Jess Barrington Travels

A Royal Weekend in León: Part 1

León has been on our list of places to visit since we arrived in Spain. Phil and I have heard great things plus it’s only an hour and a half drive (3 hours by train) from Gijón. León is not in Asturias but located in the autonomous community of Castilla y León (a bit like Asturias’s much larger neighboring state to the south). A day trip from Gijón to León is totally doable but we are not fans of rushing. Hurrying through a church, museum, or other location simply to check it off “the list” and speed off to the next, must see, nearby attraction is not enjoyable to us. We would rather take our time experiencing one cultural attraction fully than rushing to pack in three. I know this isn’t everyone’s style and that’s ok but because it is our style, we opted to spend a couple of days and nights in León, seeing the sights and of course, eating the eats!

Before we left Gijón, our friend, David, who is from León gave us a run down on must see spots and other cool attractions as well as the neighborhoods to eat in. We had a general idea of what we wanted to do and see but it was great to be able to tweak our itinerary based on the recommendations of a native Leonese.

We arrived in León via train around 10pm on Thursday night and walked from the train station to our hotel, crossing the Bernesga River, with the moon large and bright in the distance. As we walked the air was cool and crisp; refreshing with its fall bite. There is something about the air in autumn that is so exhilarating, almost electric, like something thrilling is about to happen but I have no idea what. I love that feeling.

We found our hotel, dropped off our bags, and headed to the old part of town called Barrio Húmedo for something to eat. León is known for serving generous tapas plates with wine or beer. A bit like the gratis pinchos you find in Gijón but more substantial. David informed us that the tradition is called “ir de vinos” (to go with wine). One can even order what is called a corto de cerveza which is a very small (about a double shot) glass of beer which is quite inexpensive and still enjoy a nice plate of gratis tapas. Generally one can find the ir de vinos from 1-3pm in the afternoon and 8-10pm.

By the time we made it to old town that evening, we needed something a bit more substantial so opted for a couple of plates of raciones. Raciones are to be shared and are a bit like appetizer platters in the U.S. We were still served a gratis plate of fried potatoes with cabrales (Asturian blue cheese) sauce which was delicious and much appreciated. We ordered a plate of cured Leonese meats and a plate of potatoes, bacon, and eggs. We decided to to share a desert of cheesecake as well (with sprinkles!). Por qué no? All was delicious and along with our cerveza toastadas (toasted or brown beer) helped to keep us warm in our seats on the patio as the temperature dipped to 6°C (42°F).

The next morning, we caught the 10:15 bus to Astorga, a 45 minute bus ride south east of León. The day was sunny and bright and the glorious autumn air was in full effect. We have had a lovely fall in Gijón thus far, particularly after having spent our past five autumn’s in southern California where there isn’t a real seasonal weather change to speak of. León’s otoño (autumn) was poppin. Not only was there the sunny, crisp weather I love so much but also many more colorful leaves than I have seen in Gijón. The bus ride to Astorga was beautiful with rolling hills of autumnal colors. One particular stretch reminded much of where I grew up in Missouri. I even leaned over to Phil and whispered, “It looks like we’re driving from Gravois (where my folks live) to Versailles (neighboring town).”

Astorga has a very quaint, welcoming, small town (pop of 11k) feel. There were a few sites we wanted to see but first we needed to eat. We happened into a cozy cafe and ordered. I had a cafe Americano and a nutella croissant and Phil an espresso and tortilla. Everything was quite tasty and as we ate I kept eyeing the donuts on the bar; small, plain donuts with a dusting of powdered sugar. Not sure when we would be eating lunch and knowing we’d be doing a lot of walking, I ordered another cafe Americano and a donut, you know, to keep my wits sharp and my muscles strong. They brought us two donuts and I was nice enough to share my treats and coffee with Phil before moving onto the Museo Romano.

As with many towns in Spain, Astorga has uncovered Roman ruins through archaeological excavations of the city. They had several well preserved tombstones of soldiers, slaves, and freemen along with tools, coins, and jewelry. I am certain Phil will post much more info on the museum given his love of Roman history.

After we left the museum, we headed over to check out the La Catedral de Santa María de Astorga and the Palacio de Gaudi. Unfortunately, both closed from 2-4pm for lunch and even though it was 1:30, they would not let us purchase tickets as we wouldn’t have enough time to view either before they closed. The tough choice was, wait around until 4pm and get back to León near dinner time or take the 2:30 bus back and check out some of the sites before the end of the day. The Palacio de Gaudi looked so cool, like a fairy-tale castle from the outside. Part of me really wanted to stay but since I was still full from breakfast, making eating lunch from 2-4 a less than ideal option, we opted to take the bus back and make the most of the rest of our afternoon in León. On our leisurely walk to the train station, we spotted several cool murals on buildings throughout the city.

