Life drawing at Islas Cies, the molecular version of other natural paradises in bigger foreign continents. Locals visit on the day and bathe in icy crystal waters. Like these brave venuses.
Seagulls own the beach and visitors cannot get off the beaten track. Most beautiful beaten tracks one could wish for. Mayik kayaks tour around the beached coast, and turn around when getting to the cliffed coast. First populated by monks who liked to live dangerously. Later “unpopulated” by pirates who fancied monk-harassing. Today, human settlements are controlled to the extent of needing ID cards, fixed return tickets and full paid camping bookings, even before being allowed to hop on the ferry.
You need to collect your rubbish and take it back to the peninsula, which feels like a beautiful example of something we Spaniards lack, but are on our way to build: the sense of community. On the walks, you might spot two guys mountain-biking along the seven kilometers lenght north island, and up its 197 meters high peaks. It´s the biking police. For any other people, no bikes or cars or skates or anything are allowed. Shoes are allowed. But not really needed.
Padron Peppers and Super Sardines can be ordered at the island eatery. As fresh food, polbo a feira, empanadas, local wines, and meats, daily imported. I wonder if you actually import them in the same ferry you travel to Cies. Maybe it´s the fishermen who can be seen at sunrise on the sea. Unless they are paid just to betaken pictures of.
Once back int he city, Cies Islands can cause severe cyber verborrea, or blogorrea. Or extreme “morriña” . A cocooning mood to be cured listening to the exquisitely irreverent Spanish punk rock band from the 80´s, the galician Siniestro Total.