An Asturias Road Trip: Exploring Spain’s Northern Coast

As soon as we’d pulled off the A-8 and onto the N-632, my brain kicked into gear: I’d been here before. This very same roundabout, where we’d dodged cars as we lost the trail of yellow arrows at daybreak on the second day of the Camino del Santiago del Norte.

Sí, Sí,” I shrieked. “I know this roundabout! Then we had to cross the highway and a beagle followed us to the little beach -”

“Cat, I’m driving. Shut your pico and tell me where I have to turn,” the Novio said, straight faced and without taking his eyes off of the road, whose grade nosed dangerously down the steep N-634 that runs parallel to the northern coast of Spain.

Camino de Santiago in Muros de Nalón yellow arrow

There are two ways to see the very best of Asturias: by foot and by car. The little mountain villages and pristine beaches are out often of the reach of the rickety old FEVE trains and buses, so retracing my steps on the Camino de Santiago del Norte was an absolute treat.

Deciding to spend a long weekend in Asturias was easy – not only is it our favorite part of Spain, but the Novio and I were celebrating our birthdays, our first wedding anniversary and my pregnancy reaching 20 healthy weeks (the gender reveal was a birthday gift to us both!). What wasn’t easy were the logistics: being a long weekend in August, trains were booked or prohibitively expensive, and both of our cars were standing guard outside of our house in Seville.

We’d need a rental car if we expected to do anything.

I will fully confess that I’d never actually booked a car myself! Always in charge of itineraries and lodging, I’d traversed India, planned a trip to Marrakesh and spent six years in Spain without needing to get behind the wheel. I didn’t even know what rental car companies operated in Madrid, let alone in which areas of the city, so I used EasyTerra to score a cheap compact from nearby Nuevos Ministerios. The service compared the nearby agencies, like Sixt or Enterprise, leaving only the lodging and itinerary (also my job on this trip).

Visit Lastres Asturias

My last trip to Asturias, I’d walked from Avilés to Figueras and across the Río Eo into Galicia, the Bay of Biscay always accompanying me to the left. Three years to the day after we’d arrived in Santiago, we picked up an Opel Meriva and began the trip north.

AP-6 to AP-66 to Oviedo

Glancing at the rearview mirror just past 2:30pm, I saw a snake of cars converting the AP-6 highway into a summer traffic jam. After rejoicing in the lack of people in Madrid for the first half of the month, it seems we’d found them all.

It isn’t a #roadtrip in #Spain till you’ve eaten your bocadillo, am I right?! With @easyterra

A photo posted by Cat (@sunshinesiestas) on

As soon as we’d past the M-50 ring road and the traffic eased up, we stopped for a bocadillo at a roadside bar. All epic road trips in Spain feature a simple sandwich on a dusty road, after all. The Guadarrama mountains melted into the arid plains of Castilla – where I’d studied abroad – before we caught the AP-66 at Benavente.

An hour later, we’d exhausted all radio stations but Radio María, but the music went off, the windows went down and the Picos de Europa rose before us, signaling our passage into Asturias.

A-8 to Faedo

As soon as we’d diverted past the capital of Oviedo and gotten on the A-8, I was flooded with memories of blisters, long walks and conch shells. I began remembering small details of our 200-mile hike, from memorable meals to cat naps in the shade of a picnic table.

We turned off the highway at exit 431, and my eyes grew wide.

Renting a car in Spain

“I’ve been here! I know right where we are!” Guiding the Novio around the roundabout by way of the spraypainted arrows, I was almost delighted to find that the next roundabout was under construction, just as it had been three years earlier. I could feel my calves tighten as the narrow road climbed downwards, past road signs announcing the Camino’s crossing over the highway and remembered our descent towards La Concha de Artedo.

At the bottom of the hill, we entered onto a mountain road that climbed out of a thick forest to hug curves around rolling, green hills dotted with hamlets and dairy cows.

Soon after, my mobile signal was lost. It wouldn’t be back for most of the weekend.

Faedo to Oviñana

La Casona del Faedo said it was in Cudillero, the technicolor fishing village I’d visited on my first afternoon of the Camino. It was an inexpensive, so we booked without realizing that it was in Faedo, a miniscule farming village in the Consejo, or district of Cudillero. But the air was crisp and the farmhouse was quiet, save the far off tinkling of cow bells.

Low phone coverage in Asturias

Ángel showed us to our room in the 130-year-old stone stucture, having recently reopened the family home after more than a decade in Lanzarote. He hailed from Pola do Siero, just like my mother-in-law. The internet signal didn’t reach our room – and neither did the 4G – so we passed time asking him for recommendations for food and sites.

Dusk fell over the valley, and we were back to the winding CU-4 towards the A-8. In Oviñana, we drove narrow roads to Sidrería el Reguerín. There was no place to sit on the patio, so we sidled up to the bar and had a bottle of cider uncorked before I could even ask for a free chair. The culín de sirdina was tart and cut straight through the acidity of the octopus salad set before us.

This is one of those places that has a set menu, but it’s always better to order whatever is written on the chalkboard.

Tabla de Quesos Asturian Cheese Plate

Downing another swig of cider and perking his nostrils, the Novio dove right into Asturian cuisine, ordering an immense cheese platter with quince pastes that disappeared within minutes. I’d have been satisfied, but no sooner had I run my finger along the knife to eat the last few crumbles of cabrales, a dish of fried zucchini stuffed with crab meat came out. The murmur of dinners grew louder as cider glasses were slammed on the wooden bar in rapid-fire fashion.

I took the wheel this time, nervously driving back towards Faedo on the hilly, unlit road.

Faedo to Muros de Nalón

Agustina wiped her hands on her apron as she walked out of the kitchen. “Can I interest you in some of my freshly baked cakes?” We gladly obliged as Ángel poured the Novio a coffee from an aging copper pot and followed it with fresh milk from across the valley. Agustina had been up early making a cinnamon coffee cake and pestiños – a honey soaked, fried pastry.