Part two coming soon!

Florence! Steak and David

Florence is beautiful; the architecture, the art, the food, and there are so many restaurants to accommodate the so many tourists. We thought that going in late September, after school started, outside of the peak summer season, would find the city slightly less congested. Alas, it was not to be. This did not prevent us from enjoying what the city had to offer but the streets and museums were indeed very crowded which added to the heat and made me feel a little claustrophobic at times. Worth it? Without a doubt.

I had read about Tuscan and Florentine culinary specialties and was very excited to try Bisteca alla Florentine, which is a thick T-bone of Chianina beef (an Italian breed of cow that have been raised in Tuscany and surrounding regions for over 2200 years) served by the kilogram (1kg = 2.2lb). The steak is seared on both sides and served rare. I can take or leave a filet but serve me steak on the bone and I’m one happy gal. Pretty much every restaurant we passed by served Bisteca alla Florentine. In doing my research, the Trattoria Sergio Gozzi, which has been serving up the beefy goodness since 1915, was the place to go (and was still frequented by locals). During the week the restaurant is only open from 12-3pm and I had read that, in order to snag a table, one should arrive before 12:30.

We arrived just before 12:30 and were told we would have a 10 minute wait so we sipped prosecco outside while we waited in the bright, hot Tuscan sun and in no time the waiter ushered us in. We were seated at an antique, dark wooden, table that I couldn’t help but think must have been there since 1915. In fact, the only two chairs at the table were on the same side to allow room in front of the table for the waiters to pass by. I had read that the restaurant did not take reservations, though that was obviously not the case when the woman at the bar asked me if we had one when we entered. I felt lucky that we scored a table as a couple that arrived a few minutes after us were turned away. I assume because there are only so many people they can serve in a three-hour window and the remaining tables were spoken for. I snapped a photo of the back dining room as we were seated.

We ordered a 1kg steak, the minimum amount one could order and the amount suggested for two people. The chef came out from the kitchen so show us the steak he was going to prepare for us. I smiled, nodded happily, and he headed back to the kitchen. To accompany the steak we chose the Tuscan white beans (another local specialty), sauteed spinach, and fries. We also had bread and a carafe of Chianti that pairs well with the Chianina.

Very shortly, out came our feast. The steak was cut into slices and served with the bone. It was delicious. After several slices, I put the giant bone on my plate and managed to cut off a few tasty, crispy, fatty morsels. Had I been at home, I would have picked it up with my hands and gone to town. In retrospect, I should have asked if I could have the bone wrapped up “to take home to my dog.” For desert we split a small zuccotto; a tasty little dessert make with Italian liqueur, cake and ice cream (which hides inside for a delightful surprise).

Back to the Art. The highlight of our trip for me was seeing Michelangelo’s David. I have been lucky enough to have viewed many amazing, famous, historical works of art in my life, and David is one of the most impressive, and far exceeded my expectations. I didn’t realize how big the statue is. He is massive, standing 17 feet above the roughly 7 foot (this is my personal guess as the internet is not giving me a consensus) pedestal he is standing on, and is perfect from every angle. The veins and knuckles in his hands and feet, his muscles, the little indentations beside his knee caps, and as my mom said when I sent her some photos, “nice butt!”

In addition to David, the Galleria dell’Accademia, which is his home, houses several unfinished Michelangelo sculptures. It was really cool to see the figures that seem to be both actively emerging from the marble and frozen forever, unrealized.

We saw many other wonderful things while in Florence, and Phil wrote a detailed account of our trip here. I highly suggested you check it out. He also dedicated another post solely to some of the beautiful art we saw. Below I am going to leave some random photos of our trip. I hope you enjoy them. What can I say, we like pizza.

Sunrise in Gijón

Shortly after we moved to Gijón and had witnessed some lovely sunsets, I told Phil that we need to get up early and watch the sunrise (Amanecer in Spanish). We are not necessarily waking up before sunrise kind of people, so aiming to see the sunrise at least once, was a fairly reasonable goal.

My mother recently made a comment about how late the sunrise is in here, compared to Missouri. Not having a job or anything in particular we have to get up early for on a regular basis means I usually roll out of bed somewhere between 8:30 and 9:30 a.m. so I had no idea when the sun was rising. I told Phil that we should take advantage of the late sunrise sooner than later since Spain participates in daylight savings and we’d soon be moving our clocks forward an hour (the last Sunday in October to be exact).

