Where to Stay in Cudillero, Asturias: La Casona del Faedo

En la Casona de Ángel, queremos que Ustedes estén como en la casa de los abuelos,” Ángel prompted, reaching for my weekend bag. After five hours in the car from Madrid, I stretched my legs while breathing in mountain air and let the hotel owner carry my bag up wooden stairs.

how-to-get-to-la-casona-del-faedo-asturias

If Ángel said he wanted us to feel like we were at Grandma and Grandpa’s house, we’d certainly make ourselves right at home.

Clinging to the edge of a teeny Asturian village, La Casona del Faedo had been a budget find on one of the busiest weekends of the summer, where hotel rooms were going for three times the 40€ we paid per night. Like many who we’d meet that weekend sitting at a picnic table next to the small bar, they’d been fooled into thinking that the Concello do Cudillero meant the hotel was located right in the heart of the fisherman’s village of the same name.

colorful Cudillero Asturias

After a car ride that snaked though the Gaudarrama region, the empty plains of Castilla and the green hills and mountain ranges of the Picos de Europe, I was delighted to recognize the N-632 road that I’d walked three years prior. Down the steep hill, rather than turning west towards Soto de Luiña, we veered left, onto a two-lane road that climbed into the foothills of the Picos.

Looks like we’d been fooled, too, but in the best way.

A half-blind, mangy dog sporting dreadlocks greeted us as we pulled the car into an overgrown strip of parking adjacent to a canary yellow house, built towards the end of the 19th Century. Chispa, a younger dog, shot by him and jumped on me immediately. The property owner, Ángel, set down a basket of eggs he was carrying and offered a hand before taking our bags and leading us into the galeria asturiana, a hallmark of old country houses in these parts.

exterior-of-la-casona-del-faedo

The worn stairs alluded to the house’s history, rubbed thin and bowing in the middle. The second floor held several bedrooms: ours would be the one at the end of the hall, a room with a low ceiling, a wide double bed and an en suite bathroom. Truthfully, it did look like grandma and grandpa’s house. It was a little out-of-date, sure, but we aren’t travelers who spend much time in our hotel room anyway.

I freshened up, windows wide open and looking out onto the terrace bar, an old hórreo and acres of rain-fed pastures, while the Novio had a beer downstairs. After only six weeks in Madrid, the damp air took my hair back to its original shape and body. We’d spend a decent amount of time on that patio, opposite one another on a splintery picnic table. The Novio, with his beer, and me with a tonic water, chatting. The wi-fi signal here was weak.

hallway-of-casona-de-faedo

Ángel and Agustina, his wife and the unrivaled matriarch of the house, are born and bred asturianos. The sort of salt of the earth people who take pride in their daily work and sing when they speak. They’d spent nearly two decades in the Canary Islands as bar owners before returning to their tierra natal to take over the old bed and breakfast.

Agu soon returned, a bounty of groceries spilling out of her arms. The fresh cheese would accompany our bread the next morning, the eggs whisked to coat croquetas – but the pale green fabines were hers to stew with clams.

la-casona-del-faedo-details

Every morning and afternoon, post-siesta, we’d descend the mountain in our rental car and explore the region – Playa del Silencio, the weekend markets at Pravia and Muros de Nalón, a family-run sidrería on a lonely road in a town whose name I’ll never remember. And Agu and Ángel were always there when we returned – in the kitchen and behind the bar, respectively.

On our last day, me teetering on the edge of 30 and 31, the hotel owners informed us we’d have to move rooms due to a glitch in their new booking site. “No pasa nada,” I said. “Growing pains.” We gathered our things that morning and left them by the door. We were rewarded with an upgraded room and an invitation to have dinner, on the house.

Our bags were set near the bed when we arrived back from the Concha de Arvedo beach that afternoon. More coquettish and with a breeze, we’d have to close the ancient wooden shutters that night when a storm rolled through the Concello.

la-casona-de-faedo-bedrooms

room-details-at-casona-del-faedo

There was a murmur in the adjacent dining hall when we arrived, and Ángel had saved us our picnic table. “Señores, qué les apetece para cenar?” He began to list off whatever his wife was fabricating in the kitchen, but the Novio just replied, “Whatever is good.”

