Galicia

The wave that put Galicia on the contest map: the Pantín Classic has run on these sandbars since 1988, and the stream that crosses the beach keeps rebuilding the peaks that made it famous. It swallows almost any swell and any tide, greener and more rural than any contest venue you have seen, cows included. Busy here means a dozen surfers, mostly friendly, mostly local.

Five minutes from Pantín, a kilometer and a half of exposed sand with a bird-filled lagoon behind it and usually a different mood in front. A Frouxeira, as everyone here calls it, picks up more swell, shifts faster and punishes lazy duck dives with a proper shorebreak. When Pantín feels small, come here; when this maxes out, drive back.

Ferrol's serious beach and the reason the city's surfers do not travel much: a horseshoe of open sand that turns winter Atlantic into hollow, consequential peaks. It holds more size than anything else in this guide, the rips organize the lineup for you, and on a clean overhead day it bears comparison with the best beach breaks in Spain. Ask before you paddle; the locals are proud of it, with reason.

A Coruña's living-room wave, breaking in front of glassed-in galerías and six floors of city. You check it from the promenade with a coffee, and the students of the surf clubs are in before their first lecture. The banks move around and the backwash can chop it up, but few places in Europe let you surf, eat percebes and catch a gig without moving the car.

The surf-school capital of the north: kilometers of open sand curving toward Malpica, with camps, rentals and enough peaks that nobody needs to argue. It gathers whatever swell exists, so on the flattest August day there is usually a waist-high wall here for someone's first bottom turn. Progress along the beach toward Barrañán as you improve; the banks get better and the people fewer.

The Costa da Morte at its kindest: a curve of sand below Cape Touriñán where the Lires estuary grooms the banks and the headland takes the sting out of the north wind. Expect a handful of locals, cows on the hillside and water that is cold in every season. Check it from the bluff before committing; out here the banks decide everything, and the next option is a long drive away.

Two kilometers of pale sand between the open Atlantic and the tiny hermitage where Galicians once bathed in nine waves to ask for children. The Rías Baixas take the edge off the ocean, so what arrives is softer and better organized than up north: whitewater inside for the schools, longer walls on the outside banks. On a summer evening half of Pontevedra is in the water and it still does not feel tight.

A Lanzada's quicker neighbor around the dune, where the same swell stands up faster and hollower over shallower banks. This is where Sanxenxo's surfers and bodyboarders head when they want a wall with some intent instead of a long roll. Best shape on the lower half of the tide, with the odd closeout as the price of admission.