Earlier this week I happened to see that the sun was rising at 8:35 and thought, now is the time. Getting up at the crack of 7:00 to watch the sunrise is waaaaaaay better than, well it’s better than getting up before 7:00. We decided the best place within in a reasonable distance to watch the sunrise was in front of the Hotel La Colina (which I mentioned in this post). The hotel is about an hour walk from our apartment, so we decided to take the bus and then walk back. We accidentally got off the bus a few stops too early (in our defense, there were three stops with Providencia in the name) so ended up having about a half-hour walk to the hotel from the bus stop. We did have a lovely view of the city as we climbed the hill (escalar, escalar).

Luckily, we’d given ourselves plenty of time. As we neared the hotel, we saw the faint, baby blue light slowly begin to illumine the eastern sky. We rounded the corner of the hotel just as the horizon began to glow orange and pink.

As sat on the wooden bench perched perfectly on a flat patch of grass overlooking the sea, arms wrapped around each other (both out of love and need for warmth), I caught myself in the moment. I called attention to it in my mind and instead of holding on to it, I just lived it. It is difficult sometimes, because we are living such amazing experiences, not to try to hold on tight to each one. The thing is though, you can’t fit very much into a white-knuckle fist. So, when I catch myself (I don’t always catch myself) holding on too tight, I simply take a deep breath, feel grateful, and jump out of my head and into the moment.

The sun was up by 8:34 and shortly thereafter, we headed back toward Gijón along the cobblestone path. As we walked through the rolling hills, the sunrise followed us and we were able to experience it a few times as it peaked over one hill to the next.

I was STARVING by the time we got back into the city so we stopped at one of the many cafe’s and had desayuno (breakfast). Often (constantly) when we are walking, I point to various cafe’s, restaurants, and sideria’s and say, “Oh, that’s a cute little place” or “That place looks nice,” always finishing with “we should go there.” This morning we went “there,” to cafe El Viejo, a cute little place. I am not sure if I’ve mentioned this before or not, but Spain has THE best orange juice. It is always a fresh squeezed glass of sunshine. The fact that it is served room temperature and not cold, does not even touch the deliciousness factor in the slightest. In fact, I think the only reason they don’t serve it cold is because constant moans of delight would annoy the waitresses.

We enjoyed our morning so much, I think we may try to see another sunrise before the end of the October. L-I-V-I-N.

*I didn’t forget about my Florence post. I just wanted to type this one up while it’s still fresh in my mind.

“You are a very lucky girl”

Ten or so years ago, I won a painting by a Portuguese artist named Nagualero, that he was giving away in an online drawing. I felt very lucky to have won as there were many, many entrants. The painting’s title was, “Make Your Own Luck.” Phil and I take this sentiment to heart and try to make our own luck in life as much as possible.

I am very grateful to be able to enjoy a year of mid-career retirement to live in Spain. It is truly amazing and I am thankful everyday that things worked out for us to be able to live this dream. A few times since we’ve been here, I have had folks from back home tell me, “You are so lucky that you get to live in Spain.” While I know their intention was to express their happiness for me and us, my initial, internal reaction to this statement, was mild defensiveness. Why? Well, when I heard, “You’re so lucky,” I felt that it implied this is something that was given to us, like we won a scratch-off lotto ticket and the grand prize was a year in Spain.

Our move was something that took planning, hard work, and saving. We took funds from savings that would have gone toward our later life retirement and are using it now. Plus, we do not have children, so we do not have all of the expenses that go along with having kids. After my initial defensive thoughts, however, I thought about all the ways in which luck has indeed played a role in getting me here; I am educated, I have had good career opportunities and well paying jobs, I was born white and benefit from all of the privilege that it entails, and I have wonderful partner and love of my life who encourages me and cheers me on in accomplishing my goals.

To continue with making our own luck, Phil and I recently traveled to Italy. What started out as looking at cheap airfare to Romania, turned into buying tickets to Milan. We had been to Milan before and knew we did not want to spend much time there. We debated a bit about which way to travel from Milan and ultimately decided to visit Cinque Terre and Florence. After arriving in Milan around 10pm, we headed to our hotel near the train station, grabbed a quick bite; the first of many pizza margherita’s we would enjoy during our trip. The next morning, we headed to the train station and rode the three hour trip to La Spezia, a city just outside of Cinque Terre. La Spezia is conveniently located and much cheaper than staying in Cinque Terre. It also has its own happening vibe and we enjoyed our time there. In fact, we initially planned to drop our bags at our hotel in La Spezia and immediately head to Cinque Terre via the quick and easy train that runs throughout the day but we decided instead to explore La Spezia. We walked around the marina near the port and enjoyed leisurely drinks at a couple of spots near the water before heading to our dinner reservation.

