Estribela

An Englishwoman in Galicia. In a tiny tower, on a slab of rock.

I spoke to my neighbour, Juan, half an hour ago. This isn’t unusual as I see him and his wife every half an hour as they potter to and from their house to the small holding they’ve conjured up from abandoned land next to my tall, thin tower (an accurate description of my home). He said the council have plans to develop the land where he grows veg, keeps hens, cares for stray cats and generally hangs out with friends and family, into a local park. This is news to me. Most news is news to me as I don’t yet have any way of finding out local news other than from Juan. I had a boyfriend here briefly, but it turns out that even the nice guys can be not-so-nice and that’s all I’ll say about that here.

If Juan’s small holding turns into a park that’ll mean my house is butted up to the edge of a recreational space, if not within it, and I’m not sure how I feel about that. Currently, ‘vaca flaca’ (skinny cow), my affectionate name for my 2M wide house, sits quietly at the end of a short path with only Juan’s house and an elderly couple I don’t think I’ve met yet, as neighbours. Since Juan cleaned the path up, no one loiters here or takes drugs, and I believe him when he tells me the height of the vegetation that grew along the path or the volume of rubbish he cleared away to create a clear access.

Some fun facts about my neighbourhood, Estribela, the place I’ve landed on as my home from home, on a road perched on a rock. It has 1,200 residents and is located in the parish of Lourizan which in turn sits in the province of Pontevedra. Although I’m technically in Pontevedra, and the eponymous city is a 10 min bus ride away, my casita sits on the Pontevedra/ Marín boundary (it took me a year to work that out) and so I generally wander into the small town of Marín to do anything I want to do. And the best beaches are in that direction too.

My skinny tower would be a stone’s throw from a beach but in the late 1800s Marín was given port status, and the maritime development expanded along the coast from Marín to Placeres. Placeres means ’pleasures’ which is a little cruel as it has been home to the Ence cellulose factory since 1958, which is ugly and stinks and has been the source of local disquiet for decades. Only the wind decides whether Estribela gets a biomass whiff, though mostly we seem to be spared. The licence has recently been extended to 2073 so its a case of getting used to it and acknowledging that corporate muscle flexes as much here as anywhere else.

Estribela isn’t typically pretty, the world’s largest car park sits at the bottom of my road, for port staff, I assume, but Spain and in turn, Galicia, are masters of the public realm. Whilst the only access to the sea is through the harbour near the Naval Military Academy, the uninterrupted promenade that runs alongside the port is used by locals throughout the day, walking, running, and passing the time of day on solid, timber benches, nestled amongst well-maintained perennial planting.

The footway on the other side of the road has recently been re-laid and doubled in width and there are signs of civic works and improvements throughout even this small town. EU/regional funding signs stand alongside most public works, and there are many. A brand new cultural centre is under construction on the port side near the town centre and unlike my home town in England, tired, unloved and under funded, this place feels mostly buoyant and well looked after. That’s not to say that the sustainability of the area isn’t an issue. Abandoned or derelict houses are propped up everywhere, mostly because the owner has died and the children have no desire to move to this small, quiet town.