The Novio inquired about where to get the best smoked sausages and fava beans as Ángel nervously checked his watch. “You should hurry and get to Muros de Nalón. They’ve got a weekly market on Saturdays with just about everything.

A quick gulp of coffee later, and we’d jumped into the rental car and zoomed down the mountain, windows open all the way and the Novio’s hair, normally weighed down with hair gel, gently flapped in the wind.

Quesos Asturianos

Muros had been one of the first towns I passed through on the Camino, upon leaving Avilés and walking in a few circles around Piedras Blancas. We’d rewarded ourselves with a beer before the last ascent into El Pito, where we’d splurged on a nice pensión. The car came to a halt just under one of the blue and yellow tiles marking the path into the center of town and the market.

More than food stalls, we found clothing stands, used books and more people milling about the bars than the small market. While the Novio checked out the long coils of chorizo and morcilla, my nose drew me to the baked goods, where I bought a loaf of bollo preñao: sweet chorizo, strips of fatty pork shoulder and a few boiled eggs baked into warm bread.

Lunch was solved for 5,50€.

The Novio’s stock included six or eight links of both morcilla and chorizo to make fabada, a hearty bean stew. He downed a few culines of cider before we pointed the car down the hill towards Cudillero.

Muros to Cudillero

colorful Cudillero Asturias

Our first night on the Camino included a stop in Cudillero, dubbed as one of Spain’s most beautiful villages. Tucked into a natural bay and protected by rock formations, the sleepy town bubbles over during the high season. And interestingly enough, the town is said to have been founded by Vikings who sought a safe port in its natural breakaways, leading to a local dialect, Pixueto.

In late July, 2013, our legs had been too tired after 26 kilometers to do much else but have a taxi pick us up in El Pito and take us right to the port and its cool, pebble-streaked waters and central cider bars. Three years later, the Novio and I climbed the stairs leading away from the village center to the carefully stacked houses and sidewalks that tumble from the cliffs.

Things to do in Cudillero

Cudillero was just as quaint and colorful as I’d remembered it, though so overrun with tourists that I felt overwhelmed and uncomfortable. Just a simple look over his sunglasses was all the Novio needed to say for us to retreat to somewhere a bit quieter.

Cudillero to Soto de Luiña

“Which way to the Pilgrim’s Inn?” asked the peregrino, eyes, squinting in the hot afternoon sun. His face was streaked with sweat and a bit of dirt, evoking memories of ending up, at 1pm, in much the same state. I pointed up the road, indicating that he make a right just after passing the church, where he’d find a bed for cheap in an old converted hospital.

Camino de Santiago mementos

The Novio put out his cigarette into a conch shell ashtray as we watched a few more scattered pilgrims arrive to the bar we were sitting in front of, dip in for a cold drink and continue on to a nap. The bar was the first in Soto de Luiña – and based on the fact that it had run out of food by 2pm, it was likely the most popular.

We’d walked steadily along the A-632 that morning, dodging cars and cyclists on our way to Ballota and its virgin beaches. The Novio bought a bottle of beer and a bag of chips and instructed me to wiggle into my bathing suit while we drove towards the nearest beach.

Soto de Luiña to Playa del Silencio

I’d often heard that Playa del Silencio was one of Asturias’s best, given that it was inaccessible if you didn’t arrive on your own two feet or in a sailboat. Cradled by a sheet rock cliff and a thick forest, the nearest “village” is several miles away, and there are no chiringuitos or even a lifeguard stand.

Playa del Silencia from above

The car park led us to believe that the place was crawling with beach goers, but most we met on the way were heading back from the beach. The gravel path led down to nearly 350 stone steps that were narrow enough that onlyone person cold pass comfortably through.

My nice leather sandals crunched uneasily over the smooth stones that made up the beach. Even with the 513 meter stretch of beach full of people, there was… silence. Save the breeze whipping past mey ears and the ocean lapping at the rocks, it was eerily silent.

Playa del Silencio

We passed the bollo preñao between us, contemplating the next 20 weeks and what would come after. I treated our weekend as a babymoon of sorts, a few fleeting days when it would just be the two of us, when we could called the baby “Micro” and when my belly just looked like a little bit of bloat. I plucked my straw hat from my bag and rested it gently over my face, succumbing to yet another afternoon snooze – savoring every one of them I’d get before the baby arrives.

Playa del Silencio to Luarca to Puerto de Vega

Washing the salt off of my body, I heard the Novio downstairs speaking with Ángel as his beer glass clinked against the wooden picnic table that we’d come to claim as our own. Not only was it a long weekend, but it was when many villages in Asturias celebrated their local festivals, making for a madhouse in villages that didn’t have the infrastructure for so many cars, tourists and hungry bellies.

fishing villages in Asturias

We decided to try for Luarca anyway, another large fishing town where Hayley and I had spent a night. I remember finding it devoid of much life – it was grey (the water in the bay included) with most of the town shuttered up, despite being called the Pueblo Blanco de la Costa Verde. But in fiestas, it might just prove to be a bit more lively, and local favorite El Barómetro told us they had space at the bar for two.

We drove in circles around the large port and up to the picturesque cemetery looking for parking, but it was futile – we were onto the next village, Puerto de Vega, as soon as we’d determined that even the vados had been taken. Puerto de Vega was decidedly sleepier, but for Casa Paco. We nabbed the last unreserved table in the dining room, a chill chasing us in from the port, where a few white and red fishing boats bobbed up and down with the wake. The octopus was tender, the cachopo – a pork loin wrapped in cheese and ham before being deep fried – as long as my forearm.