Al Solita Posto was the name of the cute little place we had dinner. We chose a table outside and were the only diners. We passed several bustling patios on the walk there, so felt lucky to have the whole patio to ourselves. We wanted to try several dishes on the menu and opted to split them all as a favor to both our bank account and bellies. The chef was nice enough to plate our portions separately and the presentation was lovely. We ordered lamelle de anatra e carciofi friti (duck with fried artichokes), ravioli della nostra (a traditional ravioli in beef ragu), and pork belly with potatoes and rosemary. We did, however, each opt for a desert because, well, we like desert. I cannot remember the name of the deserts but were both really good. I’m just going to call them a pistachio ice cream yum and the other a chocolate something good.

After we ordered our food, Phil went inside to use the restroom and the waitress came outside to bring our wine. As she opened the bottle, she started asking about where we were from and what we were doing in Italy. I was feeling particularly chatty after Phil accidentally ordered us each a liter of freakin beer at the last place we stopped at in the marina, so I told her all about the pandemic being a wake up call and our process of moving from L. A. to Spain (you can read about what brought us to Spain here, if you haven’t already). After my needlessly long-winded answer to the sweet woman’s question, she replied very sincerely as she looked me in the eyes,”You are a very lucky girl” and the response that immediately popped into my head, which I did not say out-loud was “don’t I fucking know it, lady.” Instead, I simply said, “Yes, I am,” and she headed back inside. And that was that. I am lucky. I do know it. We’ve made our own luck and we’ve happened into luck but we are lucky. I am lucky.

The next day, we headed to the marina to get our tickets for the Cinque Terre boat taxi. Cinque Terre is a string of five, centuries old, seaside villages built into the cliff-side on the Italian riviera. Cinque Terre actually reminds me a lot of the Asturian village of Cudillero that I wrote about when my cousin, Hannah, visited. There are hiking trails between the villages and a train that runs through them all but we opted for the boat taxi and it was very cool to see each village from the water.

Our first stop was the village of Vernazza. We passed the crowds and restaurants of the main square and made our way up some of the narrow, climbing, stone staircases. We happened upon the coolest, family-run restaurant with breath-taking views near the top of a very narrow staircase. Years ago, I pinned the following photo to my Pinterest vision board (go ahead, roll your eyes):

At the time I pinned it, I had no idea where it was, just that it was a beautiful place and I thought, “I want to go there!” I am now almost certain the photo is of Cinque Terre. The restaurant Phil and I ate at recreated this vision for me almost exactly:

As I sat there with the man I love, looking town on the sea, the boats, and the village, I thought to myself, “I am a very lucky girl.”

Phil wrote about our trip to Italy here and here. We try not to write the same details or stories, so check out his blog for additional information and photos. Stay tuned for another post from me soon about our time in Florence.

Having drinks and climbing mountains; A Typical Asturian Weekend

I intended to post this on 9/22/21 but did not finish it in time before Phil and I left for a week’s trip to Italy, so the timeline mentioned is a week off. Posts coming soon about the Italy trip!

Recently, Phil and I attended a meetup group in the nearby town and capital of Asturias, Oviedo. The group was an intercambio (language exchange) group. When we arrived in Oviedo that evening, we were very surprised to find a LOT of people and happenings. It was, unbeknownst to us, the first day of Las Fiestas de San Mateo (The festival of Saint Matthew), a ten day festival. It was intense.

We met the group at a local bakery; Oscar, the facilitator, Teresa, Oscar’s friend who was visiting from Sevilla, Carlos, an abogado (attorney) from Oviedo, and Cris, Oscar’s co-worker with whom he teaches English at a local public school. As the exchange began, we spoke mostly in English but after about thirty minutes, transitioned into Spanish. We spoke a bit and listened a lot. It’s exciting to me that I am beginning to understand Spanish much more. We walked to another establishment and sat outside and shared a few bottles of sidra. After sharing the sidra, some stories, and a few laughs, the liveliness in the streets felt less intense and much more jubilant.

