A Taste of Asturias
My vacation week is here, and the temperatures have gone down to what it should feel like in the spring, after the second half of last week gave us a taste of what it feels like to melt. It seems that with the introduction of summer at full speed, someone hit the brakes and took us back a couple of weeks.
As usual, I went on one of my all-day wanderings this past Monday. This time, instead of going south, I went northeast, to Asturias. I visited its coast and its mountains. One might say it's the birthplace of modern Spain. It was at Covadonga that through divine intervention (ahem), Don Pelayo won against the Moors, and the expulsion began, only eleven years after the Moorish invasion. Though, this was more of a propaganda ploy than anything else, keeping in mind that the Moors remained in Spain until 1492.
I didn't reach Covadonga, though. That's far to the east, near Cantabria, and too far to go and come back in a day. I did reach the seaside town of Cudillero, a gem tucked into the folds of cliffs touching the sea. The town is placed in the center of a giant hug. Cliffs envelop all of it in a semicircle.
Cudillero is a vertical town. From the center rises a street that turns back on itself dozens of times before reaching the top. From that street branch out stairways that are the equivalent of alleyways. Along those alleyways lie the houses, where upon looking out a window you might be directly looking at seagulls sitting on the chimney of the house one alleyway below. It's a very old town, dating back to the Middle Ages, at least, and has always depended on fishing, though now the fish in the water are becoming scarce, and the two-legged fish that wander into town more common. Most of the buildings in the center and bottom of town are restaurants or bars.
I traipsed up, and then I traipsed down. The sea breeze was cool, the sun was hot, my legs became jelly. I bought a tunafish, lettuce, and tomato sandwich, and ate my lunch in the shade of one of the alleys, looking down on the rooftops. One seagull looked at me, but I said, "no," and it didn't bother to ask anymore. Dozens of them were flying around, mewing and calling out. When I finished, I picked up my trash and went back to the car, parked in the only public parking space, out by the fishing boats.
My next stop was Salas. The app on my phone said it was a forty minute drive away, but it was more. Don't trust Google Maps. But I didn't mind the drive. The weather was nice, and I had the day to myself. I drove, and passed through Pravia, and Cornellana, amidst hills of green, shadowed by pines, some eucalyptus, and the local deciduous trees.
I passed through little villages, the houses sometimes falling apart, others well-preserved. Many had granaries next to them. In Galicia they're small and rectangular. At most, firewood or chickens are kept underneath them. Sometimes, a storeroom is built underneath. But in Asturias, they're square and almost always sit on the barn, supported by pillars resting on the barn's roof, to avoid having mice or rats invade it. They hold not only grain, but act as a sort of food storeroom.
As I was approaching Salas, I turned on my air conditioning. The cool sea breeze was behind me, and in the mountains the sun was king. It was approaching three o'clock, and the height of the day's heat. It still wasn't excessive, but it was in the high eighties (close to 33ºC). I realized I should have brought sun cream, as my left arm and shoulder were slowly turning a hue worthy of a cooked lobster.
Salas is small. It is on the primitive Way of Santiago. (There are practically as many Ways of Santiago as people who want to cash in on it. There's another Way further north, that passes through the township of Cudillero. Then there's the "French" Way in the south through León.) It's quite ancient; the first mention of Salas dates back to the ninth century. There's a tower connected to a palace, with an arch under which the road passes. The palace houses a hotel and restaurant, and has the entrance to a pre-Roman museum, which is in the tower. Unfortunately, it's closed on Mondays.
The church, Santa María la Mayor, is from the sixteenth century, and is quite imposing and sober from the outside. As I was walking around it, trying to stay in the shade, I saw that the side door was open; a result of being on one of the official Ways of Santiago, I suppose. I pushed open the door and stepped inside to look around. Great glory to the almighty Lord! While I may not believe in any religion anymore, I really do appreciate the ancient architects and workers. It was better than stepping into an air conditioned interior. It was a natural cold, probably twenty degrees (10ºC) cooler than the sidewalk. I could breathe.
The church itself isn't very adorned, and is small, despite having a side chapel. Unlike many of the altar pieces that are made of polychromed wood, it had altar pieces of alabaster and marble. The sun was shining through the high windows, and illuminated the interior. To the left of the altar is a mausoleum, where the founder of the University of Oviedo, Fernando de Valdés-Salas, is buried. The sculpture was created by Pompeyo Leoni, an Italian who apparently worked on the Escorial of Phillip II, as well.