We filled up on cheese from somewhere across the valley, crumbling cabrales and fresh goat quesu, spread across bread that had been baked that afternoon. The croquetas were clearly homemade, lumpy and bursting with bechamel sauce and hints of leeks, and the pollo al chilindrón practically fell off the bone.

As if the location of the Casona wasn’t enough of a privilege, the food and the company was beyond what we expected from a budget bed and breakfast. It was one of those places where faces become familiar over breakfast, where the mini fridge is stocked with cans of Coke and whatever you’d picked up at the market that morning, and you’re greeted with a drink as soon as you’ve arrived.

owners-of-la-casona-de-faedo

If you go: La Casona del Faedo is a small, rural homestay located about 6 miles due south of Cudillero and reachable only by car. From Oviedo, take the A-8 to exit 431. Follow the N-632 for 1.5 kilometers and, at the bottom of the mountain, turn left onto the CU-4. The town of Faedo is seven kilometers along. You can reserve on Booking.com for around 50€.

Read more about our Asturias road trip!

I was not paid in any way for this article, save genuine hospitality on behalf of the owners. All opinions are my own.

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Do you have any recommendations for Cudillero or Asturias?

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?

Autonomous Community Spotlight: The Principality of Asturias

Not one to make travel goals, I did make one when coming to Spain: travel to all 17 autonomous communities at least once before going home. While Madrid, Barcelona and Seville are the stars of the tourist dollar show (and my hard-earned euros, let’s not kid around here), I am a champion for Spain’s little-known towns and regions. Having a global view of this country has come through spending ample time in Andalucía, Galicia and Castilla y León – vastly different in their own right – plus extensive travel throughout Spain. 

Asturias and I have a special relationship – the Novio’s mother was born in Pola do Siero, making him as asturiano as he is andaluz. By the time we made the long drive to Asturias during my spring break in 2009, I was already in love with the region nestled between the Bay of Biscay and the Picos de Europa.

The small region is one of Spain’s wettest and, in my opinion, its most naturally beautiful, and the only autonomía considered a principality. Asturies, as its called in the local gable language, was also the starting point of my Camino de Santiago – Hayley and I walked from the industrial port of Avilés.

And it goes without mention that I love fabada and cidra.

Name: Asturias

Population: 1 million

Provinces: Just one, though Asturias has eight comarcas: Avilés, Caudal, Eo-Navia, Gijón, Nalón, Narcea, Oriente and Oviedo.

When: 12th of 17 regions, March 2009

About Asturias: It’s believed that the area has been inhabited for millennia by the Celts, but Asturias rose to fame in 722 during the Muslim Reconquest of Spain. Hiding in the caves at Covadonga, Don Pelayo is believed to have had the Virgen Mary appear to him, and she told him to rally and fight the Moors. He became the first king of Asturias and the region became a refuge for nobility until the Peninsula was once again under Christian rule.

The Novio tells me Asturians are 100% Spanish because the Picos de Europa blocked the peninsular conquest of the Moors. Considering it’s still a reino, it still has its rulers – Prince Felipe and Princess Leticia are next in line to the Spanish throne.

Must sees: Like Andalucía, I don’t even know where to begin, except for saying that your best bet for traveling in Asturias is by car. There are buses and FEVE trains across Asturias, but the service is infrequent, and there’s tons of encanto in many of the small towns that you shouldn’t miss.

The capital of Asturias is Oviedo, a small city with a huge cidra scene. Calle Gascona is known as La Ruta de la Cidra, and has cider bars lining the streets. There are also pleasant pockets throughout – the plazas, the old man bars, the green spaces, the old Romanesque churches. I highly recommend the bar Platero y Yo for their cachopo – the north’s answer to a flamenquín – and excellent wine list.

Gijón is a pleasant, seaside city with colorful buildings and a bustling port, and nearby, industrial Avilés has a well-kept old town. But Asturias’s best is in its small towns, many of which we passed through on the Camino del Norte – Cudillero, Luarca, Tapa de Casariego, Ballota.

East of Gijón, there are other hamlets worth exploring, as well. After visiting family friends in misty Infiesto, we spent two nights in Cangas de Onís and used it as a base to make it to Ribadasella, Poo, the caves and cathedral of Covadonga.