After Phil and I boarded our 12:30 a.m. bus back to Gijon, we decided we wanted to return the following Saturday to experience a bit more of the San Mateo festivities, specifically earlier in the day before everything evolved into a drunken street party (not that there’s anything wrong with that. Three cheers for drunken street parties!). So, this past Saturday, we did just that, arriving in Oviedo around 4:30 p.m. I had been jokingly been referring to the festivities as “San Mateo Days” to Phil as a nod to the small, Midwestern summer and fall festivals I grew up with. In fact, it felt very similar to a festival in the states; vendors selling handmade, artisanal wears,carnival rides, and food and drink vendors

One of the most popular days of the festival is the Day of the Americas. During the Day of the Americas, Asturians celebrate Indianos. Indiano is the name given to Spanish emigrants who left Asturias to seek their fortune in Latin America and who returned, years later, fortunes amassed and built large homes, often established charities and cultural institutions, subsidized the building of new schools, churches, town halls, etc.

As we sat out and enjoyed a mojito (a nod to Cuba) on one of the many bustling restaurant patios, we watched several bands and dancers parade through the street, decked out in Ecuadorian, Colombian, and Mexican colors and flags, respectively. It was muy divertido e interesante. After patio hopping a bit, we decided we needed some food and ducked into a cute little bar/restaurant that had a very hip vibe and low lighting. We ordered the nachos, in keeping with the Day of the Americas theme. They were interesting. Two separate, small dishes, one with ground chorizo covered in a white sauce (not cheese, not sour cream, not sure) and in the other refried beans with a greenish, sweet sauce drizzled over them. The beans were, well, sweet. I don’t know if it was just she sauce or both beans and sauce but they were sweet. I’ve had Korean sweet treats made with bean, so I know beans and sweet can go together but it was a bit strange in my nachos. We were hungry and I like chorizo, beans (sweetness be dammed), and tortilla chips, so we ate them all. In the future, however, I believe I will reserve my nacho consumption for Mexican restaurants (there are a couple in Gijon) and my home (because I make bomb-ass nachos).

When we woke up late the following morning, we decided to take the bus to Área recreativa de Monte Deva. Deva is a parish within the municipality of Gijon, a bit outside of the city. The area has several points of interest, including the recreation area and observatory. We decided to head toward the observatory. Now, admittedly, the fact that we were walking to an observatory should have clued us into the fact that we would be climbing up and it did, kind of. As I’ve mentioned before anytime we go anywhere in Asturias we wind up climbing (escalar, escalar), so it wasn’t surprising that the route to the observatory was at an incline. It was very surprising, however, when the incline continued to get steeper and seemed to never end. Up we went as we zigged and zagged ever more, ascending, hoping in vain that after each turn the road would level off. It had to level off at some point, right?

Sweating, panting, and several rest breaks (there were no benches on this route, so rests were taken leaning against a guard rail, fence or tree. At one point I just yogi squatted because I just couldn’t stand anymore) later, we finally reached the area de recreativa. Phil and I are both a little foggy as to exactly how long the climb up took but it was at least an hour and a half. Once at the top, we sat and caught our breath for a while. Phil refilled our water bottle at the natural water fountain, where there happened to be three horses, just chilling. There were several families in the area grilling at the large, charcoal grills provided and a few tents from folks who had camped there overnight.

We found a spot at an empty picnic table with a lovely view of the city and ate the bocadillos (sandwiches on baguettes) and apples we had packed for lunch. Phil suggested I check my phone to see how many [equivalent to] flights of steps we’d climbed reaching the top. I was shocked to see that my phone read seven flights. “Seven?!” I couldn’t believe it and then thought, “Wow, I must be really out of shape.”

We did not walk up to the actual observatory as we had a spectacular view of the city from the area de recreativa and (after a quick google review read by Phil), we decided it was really best suited for a night time star gaze as opposed to a daylight visit. Before we began our decent, I checked my phone again as service was spotty and could not believe we’d only climbed seven flights. Upon opening my phone, I saw this:

Seventy-two floors! Holy moly! It wasn’t until we started walking back down that we realized just how steep of an incline we’d climbed. Had I known when we started, I don’t think I would have walked up (especially after a night of mojitos) but it sure felt like an accomplishment after the fact. After heading back down the mountain, we decided to stop and grab a tinto de verano and croquetas at the restaurant near the bottom. It was a super cute spot where you ordered inside at the small bar and then waited in the large grassy area, covered in picnic tables for them to bring out your order. Before catching the bus back to Gijon we sat in the sunshine, contented smiles on our faces, respirando el aire fresco.

Get a little home in your heart

Lately I have been thinking about the idea of home and the different houses I’ve called home and what home really means to me. My first memory of home, is my childhood home, the first house I shared as a young child with my parents and brother. I remember in the winter, my mom would wake us up in the morning, and, in the living room she had our clothes laid out on the fireplace so we could stay nice and warm as we dressed for the day. I remember spending Christmas morning as a family, sitting on the floor in front of that same fireplace, my parents drinking coffee and my brother and I playing with our new toys and laughing. I remember my mom rocking me in her rocking chair in that house, whenever I was sick or upset. That was home.