Seagull on wood planks

That night in Faedo, I didn’t last five minutes in bed (with covers on!) before I fell asleep to the lull of the diners in the bar below, waking up the following morning to crickets and cowbells as the fresh dew still lingered on blades of grass.

Faedo to Grado

We skipped the pestiños in favor of fresh cheese bought from the neighbor and crushed tomato on bread that Augustina pulled out of the oven with heavy mitts. Unsatisfied with yesterday’s yield of products, the Novio had already spoken to her about the market in Grado. Due to its position in a flat, fertile valley, the consejo is rich in gastronomic tradition, particularly cheeses under the D.O. L’Pitu and beans.

Purple flowers in Asturias

The roads were foggy and damp that morning as the car slid down the valley into Villafria. Ángel gave us instructions as only a born and bred asturiano could do, full of local words I couldn’t grasp, waving hands and landmarks.

We somehow arrived without getting lost (though we had to screenshot the way on our phones due to lack of a mobile signal).

Food stands at the Grado market

Known locally as Grau, the entire town shuts its central streets for the massive weekly market, and shops stay open, closing instead on odd days. We fought our way through crowds and vendors hocking socks, fake watches and clothing to the Plaza General Ponte, where the traditional market has run every Sunday since 1258. I went to check the free samples on cheeses while the Novio proudly announced that the chori-morci he’d bought the day before were fresher.

We tagged team the whastapps, making the rounds to ask which family wanted fabes or fabines for winter stews. A kilo of good quality fava beans in Madrid was nearly twice as expensive at 20€/kilo: prices in Seville could be up to 10€ more! We walked back to the car with arms laden with cheeses, pig shoulder and beans, stopping briefly at a sidrería for a refreshment.

Weekly market of Grado

Our late start meant we’d finished shopping right about lunch time. Agustina had suggested the hearty menu at Casa Pepe el Bueno which, at 17€ per person per menú del día (on a weekend!), was more than we’d paid for a meal all weekend. The low-ceilinged restaurant was as stuffy as it was packed with people. For a starter, we both chose fabada, served in an enormous silver bowl, meaning two plates each.

“Now Micro knows what a true fabada is,” the Novio mused, pushing back his chair as his cider-drenched hake was set down before him.

the Novio in his element

I was able to make room for dessert as I felt the first small rumblings of our child – a quarter Asturian anyway – deep in my belly. That, or a satisfied stomach.

Grado to Playa de Concha de Artedo

The road back from  Grado was far bumpier – I nearly scratched the car on the narrow road behind Pepe el Bueno, stalled twice due to the car’s sensitive gears and was kindly asked to just navigate us back to Faedo. We made it as far as Pravia before losing signal and relying on our instincts to guide us.

An hour later and after risking bottoming out on an old cattle route, I collapsed into bed as clouds rolled over the valley, heavy with rain.

Asturias driving

Slipping on my bathing suit – still a bit damp from my dip the day before – we made one last beach stop at La Concha de Artedo. I’d been but a kilometer from this beach on our second morning of the Camino, and smiled remembering a beagle that followed us from the restaurant at the top of the hill all the way down to the next arrow.

It was chilly but the time I’d found a dry rock to rest my bag, but the Novio was already darting between rocks, looking for baby andarica crabs that had been washed in with the tide. The pools were warm and shallow, hiding the creatures under rocks full of bígaros and clams.

Concha de Artedo beach Asturias

Due to a goof up in our room, Ángel and Agustina had offered to invite us to dinner at the casona, free of charge. Being one of two restaurants in Faedo – the other was a vegan music bar, quite modern for a town whose population hadn’t topped 150 in half a century – she cooked nightly for more than just guests. As dusk fell, the Novio and the propietario shared a few culines of cider and we chowed down creamy croquetas stuffed with local chunks of chorizo and pito al chilindrón, a simple chicken dish in which a whole chicken is cooked and stewed in a vegetable paste.

Mi mujer tiene mucha mano en la cocina,” Ángel would later claim as we thanked them for the phenomenal meal. Indeed, Agustina was a kitchen whiz.

That night, the wind ripped opened our heavy wooden shutters. Lightning pounded the valley, and as I lazily pulled the windows shut and locked them, I couldn’t help but think that there’s no wonder the animal products up here taste better – it rains so much!

Faedo to Lastres

Bueno, hoy es tu día,” the Novio stated, taking a long drag off of his cigarette as Ángel set a glass of fresh juice in front of me. “What’s on the itinerary? It was my 31st birthday, and I wanted to do what any other 31-year-old-woman would want to do: Go to a dinosaur museum.

Chispa the dog

I patted Chispa on the head once more and thanked Ángel and Agustina for their hospitality. Checking the route before we’d be left without internet once more, we rolled down the Meriva’s windows and slipped back down the mountain.

Passing through Colunga before reaching the Museo del Jurásico de Asturias, we gobbled down the rest of our bollo preñao in the parking lot. Being a national holiday, the museum was teeming with kids. I nudged the Novio in the ribs, knowing full well that we’d be skipping the bars for kid-friendly activities in a few short years.

The northern coast of Asturias was once home to a number of sauropods during the Jurassic period, and the Las Griegas beach has uncovered a number of bones and the largest dinosaur footprint to date. Forming part of the Costa de los Dinosaurios, the museum is one of Asturias’s top tourist attractions.

For someone whose favorite college course was based on the prehistoric beasts, I was a bit skeptical due to the number of reproductions (I am a purist, oops), but to have free election over what to do that day, I enjoyed pointing out the different features of dinosaurs and goofing off in the reproductions park.

Panoramic view of Lastres Asturias

Lastres was just around the bend of the AS-257, another quaint village perched on a cliffside. The stone houses reminded me more of the southern coast of France than the northern coast of Spain, with its red roofs and bougainvillea spilling out of window pots.