The beauty of Asturias is astounding, as well. When packing for the Camino, I made sure to bring a swimsuit for the untouched beaches we hugged as we walked for five days along the coast. You can’t miss the Lagos de Covadonga, one of Spain’s highest chain of lakes, nestled in the Picos de Europa. If you love the outdoors, Asturias couldn’t be any more perfect. 

Asturian culture is based largely in its celtic origins, including bagpipes! It’s also a literary region that takes art and theatre very seriously, and sports greats Fernando Alonso and David Villa are from Asturias – must be all of that milk. Asturias is also home to bable, a language that changes its vowels around. Case in point, the greatest youtube video of all time:

My take: Asturias is exactly like all of those Leche Asturiana ads – rolling green hills, tons of dairy cows and virgen beaches. If you couldn’t already tell, I love its paraíso natural, its jovial and grounded people (my mother-in-law included!) as well as its food.

Each month for the next 14, I’ll take a look at Spain’s 17 comunidades autónomas and my travel through them, from A to, um, Valencia. I’d love your take on the good and the bad in each one, so be sure to sign up for my RSS feed to read about each autonomous region at the end of each month! Next up for May is the Balearic Islands.

Read more about Andalucía and Aragón

Have you been to Asturias? What do you like (or not) about the region?

Seville Snapshots: Luarca, Asturias

We were faced with a decision that only a pilgrim faces: walk the 1.8 kilometers to an albergue that was rumored to be next to a dairy farm in Almuña, or walk 3km downhill to the town of Luarca.

Duh.

The humble village would house us on the third night of the Camino de Santiago del Norte, a long walk of mostly weaving in and out of the N-634. Billed as one of the most beautiful towns in Spain, I was eager to spend the night on the water, as it would be one of our last.

Luarca is stacked above a small inlet on the Bay of Biscay surrounding a port. I imagined quaint fishing boats bobbing along the river Negro and ornate buildings decorating the cobblestone streets and small, tucked-away plazas.

Sadly, the city fell a little flat for me (truth be told, the road into Luarca was more picturesque!). While I could see some charm in the crumbling buildings and the colorful port, Luarca was disappointing both in vistas as in the bustling pueblo I expected to find. I felt a weak city pulse, despite the number of tourists and pilgrims eating al fresco and splashing in the cool, clear water. In its defense, I ate an incredible salad at my pension’s bar on Calle Crucero!

Think I’m full of it? Christine in Spain was there earlier this summer and had loads of things to say! Have you ever had expectation of a city or place, only to have them fall short?

Thanks again to my trip sponsors – Caser Expat Insurance, Podoactiva, Books4Spain, Your Spain Hostel and Walk and Talk Chiclana. 

Roadtrip Through Asturias

The nice thing about having two hours to prepare for a vacation when you’re coming from another is that your bag is almost nearly packed. I didn’t need to run around trying to find my passport, pour shampoo into a travel bottle, or pack reading materials. Just a few pairs of clean undies and socks, and I was on my way.
Kike, Inma, Alfredo and I took off from Sevilla at 10 am down the Careterra de la Plata, a highway that follows the ancient route explorers took to carry gold from the ports in Sevilla and Huelva up to Madrid. It crosses the wide expanses of Extremadura, up through the hills to Salamanca in Castilla y León and then onto Madrid.

somewhere between Ribadasella and Llanes

From the Guadalquivir River Valley, the four of us piled into Kike´s 97 Mercedes Elegance and drove north through the Sierra Morena, stopping in a village called Monesterio to fuel up. Extremadura is like the outback – sweeping plains of cork trees underneath a blue sky crowded with clouds straight out of the Simpsons. There are goats and pigs and sheep everywhere, as the region is famous for their meat and cheese products. In fact, there isn´t much more on menus here!

We arrived to Salamanca after about four hours, a beautiful town made from sandstone and home to Spain´s first university. Kike studied for a year here, and bought himself a nice meal at a restaurant called Dulcinea, right off the main square, right after receiving his measly paycheck. We waited nearly an hour for a table in the teeny and tightly packed dining room, then walked through the city. I had been here once during my study abroad course, so we quickly breezed through the cobblestone streets of the city past the cathedral, Casa de las Conchas, the university and the main square, considered one of the most beautiful in Spain.

