A small town on the north coast in the province of Lugo, Viveiro has a population of under 20,000, but this number trebles when holiday-makers hot-foot it there for the summer months. Surprisingly, it hosts over 50,000 people at an international four-day heavy metal festival, Ressurection Fest (punchy!) in July; this year Iron Maiden and Marilyn Mansion headlined. When the eldest secured a teaching assistant placement at a local primary school through a British Council programme, I took on the grin of a parent who’s smug in the knowledge that their kids have been listening. He was initially sceptical about the Galician plan and went to & fro for a year or so with only a passing interest, but after a couple of weeks with his brother in July 2024, enjoying the beaches and the parties, the potential became clearer. A Galician teaching friend suggested seeing what the British Council had to offer as his school took part in the placement scheme, and Christie successfully applied. No prior knowledge of Spanish or teaching experience is needed, unlike teaching opportunities in other countries, which are often graduate programmes.
The placement started in October 2025, but the fuckery of the UK post -Brexit visa system meant his application took six months to process and he was unable to start until the following January, four months after his placement started. I won’t go into the dreary details, but every step of the way there was a private company applying their charges and causing delay after delay, dealt with through a host of disinterested call centres. Beyond frustrating, though fortunately, this is the last time he’ll be at the mercies of Brexshit as his Irish passport has arrived (dad’s side) and he has his freedom back. He won’t be stuck in the UK wondering to what lengths he’d go to get a European passport, as some of us might be.
His brother and I drove from Estribela to Viveiro which took a couple of hours. As we got closer we noticed groups of buildings with pretty shell-like roof tiles. Spanish slate from Galicia supplies 90% of the slate to the rest of Europe, some from Ortigueira, close to Viveiro. This roof style is repeated throughout the area. I didn’t get a photo, so here’s something similar from the interweb.
The town is nestled in a bay, a bridge connecting the two sides of the river mouth, Ria de Viveiro. As a teacher, Christie secured a low-rent flat for the academic year, which coincides with off-season months, until June. It was close to the school and a short walk over the bridge to the town centre.
The first evening we stumbled on the ‘night of blackened sardines’, where local people dressed in white, unsure why, and a brass band marched through the steets lead by a man holding a large red flag. The following day whilst trying to find the library, my coursework for a Masters in Architectural Conservation comes everywhere with me, I was caught up in a procession of children dressed up as a curious mix of bees and sardines. I was reminded of World Book Day when the boy’s last minute costumes were created around the clothes/equipment that I could find on the morning and any connection to a book character was a bonus.
Every Thursday in Viveiro a range of bars take place in a scheme sponsored by the local council. They offer a speciality tapa, such as king prawn taco with bacon and sweet potato, for a few euros and encourage you to collect a stamp from each bar which you submit to a prize draw at the end of the night if you manage a full house. It keeps you bar-hopping, curious to see what the next bar will offer, and hopeful to win the weekly prize. I was also introduced to alcohol free beer on tap, ‘en barril’, which is a cut above the stuff in a bottle.
We walked up to to the viewpoint, Mirador San Roque the following day with splendid views of the cove, stroked a couple of shetland pony looky-likeys and heard the song of a Firecrest. I’m handy with the Merlin app but most days I seem to record sparrows. Christie recounted his last walk with a friend the week before, unplanned but looking for a waterfall he’d heard about. That ended up as a 20 kilometer round trip into the mountains; once they’d done the first half there was no other way of getting home. The recounting of how they were grumbling at each other for the last stretch, in shoes not made for walking, made me smile.