Though we’d eaten everything on our list – from cheese to fabada to bollo preñao – the Novo hadn’t had vígaros. As a kid vacationing near Lastres, he’d pick the shiny black mollusks off of rocks and dig out the worm with his fingers rather than using a straight pin.

fresh vigaros in Asturias

A waitress spread an old, faded tablecloth at one of the beachside restaurants once we’d descended the stone stairs to the small port. As a summer baby, I was clear about lunch – freshly caught seafood. Time stopped for an hour despite the ancient clock tower ringing every quarter hour. As the restaurant where we sat on stools fishing the vígaros out of their shells filled as the lunchtime hour creeped slowly up, we ordered a plate of razor clams, piping hot with a hint of parsley and lemon, and squid in black rice.

I’d have a birthday pastry at some obscure rest stop a few hours later, the Novio promised.

Lastres to Madrid

clock tower of Lastres Asturias

Tempting fate, we decided to return to Madrid a bit earlier than planned, checking the traffic report on RNE every hour. Once again, we had the Picos behind us in the rearview mirror after an hour, then the Castillian plains before ascending Guadarrama and entering back into the capital.

Perhaps on my next trip to Asturias – Micro in tow – we’ll focus on the oriental part of the region. The Lagos de Covadonga, the tiny mountain villages tucked into crags and providing sweeping views of Bay of Biscay, the artsy cities of Llanes and Ribadasella. Or perhaps he’ll eat cheese at el Reguerín and hunt for crabs with his father at Concha de Artedo.

Colorful Asturias Spain

It’s easy enough to explore Asturias by bus or train, I suppose, but half the fun are the tight turns, the stoping for cows and the sleepy little hamlets where vecinos wave you down to try and sell you their fresh milk or butter. Save walking along the coast, it’s the only way to go.

EasyTerra Car Rental, a Netherlands-based rental agency that compares well-known suppliers in more than 7,000 loctions worldwide, graciously picked up our tab. We paid for gas and navigated tractors trails and tight mountain curves ourselves – so all of the opinions expressed here are my own. That said, their website is user-friendly and their prices are the cheapest we found!

Have you ever driven or walked through Asturias? What places would you recommend?

Three Incredible Experiences to Have on Tenerife

 I’m writing this article from my new flat in the middle of Madrid. It’s stuffy in here and I’m restless (not to mention pale, and suffering a major case of the summer blues). I scroll through the promotions tab of my email and see there are plenty of places in Europe I could be going. Of course, there’s also the option to venture back down towards the South.
Playa Jardin Puerto Cruz Tenerife

I have earned exactly 1.5 vacation days at my new gig, and it all gets me thinking of my 2014 jaunt to Tenerife, which was a real surprise. I expected to see loads of beaches all packed with sunbathers, but we found beaches that had black sand and were empty but for a few locals casting lines into a mirrored bay. We also found pristine coastlines and fresh, inventive food. It was an island holiday that felt decidedly Spanish.

I’ll admit that my friend– an island convert who lives and breathes salt water and blue skies–had planned most of the trip ahead of my time there. Flying into Tenerife Norte and starting in the capital of Santa Cruz, we ringed our way around the northern half of the bowling pin shaped island in three days.

Climb Teide

Towering over Tenerife is the active volcano Teide, which also marks Spain’s highest point. Like the Giralda in Seville, it’s never quite out of view. From the bowels of the island we drove steadily upwards towards its peak, the cities melting into plush forests and finally, a Martian-like landscape as we entered into the Parque Nacional del Teide, which is only 50 minutes from popular resorts in the South of Tenerife like Costa Adeje.

Teide collage

Stretching over 3,700 meters above sea level, Teide is a UNESCO World Heritage Site for its significance not only in the formation of the island, but its flora, fauna, landscapes and its bizarre mythology, which makes it similar to Etna or Vesuvius. The ancient Guanches believed that Teide held up the sky, and from the slender top (if you make it that far with the sulfur smell), you can see across to La Gomera and Gran Canaria. Just remember to dress in layers –  the hike up is hot, but it’s freezing once you reach the peak!

To visit Teide properly, you’ll need to first secure a permit online for free. When you arrive, book a cable car up from the car park (27€), then access the foot trails to the top of the peak.

Eat at a Guachinche

Eating locally produced, tradition-stepped meals for me is usually the highlight of my trips. After we climbed Teide and were sufficiently hungry, we rolled the car down the steep western face of the volcano and into La Orotava and a guachinchie, or family-run vineyard that serves food. It’s a concept as tinerfeño as Teide itself.

This is not the type of restaurant with a large menu, but the more the type of place where you eat whatever they prepare you. The produce comes from the garden out the front, and your table has a faded plastic table cloth. You don’t leave until your stomach is full.

Tenerife Road Trip - Guachinche Eats

Julie asked what was on the menu for the day, as there is not a fixed set of dishes in a guachinche, but she didn’t need to – she just ordered one of each. What we got was a garbazná, long coils of spicy chistorra grilled over an open flame, fresh cheese, a lightly charred steak and eggs with potatoes. Nothing fancy, nothing expensive and nothing from a supermarket. Even the wine we drank was produced on the family’s small vineyard that tumbled down the hill towards the Atlantic.

Explore San Cristobal de la Laguna

Reminiscent of the Canaries’ colonial days, the town of La Laguna also borders one of its modern marvels – Tenerife North Airport. But cradled between Teide’s foothills and the sea, the brightly colored pastel buildings seemed to have broken off from some Caribbean outpost and floated to the western coast of Africa.

Tenerife Road Trip San Cristobal de la Laguna

I can’t say we did much more than stumble along side streets, pick up some fruit in the market on the northern side of town and bathe in the late March sun. There were multiple bottles of Tropical beer split between us, as well as wedge potatoes with spicy, earthy mojo picón sauce.

My next vacation is a month off – and it’s for work, technically – but knowing that the islands or some other destination is just a quick jaunt away has my face turned to the sun before the summer melts away into fall.

