Asturias Again

Before the winter and its dark arrives, I tend to do one last long drive. The next one won't be until Holy Week in spring. The sun is shortening his stay, and the night is lengthening her hold. It's not as much fun to see somewhere new only by night. So, I decided to make another long trip into Asturias. A long trip, indeed. It took me three hours to drive to Avilés, the third largest city in Asturias (or the smallest of the three large cities, depending on how you look at it).

Avilés is situated at the foot of a peninsula that juts out into the Cantabrian Sea (the Bay of Biscay for some), right smack in the middle of the Asturian coast. It has been inhabited since Roman times, with utensils from the Iron Age found in the area. It sits a little inland, on its own fjord or ría. It was, and still is, an industrial city, and one of the most polluted cities in Europe until the 1990's. It's problem is not the breadth of its industry, but its position in respect to the prevailing winds. Many of the apartment buildings built in the 50's and 60's, or later, are covered in black soot. Others, too, but the more historic buildings have been cleaned since. Avilés has been undergoing a cleanup for years, and the air is much better to breathe since thirty years ago, when the cases of asthma were through the roof. 

It's not easy to navigate its streets, or it wasn't for me, coming in from the A-8 on its west side. There weren't many signs indicating the way to the center of town, and the streets looked a lot alike, all with apartment buildings built in the same style, with balconies and red, sooty brick. I finally followed one sign to the Plaza de España parking garage, which, from the name, I assumed must be in the center. Before I got there, however, I discovered a parking garage in the Calle de Cuba. Because the buildings were starting to look old, I turned into it. The parking garage turned out to be underneath a shopping mall taking up a city block right next to the old town. 

I came out and started to walk. There are several notable buildings, such as the music conservatory, and the School of Arts. The September sun picked out the different details, and made the colors vivid. I visited the church of San Nicolás de Bari, different from others I had seen elsewhere, mostly because the altar pieces are missing, having been destroyed in the Civil War. You can also tell the central nave was the original church dating back to the fourteenth century, and that the side chapels have been added on, though not very recently, since they date from the sixteenth century. In the old monastery next door, now there's a primary school, and the parents were awaiting in the street and the shady park in the square for their charges.  

I continued walking, and reached a street where most of the shops were shuttered and had painted barrels in front, under a portico that ran the length of the street. They were "pubs" or music bars that open late in the evening and run into the early morning hours. Usually, they open on weekends because that's when they have more clientele. I don't know how happy the neighbors might be. Perhaps the bars keep to the law and don't allow too much noise to breathe the night air. Perhaps the statue of the Virgin at one end of the portico reminds them that people live there. Perhaps.

I continued to wander and found myself staring at the entrance to the Niemeyer Center. It is a large area with several buildings for cultural events, from theater to exhibitions. One of the exhibits was a homage to Sorolla, one of my favorite Spanish painters. The entrance involved crossing over a street, a busy highway, a river, and train tracks. I did so, buoyed by the fact that two people were ahead of me, and that the doors were all open, so the center was probably open, too. 

Except it wasn't. When I approached the main building, I saw a woman behind a desk. The doors opened and I asked about the exhibit. "It's from Wednesday to Sunday, and it's closed Mondays and Tuesdays." It was a Tuesday. And it's always my luck that when I reach an interesting museum, exhibit, or building, it's closed. I'm there either at the wrong day or at the wrong hour. Always.

So I wandered around the plaza. The buildings are very futuristic, and it's only understandable because the architect was Oscar Niemeyer, one of the architects that built the city of Brasilia. It was inaugurated in 2011, and offers all sorts of concerts, plays, conferences, and exhibits. I have only two problems with it, three if you count being closed on the only day I go there. One is that in summer it must be blindingly hot, and the other is that in winter it must be bitingly cold. On Tuesday it was warm, tempered with a cool seabreeze. But we're in September already.

After that, I went back towards my car, stopping to eat a sandwich. It was past three and I still wanted to see a little bit more of Asturias before I left for home. So, I went a few kilometers south to Pravia. It's mostly famous for having been the capital of the ancient kingdom of Asturias from 774 to 783 under King Silo. In those nine years, his kingdom was known to have been at peace with the Moors, but most likely because they were routing Charlemagne's soldiers at Roncesvalles, the doorway to the Frank kingdom. It's a small industrial town, with too many buildings falling into deterioration. But it seems an honest town, with its upkeep meant for its inhabitants, rather than visitors. 

I then continued my way home, along the coast, which also happens to be the coastal Way to Santiago that runs through Asturias. (As I've mentioned before, Ways to Santiago are numerous.) At the end of a bridge, I saw a lone pilgrim, bowed underneath a massive backpack, trudging with the help of a broken pole. I saw a place to pull over, drank some water, and waited. When she was close, I asked, in Spanish, if she was doing the Way. She crossed over to my side of the road, but she replied in accented English. She couldn't understand me at first because she had been walking for so long, and was so tired. So we laughed, and I asked if I could drive her to the next town. She accepted and dropped her gear in my trunk. 

Her name was Tereza, and she was from the Czech Republic. She had been walking since Irún, at the Basque border with France. Mostly, she slept outside, on beaches or open fields, which was why she was carrying so much gear. The first week had been wonderful and exciting. After that, she had stopped seeing much of what she was passing by. She had already worn out one pair of hiking shoes. Tereza told me that not all the pilgrims meant to reach Santiago. Some walked only an allotted period of time and then went back home. As she had been walking she remembered what two American pilgrims had told her - be very careful on the roads. Where the Way went along a road she had to be vigilant so that the cars wouldn't knock her over; her over-large gear meant her center of gravity was higher. It's understandable, the roads are generally narrow and cars move at a good clip. We reached Muros de Nalón a few minutes later, I dropped her off to search for a supermarket, and I continued.

Before I went onto the highway nonstop to home, I stopped at a beach. From above, the views were impressive. The headland that jutted out into the sea had been losing itself over the years, and now formed an enormous cliff over a shale beach. The entire north coast of Spain, at least in Asturias and part of Galicia, is a submerged part of the land. Cliffs drop off and stone islands pop up as the softest rock is washed away. And it makes for dramatic scenery. The lane led down to a point above the beach. From there I had to walk down a dirt lane to a balcony area, from which stairs finished the way down. I stopped at the guard rail. I was tired, I had to walk uphill now, and the view was magnificent from right there. Every time I visit Asturias, my last point of contact before I start my drive home is a beach. And rightly so.