Tremet