A carefully restored stone "palloza", where traditional Galician architecture meets every comfort for a perfect stay.
We carefully restored the stone walls, wooden beams, and the original bread oven, preserving the soul of the house while adding every modern comfort. Every corner tells the story of the eastern Galician mountains.
A Casa de Gobo is part of a working family farm, and during your stay you can get a close-up look at everyday life in the Galician countryside.
Take part in farm work and see first-hand how the land is worked in the eastern Galician mountains.
Discover our own vegetable garden, where the produce that forms part of everyday life at the house is grown.
Get close to our family's small-scale extensive livestock farming and see how the animals are traditionally cared for, free-ranging.
We will soon publish the detailed floor plan of A Casa de Gobo showing the full layout of its rooms.
The house is organised into three independent zones, designed so each group or family can enjoy its own space.
Independent space with its own kitchen and bathroom, designed for the whole family to rest.
Independent space with its own kitchen and bathroom, designed for the whole family to rest.
Independent space with its own kitchen and bathroom, designed for the whole family to rest.
Next to the kitchen, within the very stone walls A Casa de Gobo was built from, the house's old bread oven still stands: a stone-and-fired-clay oven, like those that for generations warmed the villages of the eastern Galician mountains every time it was "baking day". Traditional Galician bread was made, and in many houses in the village still is, with very few ingredients: wheat flour (sometimes mixed with rye or corn), water, salt and sourdough starter, kept from the previous batch like a small treasure passed on from week to week, and from generation to generation. No commercial yeast was used: it was that old, living starter that made the new dough rise. Baking day was almost a small celebration. The flour was mixed with warm water and the starter, then kneaded by hand for a good while, with strength and patience, until the dough turned smooth and elastic. It was then divided into pieces, shaped into rounds and left to prove covered, often in wooden troughs or bowls, wrapped in cloths or even old jackets to keep out the cold, while the dough slowly doubled in size over several hours. Meanwhile, the oven was lit with oak or chestnut wood, letting the fire heat the stone vault thoroughly for a good while. Once the stone glowed red-hot, the embers were raked out or pushed to one side, the floor was swept with a damp broom, and the loaves were slid straight onto the hot stone with a wooden peel. It was the heat stored in the stone itself, not a direct flame, that slowly baked the bread, giving it that thick, crackling crust and airy crumb it's known for. In many villages, like A Sendiña, this ritual wasn't just a single household's affair: a shared oven served several families, each taking its turn to knead and bake, usually once a fortnight, in enough quantity to last the whole week. Today, restoring and keeping our own oven alive is a way of keeping that memory alive too: the memory of bread made with time, with hands, and with the same fire as always.