It’s not the house we shared that I remember as home, though I try my best to do that too sometimes, being thirty-something years since I’ve seen it. It’s the feeling I remember. The feeling of home; love, warmth, safety, security, and contentment, all combined. I remember being in my late teens, having moved out of my parents home and trying to navigate that sometimes scary place between adolescence and adulthood, and longing for the feeling of being a child, in my mother’s arms, in the rocking chair. I was searching for my new home.

As a gerontologist, I have worked with many older adults with dementia over the years. Often, they will repetitively say, “I want to go home” or maybe even pack their belongings in the middle of the night and try to leave. When asked where they’re going, they will respond, “I’m going home.” They may do this even while residing in a home they have owned for fifty years. A home they raised kids in and lived with their spouse. When they say they want to go home, they mean that first memory of home. A memory they still hold (longest held memories are the very last to go) or, more accurately, a feeling they still hold. They may not know what is wrong but they know something is wrong and they want to go home, to feel home; safe, warm, loved, at ease.

A good friend can certainly feel like home. One of those friends that you can go for months or years without seeing and when you’re together again, it’s like no time has passed. You get together and instantly it’s like you’ve climbed into your favorite pair of jammies and are sipping hot cocoa.

Phil and I bought our first house together in St. Louis and made it a home. That was the first place I’d lived since my childhood that felt like home. I was with my love, we had a cozy little bungalow filled with our personal belongings, and our dog, and it was perfect. I would come home from a long day (or week if I was traveling) of work and sigh contentedly as I opened the door. Home.

After my brother died in 2009, I lost my feeling of home. For about a year and a half, I didn’t feel at home anywhere; not in my house, my own skin, or my head. Let me tell you, that is an empty feeling. Actually, it’s not even a feeling. It is the total lack of feeling. Good thing I have a really awesome husband who never gave up on getting his wife back. Also good thing I had enough sense to find a therapist (who encouraged me to try yoga) and a psychiatrist. I eventually became accustomed to my new normal and found home once again.

When Phil and I were preparing to move from St. Louis to California, I struggled with letting go of our house. My cozy little bungalow and all my cool stuff that I had to get rid of before the move. Eventually, it clicked that all of my stuff was just stuff and my house was just a thing. Phil was home. Phil and I together made the home. The only other thing in the house that mattered was our sweet dog, Jebus, and he was coming with, so I had everything I needed. I have never once missed that house since we left. It was a good house and I’m happy we had our time there but I don’t miss it. Ever.

We had a couple of months of limbo before moving to Gijon while we were waiting to hear back from the Spanish consulate about our visas. Our apartment sat, half packed, in disarray and we split our time between Long Beach and Palm Springs (where my father-in-law had an Airbnb he couldn’t rent at the time due to covid restrictions). I remember being in Palm Springs and as I went to grab something out my suitcase one night thinking, “I’m going to be living out of a suitcase for a really long time.” The thought didn’t scare me or make me sad. It was simply a matter of fact. A permanent address does not a home make.

Gijon feels like home now. We didn’t realize it until a few weeks ago, after my cousin Hannah visited and we returned from a few days away. As we drove into the city and neared the bus station, Phil said, “It’s good to be home,” and it was. Home. It doesn’t feel like home because our stuff is here, because our stuff is in fact, not here (well, our clothes and shoes are here).

Maybe home is never a place. For anyone. There’s no place like home because Dorothy knows everyone she loves is there, not because Kansas is such a bomb-ass place to live. People can relocate. You can find new people. You can make your home wherever, and with whomever you want. The saying should really be “Home is where your heartbeat is” or maybe “If you lived here, you’d be home by now,” “Oh yeah, jokes on you, I live nowhere near here and I feel right at home!”

Group tours: They can actually be pretty fun.

Phil and I have been on very few group tours, only three to be exact, including the one I’ll be telling you about here. The first was a free tour of St. Peter’s Basilica in 2004, that we happened upon, while in progress. The guide was so informative that we booked his evening walking tour later that night. It ended up being just us and an older couple from the UK that evening for an amazing two plus hour tour around the city.

The second time we took a group tour was at the Doge’s Palace, in Venice, in 2019. The guide was also great and we even visited a few rooms not open to the general public, one was the cell of the famous Casanova, which was super cool. We were part of a relatively large group and, moving through small corridors, by the end of the two hours, we were ready for it to conclude.

