Standing in my wetsuit on Playa de Soesto on the Galician coast, I focus intently on the formation of the waves. I follow their development as they grow higher and then come crashing full force onto the shore, one after another. Despite its fine white sand and crystal blue water, I am sharing this pristine beach with only a few other people. It’s winter—the prime season for surfing the Atlantic coast in this quiet northwestern corner of the Iberian Peninsula.

Many vacationers pass over Galicia for Spain’s warmer and more glamorous spots. But as I discovered, the rains that keep the tourists away are part of the same storms that bring great winter surf to Spain’s Atlantic coast. And as a Vancouver-based surfing enthusiast, the occasional shower can’t keep me from the pleasures of deserted beaches, fine cuisine, and an alternative travel experience.

I arrived in Vigo, the largest city in Galicia and a natural base from which to explore the rest of the enchanting region. A couple days later, I headed out for a day trip to the old capital, A Coruña, making a detour to Playa de Razo en route. The beautiful long beach is known for its multiple surf breaks, so I was looking forward to some quality time with the waves.

However, when I arrived, the calm water made it look more like a lake than the ocean. Thoroughly disappointed, I commiserated with the manager of an empty surfing school. He told me about a number of other nearby beaches where there would be surf. And when he promised me that I would see the best scenery in Galicia by exploring the rugged coastline of Costa de la Muerte (“death coast”), I decided to head there and save A Coruña for another day.

But navigating the rural roads of Galicia in my adorable retro Fiat 500 rental car wasn’t as easy as he had implied. The centuries-old roads made repeated twists and turns around the rocky terrain.

In the short time since I’d arrived, I’d discovered that besides being one of the few tourists in the area, my foreign appearance and accent attracted a lot of curiosity and attention. But my exotic status was useless as I drove, struggling to find my way along unmarked country roads. When I stopped for directions, the locals would reference landmarks like supermarkets and parishes. I became dizzy in the roundabouts trying to decipher country lanes that “sube” (go up) or “baja” (go down) as I ping-ponged my way down the coast in my confused version of The Endless Summer.

The wild coastal views did not disappoint, and winding through the villages that connected the surf beaches was like driving through an idyllic painting of a time gone by. The beautiful old houses were painted bright colours, crowned with the signature red-clay tiled roofs, and had bougainvilleas spilling from their balconies. Locals sat in modest village cafés catching up on the latest neighbourhood news.

Most people I spoke to seemed deeply confused as to why I was asking directions to the beach in the dead of winter, unaware of the surfer’s paradise on their doorstep. They did have a point if they thought I was crazy to surf the Atlantic in winter—it certainly takes dedication. The water off the coast of Galicia averages about 12 ° C at that time of year, and the air temperature a few degrees colder.

After checking out a variety of beautiful beaches, I arrived at Playa de Soesto and knew this was the surf break of the day. With the engine of my tiny rental car still running and the heat on maximum, I wiggled into my thick wetsuit and booties in the back seat. I walked to the deserted shoreline and watched the handful of surfers on the break. After identifying a channel between the waves to paddle out to, I jumped in with my surfboard beneath me.

Despite my thick layer of insulation, I got an instant brain freeze as soon as I did my first duck dive. Fortunately, the painful entry was short-lived. I quickly warmed up while paddling for position in order to catch the wave crest at its peak and carve down its face as it closed in behind me.

In between waves, I chatted with the other surfers to get insiders’ tips on the best way to catch waves on that beach. They were a shy bunch at first, but telling them I was Canadian was a great icebreaker. A foreigner on their surf break, a girl no less, was a novelty for them, and they became excited to speak with me. After a couple of hours of triumphs and failures in an effort to achieve harmony with the ocean, my extremities were numb and my muscles exhausted.

But the most painful part was yet to come—stripping off my wetsuit. While the remoteness of Playa de Soesto made it idyllic, the price was a total absence of amenities. The parking lot became my change room as I struggled to peel off my wetsuit with frozen hands. People strolling along the beach bundled up in jackets looked at me in my swimsuit as if they feared for my sanity. Again, they had a point. But for me, it was like a nippy day in paradise.

ACCESS: Fall through spring is the best time to surf in Galicia. There are regular flights from Madrid and Paris to Vigo, Spain. You’ll need a car to explore Galicia. Gallego, the regional dialect, is common on road signs and maps. Brush up on your Spanish, because English is not widely spoken. The cuisine in Galicia is simple and delicious; try the pulpo (octopus). Lunch is the big meal of the day, while dinner is much lighter and is eaten around 10 p.m.