We descended through the forest into a clearing—a grove of chestnut trees parted to make way for us—and found ourselves in o souto. It felt like diving into a Lord of the Rings novel, or stepping into a faerie ring of mushrooms that plunges you unexpectedly into a magical world.
About 70 galegos were gathered in the clearing around a bonfire—dancing, chatting, drinking, eating—to celebrate the changing of the seasons and the history of the chestnut tree with this tradition that goes all the way back to Celtic pagan rituals. Some adults had smeared ashes across their face in celebration, and elvin children ran wild, dipping sticks into the fire and brandishing their flaming tips with abandon at their siblings. Galician flags fluttered above us (we were debaixo da bandeira de Galicia) and I was able falar galego un poquiño with some of the guests of the party.
Reading more about the festival afterward, with my feet sore from attempting the dances along to the rhythm of the gaita and its accompanying tamborines (we stayed late into the night, and hiked back down the mountain under the light of the stars), I felt even more the magic of that day’s experience.
According to all the articles I found, my experience was true to the letter: each source agrees that this festival is traditionally celebrated in the grove of chestnuts (souto) and begins in the early evening in order to gather the chestnuts that they’ll roast later. Sticks and pine needles are used to light several bonfires (this was true!), and chestnuts are roasted on the floor, directly in the fire—which also was the case.