Soon we were back on the road again, over the central plateau and through towns with just a church and a few excuses for buildings. This is the Spain I fell in love with – small, red buildings surrounded by absolutely nothing. Broken down, forlorn. But soon we were traveling through the mountains of León, through a rainstorm and past jagged cliffs that plunged into a large lake.

We reached Oviedo, the capital of Asturias, after sundown. It seems like the second you hit the northern provinces of Spain that line the Cantabrian Sea, everything is green and hilly. The truth is that Spain is really mountainous, and it gets a lot of rain (except for Sevilla, which is flat and dry). Oviedo was one of the first capitals of Spain because of its proximity to both the mountains that protect it and the sea just 10 miles to the north (Asturias is also one of the smallest states).

Our hotel, named for the second king of Spain who was killed by a bear during a hunting excursion, was right off Calle Uria, one of the main drags. The center of the city is small enough that it merited a quick visit the following day, but we concentrated our efforts on the sidra trail. Northern Spain has a reputation for producing some of the finest apple cider in the country. It’s fermented and poured by a waiter who raises his arm and tilts the glass below. As one could imagine, a lot of cider ends up on the floor! You only get a small quantity in your glass, which must be drank quickly in order to preserve the flavor. We pretty much were taking shots all night, a kind of Spanish version of power hour. We also ate – get this – sea urchins and a type of snail native to the Cantabrian that you eat with a nail. Yes, a nail. These Spaniards are crazy.

After the quick tour through the center, we were back on the road to a town called Infiesto. Alfredo’s uncle and his family live there in a town with one long street next to a creek surrounded by hills. It’s quite picturesque. In search of fabada, the fabled Asturian bean dish that I LOVE, we drove through several small towns through winding roads, past farms and herreros. We finally ended up at a restaurant with fabada and tortu, a flat corn tortilla with pig guts and a fried egg on top. Alfredo’s aunt gave us the names of places we should hit along the way, so we drove along a coastal highway through poor little villages, past the cliffs that plunged into the sea, in and out of little towns faster than imaginable on the two-lane highway.

We stopped in one small town called Niembro. We had to take a country road past a wide river, past the town’s forlorn cemetery and Kike’s poor car climbed to the top of the village on steep roads. We nicknamed the town “Mataninos” or the child killer because the roads were barely wide enough for his car, and we didn’t see any children. At the top of the hill, there’s a wide park with views on both sides of a beautiful beach and the Cantabrian Sea. It was breathtaking.

Inma, Alfredo, Kike and I on the Cantabrian Coast near Niembro

On the drive down, barely dodging other cars, we stopped in the town of Llanes for a coffee. The town has medieval roots and a nice seaside park. I drove us back to our destination for the night, Cagas de Onis, a village in the foothills of the Picos de Europa mountain range. the town is located on the river Sella and a menacing stone, Roman bridge meets you at the entrance to the town. It’s even more beautiful than any other place we’d seen. We spent the night eating and drinking cider.

The next morning, we got up early to drive into Picos de Europa to the Lagos de Covadonga. The highway closes off during busy tourist weeks because the mountain roads are dangerous. We arrived shortly before it closed, ensuring we could see two glacial lakes at the top. The mountains were still covered with snow and we had to hike a long ways up, but, like many things, it was worth seeing the entire mountain range and the lakes.

Lago Enol, Picos de Europa

On the way down, we stopped at a monastery built at Covadonga. Legend has it that the Virgen appeared here to Don Pelayo when the Moors were conquering Spain in the late 8th century. Because of the mountains, the Moors captured just about every part of Iberia except the small patch of Asturias. The Virgen told him and his men to reconquer Spain, which is what they did (it just took 700 years). There’s a small chapel in the cave where she appeared and an enormous church and monastery across the valley. The fog was coming down from the mountains, making the monastery shrouded by the time we left.

We headed to Gijon for the afternoon, the biggest city in Asturias. It’s very regal and laid-back, and we had a beautiful afternoon to walk around the marina and the city center and the beach. After lunch outdoors of more sea urchins and chicken, we had a nap and had dinner at a Michelin-rated restaurant. The food was amazing, the service was horrendous. We got a wheel of cheese, more vígaros and a few bottles of sidra before resting up for the long drive back.

Seaside church in Gijon

And it was back down to Sevilla and back to school. Nine more hours, countless losses of radio coverage and a bocadillo de lomo. And severely cramped legs.

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