Have you ever been to the northern side of Tenerife? What would you recommend doing?

Chasing Don Quixote: a Detour through Castilla-La Mancha

Bueno, Castilla-La Mancha isn’t exactly known for its long, winding highways,” Inmaculada said, dragging her fingertip across the screen of her mobile phone six consecutive times as the car pointed towards Valencia. It had been nearly 100 kilometers since I’d had to even move the steering wheel for anything other than overtaking.

Literally called the scorch or the stain in Spanish, La Mancha may not be famous for its roads, but it is renowned for two things: Don Quixote and Manchego cheese. Resting comfortably on top of Andalucía and cradled between Madrid and Valencia, its size and its small towns have intimidated me. Everything seemed a bit archaic, a bit sleepy and, mostly, a bit unreachable without a car and an extra-long weekend.

windmills and Don Quijote

Stretching out on either side of the highway as I drove Inmaculada and Jaime to Valencia was land. Sand. Barely a glimpse of a small town. Like any other Spanish student, we were made to read Quixote in high school and made a point of paying homage to a fictional knight bound by the ideals of chivalry and true love. But the landscapes I’d read about in Cervantes’s greatest novel were nothing but  flat and brown. A literal scorch of earth, true to the region’s name.

Three days later, I left the coast, shoes and jacket blackened from Las Fallas, and tilted back towards the heart of Castilla-La Mancha. The great hidalgo‘s “giants” were only a few hours away. I took my old, tired car, an allusion to the old, tired steer, Rocinante, with me.

The drive should have been easy enough: the Autovía de Este until it met the Autovía del Sur and a few minutes’ drive west to Consuegra, where eight or ten windmills stand guard on a jagged crest of mountain, crowned by a medieval castle.

“Destiny guides our fortunes more favorably than we could have expected. Look there, Sancho Panza, my friend, and see those thirty or so wild giants, with whom I intend to do battle and kill each and all of them, so with their stolen booty we can begin to enrich ourselves. This is nobel, righteous warfare, for it is wonderfully useful to God to have such an evil race wiped from the face of the earth.”
“What giants?” Asked Sancho Panza.
“The ones you can see over there,” answered his master, “with the huge arms, some of which are very nearly two leagues long.”
“Now look, your grace,” said Sancho, “what you see over there aren’t giants, but windmills, and what seems to be arms are just their sails, that go around in the wind and turn the millstone.”
“Obviously,” replied Don Quijote, “you don’t know much about adventures.

Per Trevor’s suggestion, I wanted to stop first in Alcázar de San Juan, home to a number of beautifully restored windmills that wouldn’t be run over with tourists. Spit out from the Contreras Reservoir that naturally separates La Mancha from the Comunitat Valenciana, the radio frequency suddenly switched to a CD, and soon the Eagles (could there be a more perfect band for a road trip?) were running through my stereo.

I calculated I had enough gas and my bladder could make it the 200 kilometers to San Juan. It was an easy jaunt on the A-3 until Tomelloso, where I’d hop onto the CM-42.

Maybe it was the Eagles or the long, flat, endless journey down the motorway, but I turned onto the wrong highway at Atalaya del Cañavate. As someone who uses landmarks to mark the way, the names of towns, echoing old battlegrounds and ruined castles, began to seem foreign. Stopping in Alamarcha, my phone confirmed what I’d suspected for several dozen kilometers: I’d gotten myself lost.

But the giants were calling, and I wasn’t too far off the path. Monty-nante roared back to life, I turned up the music and rolled down the windows. We set off, a girl and her horsepower, to slay giants. Or, take some pictures of windmills before lunch. The allusions end there for a bit, lo prometo.

Like our Quixotic hero, I blinked hard to make sure I was seeing what lay ahead. As soon as I’d gotten on the CM-420, the long, straight highways became curls around hills, between cherry and almond groves and without a soul or engine in sight. The brown patches of earth were immediately lush and covered in alfalfa, dewey from the previous day’s rain, and full of low, stout grapevines. I pulled over and turned off my GPS, happy to sit in near silence as Monty’s tires shifted effortlessly around curves. After all, this was as adventurous as my Holy Week travels would be.

“When life itself seems lunatic, who knows where madness lies? Perhaps to be too practical is madness. To surrender dreams — this may be madness. Too much sanity may be madness — and maddest of all: to see life as it is, and not as it should be!”

I began climbing a hill at what I believed to be halfway to San Juan. Just below the cusp, I saw the stationary arm of a giant – a set of windmills protect the town of Mota del Cuervo. We nudged our way towards them, standing in a solitary row of six or eight.

Windmills in Castilla

molinos at mota del cuervo, la mancha

Windmill landscape

The tourism office was closed and my car was the only one parked in the ample gravel lot. I had the giants to myself, and I practically squealed. Lately I’ve been feeling jaded as I travel in Spain, as if nothing else can ever impress me the way that laying eyes on the Alhambra or the Taj Mahal did; but feeling the wind whip by my ears as I looked across the scorched Manchego plain reminded me that, yes, there is still plenty of Spain to discover.

But I had to press on, to not let perception or kilometers or a low phone battery squash my dream of seeing Consuegra when I was this close. I drove right past San Juan and its beautiful windmills atop an olive tree grove crawling up the hillside. As soon as I’d crossed the A-4 highway some 40 kilometers later, the giants at Consuegra began to come into view, huddled around a castle.

windmills in my rearview mirror

The town itself was dusty and sleepy, as I’d expected. Streets had no names, rendering my GPS useless. Monty chugged slowly up the steep, barely-meter wide streets as old women swept street porches and clung to their door frames. Images of the old hidalgo became commonplace – bars named Chispa and La Panza de Sancho, souvenir shops touting wooden swords and images of windmills and an old warrior atop a barebones steed.

