This is a Sandy Somm and Sandy Solo crossover post. I planned a 1 day and night jaunt through Ribeira Sacra during my wine vacation that was more about the activities than the wine. Turns out I failed at realizing the full splendor of both the activities and the wine and made a huge error in the allocation of my time here.

In short, Ribeira Sacra was a magnificent region for many reasons and one day was not near enough to enjoy the full scope of its scenery, activities, sights, miradors, and wineries.

Now for the long explanation…

When planning for this trip, I knew the area was home to the largest concentration of Romanesque churches and monasteries in Europe. I knew the Minho and Sil rivers cut through it creating river canyons. I knew the area grew Mencia, a typically light-to-medium bodied red wine that is more well known in Bierzo (or at least more marketed from there) and that you could find Godello here as well, an interesting white wine that I wish I could find more of here in the States.

My trip was already 16 days long, and I could not, unfortunately, stay longer than that. Tough itinerary choices needed to be made. In hindsight, this was a choice I got wrong.

I planned a jam-packed day that required Google Maps to be accurate and for me to drive the speed limit, something I have trouble reaching in Europe. 120km per hour just seems so fast. In reality it’s a hair under 75mph, a speed I have no problem reaching at home.

My first stop was one of the many monasteries, San Pedro de Rocas. It was about a two-hour drive from where I had been staying in Cambados. The first hour or so of the drive was pretty unremarkable.  Once I got off the highway, I passed through quite a few very small villages, as the incline started to increase. I started to see signs pointing to a different monastery every few minutes it seemed.

Almost exactly two hours after I departed Cambados, I followed the signs to San Pedro into the forest, and down a long, winding, and narrow road. A few minutes later I pulled up to a very small car park in front of the monastery.

The sign stated the monument was dated back to the 6^th century when shrines were carved into the rocks. The founding tomb you can find there is dated 573.  The building that was standing was dated to the 12^th century.  It had a quaint little museum in it.

Walking around the ruins was quite peaceful. I was one of 3 tourists there at the time. The only sounds were the wind in the trees, the birds, and a woman giving her husband pointers on how to take a picture of her. I definitely understood how way back when it was appealing to become a recluse and escape to the beautiful forest to live in quiet solitude.

Hell, it seems appealing today.

I spent like 30 minutes at San Pedro before I was ready to continue on with my busy itinerary.  My next stop was the  Mirador de Cabezoás which was supposed to have a lovely view over the Sil river canyon.

I drove on and upwards until I was almost level with the top of the windmills that speckled the landscape. I had never been that close to a windmill period, let alone the blades themselves. They were much more massive than I ever thought.

After a few stops for windmill pictures, I made it to the mirador in about thirty minutes.  “Lovely view” was an understatement.

It was a spectacular view high above the Sil river as it made a hairpin turn, forming a deep and narrow canyon.  I was immediately regretful that I didn’t have plans to do a kayaking or rafting tour. I was seeing the view from above but could only imagine how equally spectacular the view looking upwards from the river must have been. DAMN.

I could have stayed up there for hours, but it was time to continue on to Pasarela do río Mao, a series of footbridges along the Mao river. At this point I was getting hungry as I didn’t have time for breakfast that morning. I also hadn’t had any coffee so it was some sort of miracle I was functioning.

I was getting my energy from the gorgeous day and sumptuous scenery, but even that could only sustain me for so long. I was hopeful I would pass a café, but I was in a pretty remote area and all the “villages’ I passed were so small they only had a few buildings.

I drove on with low blood sugar, knowing that worst case I could grab a bite when I checked into my hotel in Parada de Sil.

I arrived at Pasarela do Rio Mao and played one of my favorite games to play in remote areas of Europe: park wherever you f*cking feel like parking in any bit of space that is even close to large enough be some form of a parking spot because there is no traffic and it’s no big deal and there are no tow trucks and no one would dream of charging money for something like parking because they want you to enjoy this place and not be hassled with silly things like that.

I found a spot on the side of the road at the top of the narrow  driveway that went down to the start of the path. I wasn’t sure if this was a pedestrian road or if you could drive on it. I played it safe and parked at the top because I have narrow driveway paranoia and never want to be that stupid American that drives on a walkway.

