The Way to Lunch

September 8, 2015. As helpful as she is, we can only stay on the highway and listen to Gladys for so long; after driving for 3-1/2 hours, with another hour to go I look at Google maps. Noticing a dot on the map — Cabo Vidio, I ask Michael if he would like to see a lighthouse. I turn off Gladys…we turn off the highway…heading  toward Cadavedo. “It’s not here,” I say, “but down the road. This drive will be more scenic.”

Cadavedo is cute.  So charming that I really want to get out of the car and walk around.

“Are you hungry?” I ask.

We backtrack to a restaurant we saw when first entering the town, park the car and find an outside table.  We are largely ignored. After fifteen minutes we go inside the bar, trying to be more visible.  Michael orders wine for both of us.  It is served immediately.  We try for food. We are ignored.  Most of the customers without food are being ignored. Waiters scurry.  Here.  There.  Everywhere.  Inside and out…with fresh plates of food and even more plates that have been demolished.  Many hopeful customers wait patiently.  Many decide to leave. Joining the disappointed, we pay 1,50€ for our wine and depart.

 

The Way to Cabo Vidio

I see on the map that the road I chose twists and turns, playing tag with the freeway. It climbs and dips through valleys and up hills, every once in a while affording us a view of the ocean…and affording us many views of pilgrims on their way to Santiago.

Michael doesn’t believe that we will find a lighthouse.  “Where is it?”

We pass many small villages not listed on my map—Michael continues to have little faith.  I point out that villages with only two houses just don’t make the cut on Michelin’s Spain and Portugal; I trust my navigation skills.

We follow our noses and the occasional sign to Cabo Vidio And the sea.

We reach the lighthouse to find the parking lot full of cars.  Nosing into the edge of a small mound of rock and dirt, the view beyond is more than I imagined.  Wild and beautiful…begging for me to just look at it, walk along it, have a picnic.  Not dressed warmly enough for the wind that whips around me it is hard to want to sit and be.  It is even harder to take photographs.  My hand is steady, but the strong winds shake the camera that I hold.

Michael leads and I follow.  I remind him it makes me nervous when I see him close to the edge. He listens to me like a child listens to his mother.

We walk the perimeter, although the perimeter barely exists. The earth is uneven, tortured, jagged, gouged. The cliffs are steep, falling to the rocks and the cold blue ocean below. I hug the wall beside me, hold my breath — and walk.