Rounding the final curve, a man waved his arms up and down, pleading me to stop and flagging me into a full parking lot. “It’s International Poetry Day,” he said, “and the molinos are closed to car traffic.” Closing my eyes and throwing the car into reverse, I consulted the day’s plan. After getting lost twice and being pulled over by a Guardia Civil, I had to make a decision: resign myself to hiking 500 meters up to the windmills as the clouds closed in ahead, or drive back down towards Andalucía for a winery tour in Valdepeñas.

I chose to buy a bottle of wine in the DO and call it a day. I had dreams and bucket list items to chase.

The windmills were barely visible, save a few solitary blades reaching over the rock face. After an entire morning searching for them, it was like they had stopped spinning, as if the proverbial wind had been blown out of my sails. And coupled with a bus full of tourists, they just didn’t have the wonder that the molinos and my moment of silence at Mota del Cuervo had.

Even the clouds overhead looked menacing and about to burst.

Panoramica molinos de Consuegra

Windmills at Consuegra

I hiked to the farthest point from the castle, to windmills bearing less common names and without selfie-stick toting tourists resting on the stoops. These windmills were decidedly less picturesque but somehow more authentic.

A View of Don Quixote's Giants

panorama of Don Quixote's windmills

Maybe it was a pipe dream to think I’d have the windmills all to myself for an hour of reflection. Maybe I thought they’d be bigger, like the giants I’d read about in high school. But like all things in the chronicle of the hidalgo, not everything is always as it seems. Feeling a bit dejected and pressed for time, I climbed back into Monty-nante, a true warrior after 1000 kilometers over four days, and took the autovía south.

“Take my advice and live for a long, long time. Because the maddest thing a man can do in this life is to let himself die.”

It’s been over a decade since I’ve studied abroad, and half a lifetime since we read an abridged version of Don Quixote junior year of high school. And it’s been just over four centuries since Miguel de Cervantes penned the closing chapter to a masterpiece that endures time and place.

Molinos de Consuegra

In high school, I remember thinking Don Quixote was a fool, a haggard old man with pájaros en la cabeza who should have listened to his trusted Sancho Panza. Feeling very much like a pícara myself at this moment, I had a car ride to reflect on things and my somewhat failed mission to fulfill a teenage dream.

After a few weeks that could very well change the Spain game, I couldn’t help thinking that the old man had a few things to remind me: about perspective, about the clarity in insanity and that failure is also a means to a happier ending.

EXHIBITION

Have you ever seen the windmills at Consuegra?

Photo Post: The Smurf Village of Júzcar, Málaga

If there is one thing that sleepy Júzcar, a small pueblo blanco at the end of a curving mountain highway near Ronda, can claim, it’s that Smurfs live among them. In this teeny village known for its mytocology and hiking trails, you might notice something that distinguishes it from the other so-called white villages in the region – the whole town is painted bright blue!

Blue village in Spain

This hamlet perched high in the Valle del Genal has gained international fame thanks to Madrid-based publicity agency Bungalow25 (with whom I’m working on the Caser Expat ‘Typical Non-Spanish” project), Sony Pictures and more than 1000 gallons of paint.

Before the premiere of the Smurfs in 2011, Júzcar was a quick pit stop in the Serranía de Ronda, literally drawfed by other, more picturesque towns in the valley. Taking those words to heart, the town was doused in a layer of blue paint to boost tourism to an otherwise blip on a map. Cue allusions to ‘Pitufolandia’ and worldwide media fame.

panorama of Juzcar, Spain

Blue colored village Juzcar

Smurfs in Spain

pueblo pitufo spain

pitufolandia Spain

Smurf related ideas

Tourism in Juzcar Spain

While there’s not much to do in town – we were in, out and fed in an hour – the simple novelty is not lost. In fact, we were there on Día de Andalucía, along with half of the province! Bars were full, kids darting from cerulean shop to shop decked out in their own white smurf hats and parking was a nightmare, proving that a little bit of imagination can do wonders for tourism. That said, the town has yet to capitalize on it to its fullest extent!

Júzcar, Spain-

If you go: Júzcar is best reached by car, but you can take local buses from Ronda, which is 25 kilometers to the northeast. Parking is free.

Typical Non Spanish

I visited Júzcar as part of my Typical Non Spanish project with Caser Expat Insurance and my promise to myself to do 52 new things in 2016! Anything I can’t miss – be it sites, experiences or food – around Andalucía?

13 Free (or ¡Casi!) Things to Do in Seville

Free  is not a word synonymous with Seville. But cheap is.

While the city won’t burn a hole in your pocket with its reasonable prices for accommodation, food and entertainment (not to mention low cost of living), Seville still has a load of free or low-cost activities while visiting the metropolis where flamenco echoes through alleyways and bullfighters are carried out of the rings on the shoulders of revelers. And believe me when I say that there are plenty of things to do in Seville, unlike most Spanish cities where a few museums are sprinkled in between historic buildings.

If you’re pinching euros, try these ideas:

Get lost in the city’s old quarters

city streets seville

It’s believed that Seville has the largest old city center in Europe, and its Roman, Visigoth and Moorish roots mean that everything in the district is cramped, chaotic and easy to get turned around in. Your map will do you no good, so it’s better to just toss it in your bag and wander.

Catch a free flamenco show

Even before UNESCO declared flamenco – a gypsy art said to have taken on its modern form in Seville – an Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity, flamenco has been infused into the lives of sevillanos and its visitors. Peñas flamencas, small bars dedicated to artists of years past, often put on free or discounted shows in small, dark locales, the guitar wailing as a dark­haired gypsy taps and claps her way across the stage.

