Our next day’s journey brought us to Pontevedra.  As there was no talk of robbers in these parts, we travelled without any escort and alone.  The road was beautiful and picturesque, though somewhat solitary, especially after we had left behind us the small town of Caldas.  There is more than one place of this name in Spain; the one of which I am speaking is distinguished from the rest by being called Caldas de los Reyes, or the warm baths of the kings.  It will not be amiss to observe that the Spanish Caldas is synonymous with the Moorish Alhama, a word of frequent occurrence both in Spanish and African topography.  Caldas seemed by no means undeserving of its name:  it stands on a confluence of springs, and the place when we arrived was crowded with people who had come to enjoy the benefit of the waters.  In the course of my travels I have observed that wherever warm springs are found, vestiges of volcanoes are sure to be nigh; the smooth black precipice, the divided mountain, or huge rocks standing by themselves on the plain or on the hill side, as if Titans had been playing at bowls.  This last feature occurs near Caldas de los Reyes, the side of the mountain which overhangs it in the direction of the south being covered with immense granite stones, apparently at some ancient period eructed from the bowels of the earth.  From Caldas to Pontevedra the route was hilly and fatiguing, the heat was intense, and those clouds of flies, which constitute one of the pests of Galicia, annoyed our horses to such a degree that we were obliged to cut down branches from the trees to protect their heads and necks from the tormenting stings of these bloodthirsty insects.  Whilst travelling in Galicia at this period of the year on horseback, it is always advisable to carry a fine net for the protection of the animal, a sure and commodious means of defence, which appears, however, to be utterly unknown in Galicia, where, perhaps, it is more wanted than in any other part of the world.

Pontevedra, upon the whole, is certainly entitled to the appellation of a magnificent town, some of its public edifices, especially the convents, being such as are nowhere to be found but in Spain and Italy.  It is surrounded by a wall of hewn stone, and stands at the end of a creek into which the river Levroz disembogues.  It is said to have been founded by a colony of Greeks, whose captain was no less a personage than Teucer the Telemonian.  It was in former times a place of considerable commerce; and near its port are to be seen the ruins of a farol, or lighthouse, said to be of great antiquity.  The port, however, is at a considerable distance from the town, and is shallow and incommodious.  The whole country in the neighbourhood of Pontevedra is inconceivably delicious, abounding with fruits of every description, especially grapes, which in the proper season are seen hanging from the “parras” in luscious luxuriance.  An old Andalusian author has said that it produces as many oranges and citron trees as the neighbourhood of Cordova.  Its oranges are, however, by no means good, and cannot compete with those of Andalusia.  The Pontevedrians boast that their land produces two crops every year, and that whilst they are gathering in one they may be seen ploughing and sowing another.  They may well be proud of their country, which is certainly a highly favoured spot.