This past Tuesday we took our longest group tour yet, an almost 12 hour day, start to finish, to Lagos de Covadonga (Lakes of Covedonga) in the Picos de Europa national park, and then to the nearby town of Cangas de Onís. We booked this group tour through a travel agency (a what?). You heard me, travel agents and travel agencies are still alive and well in Spain, or at least in Asturias. There are many travel agency offices in Gijón that we walk by regularly. They post available group tours in their windows and they offer everything from an afternoon jaunt to local attractions to a two-week European tour. The day trips around Asturias were appealing to us because 1) We don’t have a car 2) necesitamos practicar español (we need to practice speaking Spanish) and hanging out with a bus load of Spaniards kind of ensures we’ll speak at least a little Spanish and 3) we want to explore more of Asturias and do fun stuff.

After looking at the flyers posted in windows of travel agencies many times, we finally decided to go in and book a trip. It was easy and the fact that we speak limited Spanish did not phase the travel agent at all. We told her the trip we wanted and the days we were available to go. The tours require a minimum number of people to join so the agency calls folks on the list the day before the trip if it’s a go. We got a call Monday evening stating they would pick us up the next morning at eight in Plaza del Carmen. We winced a bit at the pick up time (we haven’t had to be anywhere by 8 am in quite a while) and confirmed we were in.

We’ve seen a few different tour buses and vans around so weren’t sure what size of vehicle to expect. I was a little surprised to see a full sized bus pull up. We boarded with a few other couples and headed on to the next stop. The tour guide was personable (a must for the job, I suppose) and spoke decent English. He explained to us that he would be giving all information for the day in Spanish but if we had any questions, he would be happy to answer them in English. We pulled out of Plaza del Carmen and headed to the next stop. There were two more pick up spots in Gijon and one in Oviedo as well. By the time we were finally headed to Covodonga, the bus was full.

We rode through the rolling green hills of Asturias. I will never tire of looking at them. The tour guide provided information about Covadonga and the Picos de Europa as we neared the park. We understood a good bit of what he said, which felt good. Winding up the mountain, I was glad we didn’t drive. Buses and cars narrowly squeeze by each other on the road leading up. Luckily there was plenty of beautiful scenery to occupy my attention.

We passed a goat herd and SO MANY VACAS (cows). In fact, as we disembarked the bus, it smelled like Missouri. It was a challenge to avoid the giant cow pies that covered the ground, as far as the eye could see. The cows roamed free, paying no mind to of all of the tourists that surround them. Phil and I joked with the tour guide about all of the folks taking photos of the cows. With breathtaking views of the mountains and lakes, the first thing they did was walk up to the cows and start snapping away.

We passed lake Enol in the bus on our way up to lake Ercina. After we stopped, our tour guide suggested we climb the hill a bit (escalar, escalar) between the two lakes for some great views and photo ops. We took his advice, hop-scotching over cow pies as we climbed. We had about an hour and half of free time to check out the lakes as we pleased. The views between did not disappoint. There were a LOT of people there. August is the most popular month for Spaniards to vacation and why not get away to the beautiful green mountains, mild temperatures, and unlimited vaca sightings that Asturias has to offer?

After taking in the views, we descended the hill and grabbed a can of beer at the bustling cafe near the bus parking lot. We stood outside and drank our cold ones, observing all of the people and once again, simply soaked in the views and beauty of nature. We boarded the bus at 12:45 to make our 1:30 lunch reservation in Cangas de Onís.*

Lunch was not included in the price of the tour (some tours offer this) but for an extra €15, you could reserve a spot through the tour company at a local restaurant for the menu del dia. Fifteen euros is a bit more than we’d pay for a weekday menu del dia in Gijón but given that Cangas de Onís is a high traffic tourist area, it seemed reasonable. The food was good, nothing amazing but you can’t go wrong with fabada (Asturian bean stew with chunks of porky goodness) and albóndigas (Spanish meatballs) in tomato sauce, served with fries of course and vino tinto (red wine). For desert we had arroz con leche (rice pudding). The star of lunch wasn’t the food but our lunch companion, Peter. Peter, a security guard from Barcelona, was on a 12-day vacation in Asturias, staying in Gijón in a hotel near the bus station. He had already been to Oviedo, Cudillero, and Aviles. His father had been from Catalonia and his mother from Basque country. Peter is not a fan of Asturian sidra but loves vino tinto. I tell you all of this about Peter, not because I’m writing an unauthorized biography but because Peter did not speak any English. We were able to have a simple conversation with him, completely in Spanish! We understood most of it at least, enough to get the gist. What’s more, we were able to tell him information about us and he understood, sometimes after a few tries on our part and some simple pronunciation corrections from him but we did it. Poco a poco (little by little) we are getting better.