Flamenco show in Seville

La Carbonería – Seville’s landmark flamenco joint makes it into every guidebook for good reason: shows are free and nightly at 10:30 or 11:00 p.m. Still, the popularity of La Carbonería and its location in the heart of downtown means that the place is packed, the drinks are expensive and the dancers just sub­par (C/Levies, 18).

T de Triana – This bar cum flamenco haven features free shows on Tuesday and Thursday nights around 10:30 p.m. It’s location on Calle Betis makes it ideal for the start to a night on one of the city’s best­known nightlife spots (C/Betis, 20).

La Anselma – Even though I’m no fan of the boisterous former cantaora whose famous flamenco house brings people to my barrio, her shows are free. Just be aware that she’ll hound you for a drink until you’ve had an entire bottle of wine…yourself…by the time the second dancer goes on (C/Pagés del Coro, 49).

Not that I speak from experience.

Visit museums on their free days

Espacio Santa Clara Fountain Seville

Seville’s historical sites have been climbing in prices as the city fields more tourists. Stop by the tourism office in Plaza Virgen de los Reyes for a free guide to the reduced price or free days for both the big-ticket sites and offbeat museums. Your money should be going to tapas anyway.

Torre del Oro Monday all day
Alcázar Palace and Gardens Monday afternoon
Contemporary Art Museum Tuesday to Friday afternoons; all day Saturday
Castillo San Jorge Free daily
Cathedral and Giralda Sunday afternoon
Archivo de Indias Free daily with appointment
Casa de Pilatos Free Wednesday afternoon with EU ID card
Fine At Museum Free daily

EU citizens have their entrance to Itálica, a Roman settlement outside the city, free every day.

And if you’re a student under 26 with a valid ID card or carnet joven, you can cash in on discounted rates or free entrance at the Alcázar, Cathedral, Archaeological Museum and Arts and Customs Museum.

This is an especially good tactic if you visit in the summer – free A/C!

Lounge in one of the city’s expansive parks

Jardines del Generalife Granada

From María Luisa to Alamillo to the banks of the Guadalquivir, Seville’s parks are a defense against the hot summers and a cheap way to relax. Bring a picnic lunch for a cheap dining option, or come prepared for an afternoon siesta.

Bonus points if you bring a litrona of beer for a botellón!

Shop at a local’s market

Fruit stands at the Mercado de Triana food market

Nowhere in Seville can you witness the way its people live than in its local markets. Old ladies jab you with their elbows to get through the fruit stand while your jaw drops with the weird cuts of animals, the array of fish and the mounds of spices sold at each. Most markets are open Monday – Saturday from 8a.m. until 2p.m. Likewise, there is a fine arts fair just in front of the Fine Arts Museum every Sunday morning, weather permitting.

Wander the Exposition fairgrounds

Seville, for two brief periods in its long history, had the world’s attention when it hosted the Iberoamerican Festival in 1929 and again in 1992. Large portions of the city were dedicated to these projects.

Plaza de España Sevilla

In 1929, Seville became home to the Iberoamerican Fair, and event that brought together Latin-and South American countries in order to strengthen ties, most of which were Spanish colonies. Sitting at the southern end of the historic quarter, each country designed its own pabellón, or exhibition hall, crowned by the Plaza de España. All sites are free to view, though some aren’t open to the public or are used as government buildings.

On the opposite side of the city in the Isla de la Cartuja, Spain again hosted an exposition to welcome the 21 st century with over 100 countries in attendance. Preparations for the siteincluded building several new bridges to span the Guadalquivir River and a monorail, and the site is reputed to be from where Columbus left for his journey to America. While it remains largely abandoned, the expansive area is worth a visit, and you can visit the stunning Pabellón de Marruecos.

Sunshine on the Pabellon de Marruecos

Visit San Fernando Cemetery

While the idea of visiting a cemetery is a bit disconcerting to everyone but me, visiting Seville’s city cemetery is worth the hike for its beauty and peaceful respite from a bustling city. Inaugurated in 1852, the city’s most illustrious names have been lain to rest here, including bullfighters like Paquirri and flamenco singers, war heroes and criminals. The cemetery is open during daylight hours and on holidays, so it’s common to see burials and mourning loved ones, so silence and no photography is enforced. Take bus 10 from Ponce de León until you see the cemetery (1,40€/trip).

Discover the city’s Roman roots

Seville is a city that has been conquered, reconquered and conquered again, creating a matrix of architectural and artistic legacy. Perhaps the Roman roots of the city are best preserved, as city decrees outlaws the destruction of ruins or artifacts. Such objects can be seen in the archaeological museum of María Luisa Park, but you can discover some of them on your own.

Where to see Roman ruins in Seville

The corner of Calle Mármoles and Calle Abades houses columns of a temple; in Plaza de la Pescadería, believed to be at the crux of the old Roman streets, giant marble blocks preserve the ruins of a fish monger’s; and in Plaza de la Encarnación, visit gorgeous mosaics and old city walls that lie underneath the square (1,50€ for non­-EU citizens). There are also ruins of a Roman aqueduct just outside the city center on Luis Montoto.

Get holy at church

Plaza del Salvador Sevilla

Seville is home to the most renowned Holy Week celebrations in Spain, a somber week that transforms the last days of Jesus Christ into life­sized floats that cramp the city center. While it’s free to watch, you can visit the floats the other 51 weeks of the year and relish in the city’s devotion at most churches and chapels.

Only the Cathedral, Santa Ana and San Salvador cost money, so even just popping in for the relief from the hot sun is worthwhile. Don’t miss the venerable Macarena, or the teeny chapels under the Postigo Arch or the end of the Puente de Triana.

Enjoy views of the city center from Triana

view of Triana and the Guadalquivir from Puente de Triana

On the opposite side of the city center sits Triana, the gypsy barrio seeped in lore and full of great bars and eateries. Watching the lights of the city go on from the Triana bridge or along Calle Betis affords tremendous views of the city (and you can catch flamenco here!). Check out my guide to spending an afternoon on my side of the río.

