Pause and Wander

Dates: October 26-31, 2025

Spain: Arcade, Sanxenxo, and Pontevedra

We arrived in Arcade carrying a kind of calm momentum. After a quiet spell in our tiny cottage by the sea, we were ready to stay slow—but in a place that let us reach outward whenever we felt the pull. Arcade fits that perfectly. From our front door, we can walk to three different grocery stores in less than ten minutes, find simple restaurants and cafés nearby, or hop on a train and arrive in Pontevedra in six minutes. It’s the sweet spot between being home and being out in the world.

A Rhythm of Home

Our house here feels solid and a little timeworn—built from granite blocks, cool in the mornings, and anchored by a wood-burning fireplace that became our compass. Each day takes shape around that fire. The girls start school after breakfast, laptops open on the table while coffee brews and something simmers on the stove. Shaina checks lessons, I stir soup, and the house hums with the low rhythm of pencils, typing, and crackling wood.

Soup has become our signature move. One day it’s chicken and vegetables, the next it’s an improvised blend of whatever’s left in the fridge—onions, rice, lentils, a touch of vinegar. It’s simple food that turns an ordinary day into something cozy and alive. We love that the butcher next door still mixes zorza—spiced meat—right on the spot. She grinds, seasons, and packages it with no hurry at all. It’s one of those small interactions that makes you feel like you belong somewhere, even for a short while.

Evenings gather around the fire. We listen to The Mysterious Benedict Society, the audiobook version of sitting around a radio—four of us in a circle, half under blankets, all tuned to the same story. The ritual is quiet but grounding. There’s something about hearing the same voice together that keeps us connected, even when we’re each drifting toward our own thoughts.

Our Kind of Outings

Arcade’s greatest gift might be how easy it is to leave without ever feeling like we’ve left home. A walk can turn into an adventure here. The trail that runs from Arcade to Pontevedra is actually a beautiful stretch of the Portuguese Camino de Santiago, winding through lush green forest, with ferns reaching over the path and dappled light flickering through the trees. It’s the kind of place that makes you talk and think differently, as if movement itself sharpens your attention. Other days we’ve explored the small coastal hills above the estuary, where the air smells faintly of pine and salt.

We’ve made time for good company, too. One afternoon, Kelli and Jeff—friends we met on the Camino who’ve become an important part of our time in Spain—picked us up in Arcade and drove us out to Sanxenxo. The town had quieted after summer, leaving behind calm streets, open views, and a wide stretch of beach that felt almost private. We stopped for lunch first, finding a café that served simple burgers, salads, and a good glass of wine. Afterward we spent the afternoon on the sand, the girls busy building an elaborate sandcastle complex while the four of us sat nearby, talking and watching the waves. As the sun dropped lower, the light turned soft and gold, and everything slowed to that easy, content pace that only happens near the ocean. Kelli and Jeff drove us back to Arcade in the fading light, everyone quiet and comfortable, tired in the best way.

Back at home on another quiet afternoon, Shaina and the girls took over the kitchen for a bit of baking. They found a yellow cake mix at the local market and turned it into a little workshop on cracking eggs, measuring flour, and testing doneness with a toothpick. The smell filled the house and made it feel instantly festive. Later we spread on a thick layer of Nutella frosting, paired it with another pot of soup, and ended the evening with a lighthearted movie. It was simple, homey, and perfect—the kind of day that proves small pleasures can hold their own right alongside big adventures. And as it turned out, it was just the first chapter in our confectioner’s book of the week, leading to several more forays into baking using the few tools at our disposal.  How we miss our home kitchen some days!  But we’ve made due—borrowing some ingredients from Flor, the kind elderly woman who lives next door and who grew up in our very house. She even invited us over one afternoon to teach us how to make a tortilla española, which alongside paella may be the signature dish of Spain. 

Firelight Meets Festival

Our quiet week found its punctuation in Samaín—the Galician version of Halloween, with roots that reach all the way back to the Celts who once called this region home. Long before carved pumpkins and candy, people here marked the turning of the seasons with fire and disguise, celebrating the end of harvest and the start of the darker half of the year. The old customs have evolved, but the bones are still there.

The morning began under heavy rain—so heavy we doubted our plans—but just as we stepped outside, the clouds parted and the sun shone down like an invitation. We rode the short train to Pontevedra, umbrellas ready, and found the old town buzzing. The Mercado Municipal’s upper floor was alive with workshops: necklaces strung with chestnuts, face painting, costume making, and ghost design. The girls dove in with both hands, turning white garbage bags into ghostly capes and paper masks into something spooky and proud. There was nothing fancy about it—no store-bought costumes or high-tech supplies—but that was part of the charm. Sometimes the simplest tools make the most lasting memories.

Between workshops, we wandered the narrow streets of the old city, stumbling upon Alba Music Emporium, a wonderfully cramped shop overflowing with instruments—pianos stacked beside guitars, shelves lined with tambourines, kazoos, and drums, every inch of space buzzing with possibility. For weeks we’d been talking about finding something creative we could carry with us—a way to make a little music as a family while we travel. The ukulele fit perfectly: small, cheerful, easy to learn, and light enough to follow us wherever we go. The shopkeeper, Rubin, guided us through the choices with an easy kindness, eventually helping us pick out a wooden soprano model that felt right the moment we held it. Before we left, he handed us a kilo of local honey “to sweeten the deal,” a gesture so simple and generous it felt like the essence of Galician hospitality. We walked out smiling, ukulele in hand, already picturing the sound of our first strummed notes drifting through the next place we’ll call home.

The walk back to the train felt like we were tempting fate. The air was thick and heavy, the sky darkening in that way that promises a downpour at any second. It looked and felt like the rain was about to open up right over our heads—but somehow, we stayed dry the whole way home. Within minutes of stepping through the front door, the skies let loose in a full torrent, hammering the roof and flooding the streets outside. We laughed at our continued luck with the finicky coastal weather; it keeps surprising at the most opportune moments. The sound of that rain carried through the house long after we’d changed into pajamas and turned off the lights. It was the perfect end to a day spent celebrating with the descendants of Celts—a mix of ancient pagan traditions with an uniquely Spanish version of Catholicism and a modern festivity that made us feel, in a fun way, deeply connected to the community around us. 

Keeping Balance

The final week in October felt like a transition in every sense of the word. As the weather turned cool and wet and the leaves became bursts of golds and reds, we have fully settled into Autumn on the rugged Atlantic Coast of northwest Spain. It has showed us what real balance feels like—not the kind that comes from scheduling, but the kind that grows naturally when your world is the right size. Arcade is small enough to feel familiar yet wide enough to feed curiosity. We can stay home and still feel alive, or step out and return before the soup cools. Our routines—schoolwork, cooking, fireside reading—don’t compete with exploration; they give it shape. The warmth of daily rhythm makes each adventure easier to savor, and the promise of small adventures keeps the rhythm from feeling dull.

We’ve also learned that looking ahead doesn’t mean rushing through now. It means having something to lean toward—a walk on a clear morning, a new song on the ukulele, another pot of soup that tastes a little different because we’ve learned something new. Happiness lives somewhere between the two: in the comfort of what’s familiar and the pull of what’s next. Here in Arcade, both are close enough to reach without ever letting go of the other.