On 27th March we drove along the bridge over the river Trava, and skirted the southern shore of the ria by a road cut in the slope of a hill, a good road only finished in 1900. Almost all the roads round Noya are quite new; until some twelve years ago travellers had no choice but to ride or go on foot. Every step of this drive was beautiful; the day was fine, and the ria looked like a Swiss lake beneath us,--it might have been Lake Como, with its mountain scenery on either side. On our left was Monte Barbanzos, looking far more like a range of peaks than one single mountain--its base spreads over five Spanish leagues. This mountain is partly covered with furze and partly with grass; it has no trees, but the mountains on the opposite side of the ria are mostly covered with pines, which stood out in a fringe against the sunlit sky as we retraced our steps to Noya. The shore below us formed numerous little bays and inlets with beaches of silvery sand, perfect for summer bathing. Here the ancient Iberians are thought to have dwelt before the arrival of the Celts; the latter were a continental people, but the Iberians loved to dwell by the sea. An archæologist who has explored this part tells me that the names here are very like those of Italy (which land was also partly peopled by Iberians). A little farther on we passed the spot where a famous _trovador_ of the thirteenth century is said to have lived--he was one of those whose erotic verses are preserved in the Vatican collection. At last we reached a particularly snug little bay which still retains the name given it by the Romans--Portosino, _Portus Sinus_. From here the telegraph wire ran through the pine trees to Son. On a little neck of land which forms the bay of Portosino we visited a factory for tinning sardines; boats belonging to it bring the fish to a little landing-place two yards from the factory door. Behind the factory was a garden, a regular old English garden--but for its tropical fruits--with a straight path down the centre hedged by shrubs, and bushes of stocks, red and pink, in full bloom; between the garden and the house of the owners of the factory there was the typical Gallegan wash-tank, with sloping stone sides on which to rub the clothes; here a woman with bare feet was washing linen in the running water, which entered the tank on one side and left it on the other; trees sheltered the tank, and beyond was an arbour over which there climbed a variety of cacti with red flowers and finger-like leaves of dark green. In the garden I noted fig trees as broad and sturdy as an oak; there were also lemon trees laden with ripe lemons; we had passed a grove of orange trees a few minutes before, some of which were in blossom. A huge pear tree, white with blossoms, overhung a good piece of the garden, and near it was a Nispera Japonica (Japanese Medlar), with its fruit already the size of green cherries.