Watch a Novillada

bullfighting in Seville Spain

If you’re brave enought to see a bullfight, Seville’s Maestranza ring is a superb place to do so. While this famed plaza de toros hosts some of the big names in bullfighting, the late May and early June novilladas bring in young bullfighters looking to make a name for themselves. Seats in the sun are typically under 15€. Schedule available on the ring’s official website.

Browse the El Jueves market for Spanish kitsch

bullfighter jackets El Jueves Market Sevilla

Believed to be one of the longest-running flea markets in Spain, Calle Feria in the Macarena district hosts a large mercadillo each Thursday morning. Vendors hock everything from recuerdos from the ’92 Expo to bullfighting suits. Haggling is OK, but browsing is the way to go.

…¡y a comer!

The Room Sevilla tapas

Like Granada, Seville’s tapas scene is a must-do when visiting, and visiting the free sites means you’ll work up an appetite. Budget hunters tend to chow down at Taberna Los Coloniales (C/Cristo de Brugos, 19) for big plates at a low cost. Bodega Las Columnas (C/ de Rodrigo Caro, 1) is another cheap option with plenty of charm, just out of the shadow of the Giralda. With beer at 1,10€ and tapas as low as 2,20€, you can still fill up without a huge bill.

You’ll also find budget options around the Alameda, squeezed in between fancier fusion restaurants. If you’re going to spend your money anywhere, be it on food and drink!

13

Do you have other ideas for cheap or free things to do in Seville?

Donde Hay Amor: Five Romantic Holiday Spots in Spain

Spain has its fair share of Mediterranean passion, spice and beauty — not to mention some of the most gorgeous sunsets, natural parks and villages on the planet. I should know: I met and fell in love with a Spaniard on the dimly lit streets of Seville, elbow-to-elbow as he ordered me new foods or we zigzagged the country in his car.

My love story has a heart-stopping backdrop between cervecerías and sidrerías, hidden coves and waterfalls, bustling cities and blips of towns. Can you tell we’re close to Valentine’s and our six-month wedding anniversary? 

SPAIN'S

Booking a romantic trip away is all about finding the destination that’s right for you and your pareja, and one of the best things about Spain is that it offers so much more than a destination for couples, from globe-trotting city slickers to couples seeking a bit of solace. Here are four of my favorite rinconces of Spain for a romantic trip:

Seville: For the passionate couple

It’s often said that Andalucía encapsulates the Spanish spirit more than any other region of the country, and nowhere is that more evident than in Seville. With its stunning Moorish architecture and wild flamenco rhythms, Seville is steeped in romance and passion. The proof is in the (blood) pudding: the Novio and I met and fell in love in Triana.

giralda sunset1

Start your trip by wandering hand-in-hand through Parque de Maria Luisa and the Moorish Alcázar, full of corners and oppulent gardens to sneak in a besito. For the best food, you can practically trip into one of the city’s many tapas restaurants, huddling together to share plates of pescaito frito and rabo de toro. And of course, no trip to this city would be complete without a flamenco experience at a local peña or a massage at the Arabic baths.

Menorca: For the tree-hugging couple

For the ultimate relaxing beach getaway, you can’t do better than Menorca. Quieter than neighboring Mallorca and protected as a UNESCO Biosphere Reserve, Menorca is a chilled-out destination that combines natural beauty, art and culture and fine cuisine.

IMAG0377

For a taste of the old world, stroll through the narrow cobbled lanes of the Old Ciutadella, before heading to the harbor for sea views and a bite to eat at fish restaurant Jàgaro (a favourite with the British Royal Family). Finish up in one of the island’s seaside taverns, sipping the island’s renowned Xoriguer gin and admiring the ocean views at sunset.

Even better, rent a car and drive to the secluded calas, or coves, scattered around the coast. Menorca is one of Spain’s top destinations for walking holidays and outdoor sports, making it perfect for outdoors lovers.

Barcelona: For the cultural couple

There’s no place like Barcelona when it comes to romance and culture. You can cuddle up by the fountain in Montjuïc, or take a stroll by the Maremagnum. End the evening taking a seat on Badalona beach and watching the waves lap against the sand. If this sounds like your kind of destination, you can check it out with loveholidays.

parc guell palm tree barcelona

Barcelona is also a place for the avant garde between world class museums, posh dining concepts and a myriad of cool day trips. While perhaps not the most romantic city in Spain, it’s literally got something for everyone (well, maybe not me).

Mojácar: For the couple who wants no company

You might not have heard of Mojácar, but you’ll certainly recognize its distinctive skyline of jumbled white-fronted houses from the pages of a travel magazine. The town comprises two areas: the old town, dating back to Moorish times and arranged over a hilltop two kilometers inland from the coast, and the beach, a modern resort that stretches seven kilometers along the coast.

sunset over porto montenegro

The combination of the two makes Mojacar the ideal destination for a romantic break, offering the opportunity for secluded walks through the old town’s winding streets, sunbathing on the golden beaches and sightseeing.

Extremadura: for off-the-beaten-path couples

Thanks to a lack of tourism, Extremadura is a part of Spain that not many tourists get to. Think wide open plains, historic cities and long, hearty lunches in the shade of a stone cathedral.

Statue of Pizarro in Trujillo

My picks would be Trujillo, home to a stone city center where the New World’s riches often ended up, or Cáceres, a UNESCO World Heritage city bursting with secluded plazas, churches and small taverns. It may be one of Spain’s most authentic areas!

But don’t think you’ll need to do anything extra special: Much like we Americans have ‘Hallmark Holidays,’ Spaniards refer to Valentine’s Day as el día del Corte Inglés. Everything is fair game – baked goods, flowers, gushy love notes and expensive dinners!

What are Spain’s most romantic holidays, in your opinion? 

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