Except they are always roads and the American in me will forever be surprised that you can drive on them. There was a parking lot at the bottom. I should have guessed.

What I also discovered at the bottom of the driveway was a building that I assumed was some sort of visitor’s center. As I got closer, I noticed outdoor café tables made of wine barrels on one end of the building. Because of course there was a café here.. And also Thank GOD because at that point I didn’t care what kind of food they had; I was eating it.

The other half of the building was some sort of gymnasium and there was a gaggle of kids enjoying what appeared to be some sort of summer camp.

It was the oddest combination. I was surrounded by trees on the banks of the river in a café-tourist center-summer camp mash-up.

It was just about noon at this point, and I walked into the tiny inside portion of the café and popped up to the small bar. It literally had 4 bar stools. The rest of the seating was outside.

Now, in the good ole USA at a place like this that hosted a kid’s summer camp, one would expect a menu of frozen processed food. But not in Spain.

I ordered a ham and cheese sandwich and a café con leche. I received a GINORMOUS sandwich on a fresh crusty roll (equal to the size of a whole loaf of bread) with Iberian Ham and thick slices of a local soft cheese. In the US this would have cost me $20 at least and been half the size. I think it was 5 Euro.

The café con leche was just as delicious. I could have ordered a beer, or some DO Ribeira Sacra wine, but since I hadn’t eaten and needed to drive more, I passed. But it was tempting.

I enjoyed my sandwich and coffee to with the sounds of children playing echoing behind me. It was bizarre and cool.

I was then nourished, ready to tackle the footbridge and play another game of “Pretend I’m Not Afraid of Heights.”

The wooden footbridge was built into the side of the slope and was surrounded by every shade of green imaginable. There were steps that went downward about a few flights at the start and then then it continued downward more gradually crossing over a stream.

For the first part, you couldn’t quite see the river yet, but you could see the other side of the river, a steep slope also covered in a patchwork of green. As I looked closely at all the different shades, I realized some of it was vineyards.

These small vineyards were seemingly on the steepest parts. It was quite dramatic, and I wondered immediately why you don’t hear more about this dramatic vineyard landscape.

You hear more about the drama in Priorat, and yes, those slopes are steeeeeeep. Scary steep in some places.

But this was a different type of drama. It was lush and terrifying all at the same time. You had to wonder how scary harvest was up there.

I kept walking, with one eye on those vineyards and one eye ahead and eventually I was at the banks of the serene Mao river. Again, I was angry at myself for not arranging to actually go out onto either the Mao or the Sil.  Its calmness juxtaposed with the steep incline of the land up both sides was magical and I wanted to be in it looking upward completely enclosed by the green. DAMN.

I made my way back the way I came and got a different perspective, as I could see more of the footbridge on which I had walked as it clung to the side of the earth. 

I always say going back up is scarier than going down.

The bridge was safe and secure, and in no way dangerous.

I am just a huge baby.

I made my way back to my car and headed to my hotel in a little town called Parada de Sil. A very little town. There were like 3 or 4 restaurants, a very small market that was more like a convenience store, and a few inns.

While small, it was central to a lot of attractions in the area and a hub for hikers passing through on the Camino de Santiago. I saw many of them and wanted to stop and talk to all of them. But I had an agenda of my own to get through.

My hotel, La Reitoral de Parada, was a renovated 17^th century rural house with only 7 rooms. It functioned as a rectory at one point. It was both historic and modern and the mix of those two things was perfect for my tastes.

I checked in as quickly as I could and then set off on a long hike to the Monastery of Santa Cristina de Ribas de Sil.

There were several marked trails in this area, but I stuck to the road on the way out as it appeared to be quicker. It was still a long, hot winding hike downward.

Santa Cristina finally appeared through the trees, another peaceful and quiet place hidden in the leafy forest. Except this time, I could only walk around its exterior because it was lunchtime and closed. FAIL.

There was a shuttle I could have taken from the tourist center, but I wanted to hike it. In retrospect, I discovered upon arrival that you had to buy tickets at the tourist center anyway and I would have realized my timing sucked if I had stopped there first.  FAIL.

