KEY POINTS:
An elderly woman in an ankle-length skirt and wrapped in a shawl tends crops with a long, wooden-handled hoe. Behind her family's stone cottage, across a ploughed field, her husband piles hay on to a horse-drawn cart. In a shed along the road, their neighbour squats over a tin bucket, hand-milking a cow.
These are not scenes from Asia or Africa (or New Zealand 60 years ago) but from Spain, leading light in the European Union and with a standard of living similar to ours.
I'm in Galicia in the northwest corner of Spain, at the end of a road trip which began 800km east, near the border with France. Green, largely rural and dotted with fishing villages, the northern coast defies the Spanish image of red ochre plains, raw heat, toreadors and flamenco.
For one thing, it rains a lot and exposure to the Atlantic means it can be quite cool, even in summer. Not for nothing is it called the Costa Verde (Green Coast).
The coast is a rollercoaster of pasture and forested hills, estuarine valleys and wetlands, peppered medieval villages, sprawling modern cities, and fishing villages which have lived off the Atlantic fishing grounds since pre-Roman times.
Cut off from the interior by sierras (mountain ranges) and alpine peaks, the coastline of broad surf beaches, limestone cliffs and craggy coves is very different from the Mediterranean bath where the America's Cup was held.
Our trip is billed as following the pilgrim trail to Santiago de Compostela in Galicia, a route which, since the 9th century, has drawn pilgrims from Europe and beyond to the alleged tomb of St James. People supposedly follow the coastal trail to walk off mid-life crises or figure out life's purpose. But our quest is devoted to food.
Galicia is the fourth province we've visited in a week - time enough to appreciate that, far from being a unified nation, Spain is a collection of regions. The Basques may make the point loudest, but Cantabrians, Asturians and Galicians are also at pains to distinguish themselves from neighbours and from central government in Madrid.
This is achieved mainly by celebrating traditional cuisine. Occupation of different regions at various times by Phoenicians, Visigoths, Romans, Celts, Germans, Muslims and French has left an independent streak and a determination to uphold differences in language, culture and cuisine.
This heritage is reflected in diverse ways by, for example, Galician crop farmers using traditional growing and harvesting techniques, Cantabrian fishers braving the Atlantic in tiny dories, and Asturians drinking in tavernas where cider is consumed with religious fervour.
The Spanish would rather buy fresh food from artisan shopkeepers and produce markets than supermarkets. Working days are sandwiched around long, late lunches and dinners which start later and linger even longer. The point of all this eating is as much about companionship and conversation as appreciation of the food.
Our food-as-culture immersion starts in the Basque Country, with txakoli, a slightly sparkling aperitif which prepares us for anchovies and cod served either with Vizkaia, a red pepper sauce, or pil pil, an olive oil and garlic sauce which emulsifies in reaction with the skin of the fish while cooking.
In the Cantabrian port of San Vicente, we taste a tuna and potato stew first made to sustain fishermen on long sea voyages - and celebrated in an annual feast cooked on the beach.
In Asturia, peasant stews based on the faba (haricot) bean, often with chorizo, black pudding and jamon, have revered status. Asturia also boasts the best cider, but don't tell the Basques.
In Galicia, tender beef from Morella cattle goes well with a plate of pimiento di Padron, small, seedless green peppers fried and salted.
Contemplating a four-course dessert at four in the afternoon, our guide Cristina de Hevia is resigned to our fate. "You can't do anything about it - it's just the way it is."
Laid out before us is apple tart, baked cheesecake, fried milk (a light, sugary custard) and the Galician specialty, a moorish almond cake.
We've been eating for two hours, starting with shellfish _ spider crabs in croquettes, prawns with onion sauce on filo pastry, horseback clams, anchovies - followed by turbot as the main. There might have been vegetables.
It is the height of rudeness to serve just one piece for each guest. "If you're hosting 10 people, you cook for 50." Cristina shrugs. "Forget about it. You can't change the way it is."
Foods originally developed for their lasting qualities - like bacalau (salted cod), jamons (cured hams) and chorizo - still take pride of place on dinner tables. Desalted in fresh water for three days, bacalau tastes as fresh as if it's just off the boat.
The humble egg has revered status in the Basque country; it was something to rely on in times of deprivation.
Some ingredients date from Spain's conquistador heyday, when seafarers plundered gold, silver, pulses, peppers, tomatoes, paprika and chillis from the Americas. These staples are celebrated in dozens of fiestas marking the first (or last) harvest, anniversaries of patron saints and historic battles, religious dates and civic occasions.
Even within regions there are local specialties: peas in Hondarribia, green peppers in Guernica, asparagus from Navarra.
The cuisine is built on fresh ingredients cooked simply, with accompaniments and sauces which enhance rather than transform the main ingredient.
That's not to say it can't be raised to sumptuous heights by cutting-edge chefs, as reflected in Restaurant magazine's annual survey, which includes three Spanish restaurants in its top 10.
Yet, eating at all but the most upmarket establishments is cheap, especially in rural towns, where a six or seven course banquet at a taverna costs around $25-$30.
Scenery fill the gaps between meals - green hills and alpine ranges on one side, coastline on the other. Wherever we can, we swap the super-fast A8 highway for winding, narrow roads linking ancient villages.
Fishing is not what it used to be, thanks to falling stocks and EU quotas, but most coastal villages still have working fishing ports where women mend nets and the men sit and think outside quayside taverns.
Tourism is now the staple of these towns, with their historic old quarters, mediaeval forts and neo-gothic and baroque churches.
The ports - we visit Hondarribia, Mundaka, Bermeo, Castro Urdiales, San Vicente, Llanes, Cudillero and Figueras - are so quintessentially quaint that I suspect those who linger over their cerveza may never leave.
Some of the better-preserved ones have banned cars from their narrow, rabbit-warren streets. Around mid-afternoon, the cobblestone streets are empty as locals indulge in siesta - not so much heading home for a nap as to the nearest taverna for lunch.
They return to work for a couple of hours then find a seat in the town square to watch the sun cast soft light on pastel-painted houses with their wooden windows and granite walls.
It's not all postcard stuff. Outside many villages, countryside is being eaten up by rudimentary apartment blocks as big-city Spaniards and French build weekend escapes.
Nor is it all idyllic small-town life. Each region boasts substantial centres of between 200,000 and 300,000 people, including San Sebastian, Bilbao, Santander and Gigon, with factories and universities and growing rapidly.
In these centres, the battle between traditional and modern is most noticeable. Each city boasts its historic quarters, restaurants and fresh produce markets, but in the backstreets lurk the supermarket and mall - including some of vast proportions.
These shiny, characterless tombs are where, increasingly, young people eat. The usual suspects are there - McDonald's, Pizza Hutt, Subway ... - as well as Spanish joints offering inferior takes on traditional staples.
With the slow-food movement gathering momentum throughout the western world, it's a sad irony that the way of life on the Costa Verde could be under challenge from within.
"People eat such crap these days," says Lasa, a shopkeeper selling wild mushrooms and asparagus at a market in San Sebastian. "We've never had an obesity problem but now we have cholesterol problems in children. It's important they teach children in schools how to eat properly."
At least the artisan shopkeepers and restaurants still have the tourism trade to fall back on. And the flirtation with fast food seems a youthful folly.
But in Galicia, most rustic and remote of all the Spanish provinces, the reverence for tradition even extends to the revival of traditional farming practices - a return to traditional crops and tools.
There's just one problem: they are struggling to find enough oxen capable of pulling a plough. It's been bred out of them. Not like the people - yet.
*Geoff Cumming visited Spain as guest of Turespana.
Further information:
See www.tourspain.es
