A tale of two Celtic cities in Spain: A Coruna and Gijon.

Publication: South Florida Sun-Sentinel (via Knight-Ridder/Tribune News Service)

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COPYRIGHT 2005 South Florida Sun-Sentinal

Byline: Thomas Swick

A CORUNA, Spain _ "People will go to Ireland knowing it's going to rain. But they won't come to Spain for rain."

Chato was expounding at his post behind the bar of El Siglo, an amiable establishment tucked away in a modest square in the Galician port city of A Coruna. He was a small man with glasses, a graying goatee and a thick head of black hair who moved from Spanish to English to his native Gallego with admirable ease.

Tourists, I thought, can't live with them, can't live without them. But in Spain there is a woeful imbalance: the sunny south gets inundated while the cloudy north goes almost forgotten (at least by foreigners).

It wasn't that Chato didn't appreciate the advantages of inattention. He liked the fact that his beloved coast was not dentured with condos. (Though he claimed that neighboring Asturias did a better job of protecting its patrimony.) He could walk without fear at any hour (and he did, often with the night's money from the till).

It was an attractive enough city, though a number of lovely old buildings, most notably around the Praza Lugo, had been torn down for modern nonentities. One interesting new square, not far from El Siglo, had line drawings of great comedians etched into the pavement: Cervantes, Swift, Rabelais, O Henry, Twain, Grosz, Daumier, the Marx Brothers, Mae West and _ demonstrating what seemed a misguidedly broad view of humor _ Dostoevsky.

The fishing industry had taken a hit in recent years, but there were not many poor people. It was, he said, a very tolerant city. And, of course, it was lapped by the sea.

"To have that immensity," he said, "right here." He pointed to the window looking out to the street that led down to the beach. "When I lived in London it would drive me crazy. Sometimes you could smell the sea, but you couldn't see it. I'd say to my friend, `Come on, I have to go.' And we'd get in the car and drive to Brighton or some place."

By midnight, El Siglo was packed. I congratulated...

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