Campervan Therapy

We’re on the AP9 motorway south in Galicia, having failed to find a campsite as there’s literally no room at the inn, because the rest of Spain and Portugal are experiencing inferno temperatures, so many campers have had exactly the same idea as us.

When we get an answer to our enquiry from a campsite in Portugal’s northern Minho Region, in a place called Covas, it’s  in Portuguese. Google translates it to the usual ‘my hovercraft is full of eels’ level of English. But studying it, using my school-girl Spanish as a guide, I think it tells us to book on line, that we can have a pitch. Saved by Parque Campismo Covas.

Crossing the bridges over the stunning Ria de Pontevedra and Ria de Vigo we spy the Galician Atlantic islands just off the coast, indigo humps in the blue bay. The deep green of the Eucalyptus and pine trees complete the picture. The disinfectant scent of the Eucalyptus wafting through the window as we stop to say a last good bye to Galicia.

Soon we’re winding through the sinuous N302 mountain road to our mystery destination, Covas. Densely wooded mountains, stout granite houses, head-high vines and terraces where the vines grow so high they almost create outside rooms. Fountains and streams run with clear water.

The little Agapanthas filled garden in Covas welcomes us, of course with a shrine to Our Lady of Fatima, but also on either side of her two sculptures. One is an enormous iron nail sticking out of a granite monolith, called Iron and Granite, symbolising these mountains.

The other granite monolith is encircled by iron ribbons and on its head is a globe. It is a moving memorial to those who have emigrated from Covas but who have supported it and loved it. A generous message though, it also welcomes all those who have fallen in love with the village and have made it their home.

A coffee in the bar and we watch the TV showing the wild-fires that rage just a hundred kilometres south west from here in Braganca near the Spanish border, while the owner bakes the local bread rolls in a massive industrial oven and we finish by buying the local sheep and cow’s milk cheese, reminiscent of halloumi.

The manor house is handsome in Covas, though its high wall and stone cross above the arched door tricks me into thinking it’s a cemetery. The granite wall, the arched doorway, the open windows in the garden’s perimeter stone wall revealing the pine trees within.

The church is wedding-cake pretty, white icing plaster and topped with delicate cupolas. From every point in the village there’s the view of wooded mountain slopes ranging off into the distance.

The campsite is on a walking trail, has a swimming pool, a bar, those adult exercise toys in a woodland area which I love so much, a shop. The pitches are shaded by quince and pear trees.

This oasis of a place is run too by an elderly couple and their family. It’s clear to see it’s a place well-loved and returned to by many campers. It definitely goes on our Keeper list.