I explored the grounds around it anyway and enjoyed the scenery. It then hit me that in order to return, it was going to be a hot upward battle.

And it was. It was not difficult, but I was pretty exhausted, it was 90 degrees, and my vacation booty was  not in full form yet.

I had to motor as best as I could though as I needed a shower before going to my one and only winery appointment in Ribeira Sacra.

The winery, Ronsel do Sil, was less than 9km from the hotel, but took me more than twenty minutes to get there. The road was narrow and winding and I wondered how anyone would dare drive the 90km/hr speed limit. It was impossible. I think I went an average of 25km/hr. Thankfully there was no traffic, so I wasn’t holding anyone up as I drove like Miss Daisy.

Eventually, I turned off the road down a narrow drive that went downward towards the river.  There was no riverbank here in this area. The steep slopes on both sides dead ended into the Sil.

As the tour started and we stood amongst the vines maybe 50 feet from the river, I noticed the vines on the other side grew right to the waters edge. I guess if you took a tumble during harvest you would end up refreshed in the serene river. I pictured myself grabbing a vine and pulling myself out of the river as I most certainly would have ended up in there probably more than once if I had the balls to try to harvest those vines.

The tour was done in Spanish, which was unfortunate for me, but I made friends with another American who helped to translate a bit.  Even though I didn’t understand much, the guide was joyful in their explanation, and it was contagious. It was hard to not feel joy in this beautiful spot with a glass of Godello in hand.

I find Godello to be super interesting. I typically don’t like overly floral wines, and in Godello, the floral notes usually pack a punch. However, there is usually an equal amount of fruit on it that balances out the flowers, preventing it from tasting like you are drinking a potpourri smoothie. This Godello was no exception. It paired well with the sunshine, scenery, and gentle breeze.

We then went inside to taste their collection of red wines, mostly Mencia. Exhaustion had started to set in from a busy day and I decided to put away the tasting notebook, enjoy myself and not overthink it. It was a group tasting so things moved more quickly than I can really taste and analyze anyway.

I think Mencia is a great alternative to Pinot Noir. It typically is light to medium body with higher acid, but none of the funk. It still has some floral notes like Pinot, but the lack of the funky earth is what makes the floral notes nice for me. It’s the combo of flowers and funk that I do not enjoy.

These wines were no exception, and in fact I enjoyed them more than the Mencias I have had in the past from Bierzo, the D.O. from which it is more known.

I don’t drink enough Mencia to fully be able to compare to Bierzo and describe exactly what is different, but I’m leaning towards the fruit being just a touch riper. Just a touch.

I purchased a bottle of their entry level more fruity bottling, Vel’uveyra Barrica, for about $12, to drink later. It was a very warm day so a light and fruit forward wine was perfection.

I wound my way literally back to my hotel and grabbed a bite at a little restaurant across the street, and reflected on all that I saw and did that day, bummed that I was not staying longer. I missed out on a lot – more monasteries, hiking, water sports, and of course I was having winery FOMO for not being able to visit more and really understand this D.O.

My adventures were not over however, as getting out of the area the next day was quite a white-knuckle experience…

Thanks to Google Maps, I ended up on basically a one lane road (but two-way traffic) winding up, up and up the steep mountain. Thank God I did not encounter another car because there was absolutely no space to pull off to the side. Pulling over meant falling down the side and into the river a few hundred meters below.

I honked my horn at every sharp curve as I crept at a speed of about 15 miles an hour for miles and miles. Or what felt like miles and miles. I was going so slow. And yet Google Maps was telling me the speed limit was 90 km/hr. Like, no. Just no.

At one point I passed a Mirador platform, and while I am sure the view was dramatically lovely, it was located on the curve of a turn with nowhere to park. HELL NO. I was not crazy.

What goes up must also come down.

So, then I wound down the mountain at an equally slow pace. I’m sure the view from the passenger side was incredible. As I neared the bottom and got closer to the river, I slowed to a stop to take it all in (and take a deep breath of relief to gather my nerves.)

It was breathtaking. Every shade of green up and down the sides, ending in a deep emerald river that snaked its way forward and backward. So much to explore and too little time.

As I say on every trip: I guess I will just have to return.