When I found myself cooled down enough, I left and went to the car. I continued driving through the mountains, to Tineo, and then north, to Luarca, where I had already been some years ago. It was hot, and I decided to continue, stopping only to see if I could wander through a small town (too hot) and at a roadside bar to buy some fresh water. As I approached the sea again, the breezes tempered the heat, and I turned off the air conditioning. I stopped at a beach near where Asturias ends and Galicia begins. The beach was rocky, with the striations of the earth's crust sticking out to be read by someone who knows their geology. The fog was beginning to appear, and clouds of mist had formed on the hills behind. It was late, the beachgoers were packing up, and I decided to go home.
I shall return.
As usual, I went on one of my all-day wanderings this past Monday. This time, instead of going south, I went northeast, to Asturias. I visited its coast and its mountains. One might say it's the birthplace of modern Spain. It was at Covadonga that through divine intervention (ahem), Don Pelayo won against the Moors, and the expulsion began, only eleven years after the Moorish invasion. Though, this was more of a propaganda ploy than anything else, keeping in mind that the Moors remained in Spain until 1492.
I didn't reach Covadonga, though. That's far to the east, near Cantabria, and too far to go and come back in a day. I did reach the seaside town of Cudillero, a gem tucked into the folds of cliffs touching the sea. The town is placed in the center of a giant hug. Cliffs envelop all of it in a semicircle.
Cudillero is a vertical town. From the center rises a street that turns back on itself dozens of times before reaching the top. From that street branch out stairways that are the equivalent of alleyways. Along those alleyways lie the houses, where upon looking out a window you might be directly looking at seagulls sitting on the chimney of the house one alleyway below. It's a very old town, dating back to the Middle Ages, at least, and has always depended on fishing, though now the fish in the water are becoming scarce, and the two-legged fish that wander into town more common. Most of the buildings in the center and bottom of town are restaurants or bars. 
I traipsed up, and then I traipsed down. The sea breeze was cool, the sun was hot, my legs became jelly. I bought a tunafish, lettuce, and tomato sandwich, and ate my lunch in the shade of one of the alleys, looking down on the rooftops. One seagull looked at me, but I said, "no," and it didn't bother to ask anymore. Dozens of them were flying around, mewing and calling out. When I finished, I picked up my trash and went back to the car, parked in the only public parking space, out by the fishing boats. My next stop was Salas. The app on my phone said it was a forty minute drive away, but it was more. Don't trust Google Maps. But I didn't mind the drive. The weather was nice, and I had the day to myself. I drove, and passed through Pravia, and Cornellana, amidst hills of green, shadowed by pines, some eucalyptus, and the local deciduous trees.
I passed through little villages, the houses sometimes falling apart, others well-preserved. Many had granaries next to them. In Galicia they're small and rectangular. At most, firewood or chickens are kept underneath them. Sometimes, a storeroom is built underneath. But in Asturias, they're square and almost always sit on the barn, supported by pillars resting on the barn's roof, to avoid having mice or rats invade it. They hold not only grain, but act as a sort of food storeroom. As I was approaching Salas, I turned on my air conditioning. The cool sea breeze was behind me, and in the mountains the sun was king. It was approaching three o'clock, and the height of the day's heat. It still wasn't excessive, but it was in the high eighties (close to 33ºC). I realized I should have brought sun cream, as my left arm and shoulder were slowly turning a hue worthy of a cooked lobster.
Salas is small. It is on the primitive Way of Santiago. (There are practically as many Ways of Santiago as people who want to cash in on it. There's another Way further north, that passes through the township of Cudillero. Then there's the "French" Way in the south through León.) It's quite ancient; the first mention of Salas dates back to the ninth century. There's a tower connected to a palace, with an arch under which the road passes. The palace houses a hotel and restaurant, and has the entrance to a pre-Roman museum, which is in the tower. Unfortunately, it's closed on Mondays. The church, Santa María la Mayor, is from the sixteenth century, and is quite imposing and sober from the outside. As I was walking around it, trying to stay in the shade, I saw that the side door was open; a result of being on one of the official Ways of Santiago, I suppose. I pushed open the door and stepped inside to look around. Great glory to the almighty Lord! While I may not believe in any religion anymore, I really do appreciate the ancient architects and workers. It was better than stepping into an air conditioned interior. It was a natural cold, probably twenty degrees (10ºC) cooler than the sidewalk. I could breathe.
When I found myself cooled down enough, I left and went to the car. I continued driving through the mountains, to Tineo, and then north, to Luarca, where I had already been some years ago. It was hot, and I decided to continue, stopping only to see if I could wander through a small town (too hot) and at a roadside bar to buy some fresh water. As I approached the sea again, the breezes tempered the heat, and I turned off the air conditioning. I stopped at a beach near where Asturias ends and Galicia begins. The beach was rocky, with the striations of the earth's crust sticking out to be read by someone who knows their geology. The fog was beginning to appear, and clouds of mist had formed on the hills behind. It was late, the beachgoers were packing up, and I decided to go home.
I shall return.
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