After lunch, the bus took us up the hill a bit where we had an hour to check out the sites. As we got off the bus, Phil asked the tour guide what we should see. He obliged, sending us toward the Church in the Holy Cave in the Mountain of Covadonga (AKA The Cave of Our Lady) then La Basilica de Covadonga. He said seeing both would only take about 30 minutes and then we’d have another 30 minutes to grab a coffee or a beer at the cafe or bar nearby. We took his advice and followed that itinerary exactly. The chapel in the cave was very cool but there were a lot of people in a small space, so we didn’t dawdle. Lining the cave leading to the small chapel were shelves of lit candles that people had left as prayers for others. As we excited the chapel we noticed four candle vending machines! Handy, I suppose for those who didn’t have a candle in their day-pack at the ready (but really, who doesn’t?).

We then headed to the basilica which was really something to behold with the stunning mountains behind it. After the basilica, we had time to grab a beer before heading back to the bus and down the road.

We were only on the road for about ten minutes or so before stopping again. Now we were in the town proper of Cangas de Onís. We had an hour and a half to wander around and were advised as to the highlights; the Roman Bridge (not actually Roman at all but built in the 12th century), the river beach along the Rio Sella, and the museum; Aula Del Reino de Asturias. We easily hit up all three. The museum was tiny but pretty cool, containing information all about the early history of the Kingdom of Asturias and the fighting off of the Moorish invasion.

We had just enough time to grab a quick caña (small glass of beer) before heading back to the bus. It didn’t take long before I was asleep, waking up shortly before we excited back at Plaza del Carmen at 7:30pm, ending another glorious day in Asturias.

*So, I’m still a bit confused about Covadonga and Cangas de Onís. Initially, I thought Cangas de Onís was a town within the municipality (like a county) of Covadonga but upon researching a bit, apparently it is the other way around (Cangas de Onís is the municipality). So, if I switch back and forth between the two, that is why.

Happy [belated] Assumption of Mary Day!

If you’re a good catholic, you probably know that August 15th is the Assumption of Mary (and a holy day of obligation). I was raised Catholic but am no longer practicing therefore, by definition I suppose, quite a bad Catholic. Either way, I was unaware that August 15th was Assumption Day and in fact, a Spanish national holiday. The holiday was observed on Monday, the 16th. Our language school was closed for the occasion so we had the whole day free. We decided to visit Mirador Parque de La Providencia. If you read my post about the nude beach, the Mirador de La Providencia is where we were heading when we decided to stop at the beach instead.

We knew the parque was quite a far walk so we decided to take the bus there and then walk back. The bus rode us to north east Gijon, up up the hills we went, past large homes, and a couple of hotels. We hopped off the bus in a residential area and made the short walk to a stone path that hugs the coastline (a continuation of the city’s paseo maratimo along San Lorenzo Beach).

The parque was about a 20-minute walk from the bus stop. It was supposed to be cloudy all day but the sun was shining brightly (I still have a rather unfortunate sunburn in my hairline as evidence). The view of the water from along the clifftop path was glorious; the water various shades of blue. We stopped at the hotel La Colina to enjoy a cold beverage on their patio before carrying on. The hotel is very charming and in an ideal location.

Photo of the hotel that I borrowed from expedia.com

The Mirador la Providencia is a monument in the center of the park. Unlike most of the statutes and monuments we’ve seen in Gijon, I felt that Mirador La Providencia more visually pleasing at a distance. It reminded me of the bow of a large ship. The park was quite inviting with its rolling green hills and more beautiful sea views including the isle of Tortuga that lay just a few feet offshore. We spread out a blanket and enjoyed a picnic lunch in the grass, overlooking the water, before carrying on.

The walk home was primarily down hill and seemed much easier and quicker than our previous walk to Playa Peñarrubia, which we passed on the way home. Why, when people say, “things are going downhill” does it imply things are bad? Walking downhill is waaaaay better than uphill. I’ll take downhill any day.

Bilbao and Santander

When my cousin Hannah visited a few weeks ago, we spent several days in Bilbao and a day and a half in Santander. I had intended to write about both but as you know, have not. Phil, however, did write about it on his blog so you can still check out our pictures and read all about it! Check it out!

https://waypastcool.org/2021/08/07/spain-travels-trip-1-bilbao/

https://waypastcool.org/2021/08/11/spain-travels-trip-1-5-santander/

So, we walked 20 kilometres the other day

That’s twelve and a half miles! I mean, we didn’t run a marathon or anything but that’s a whole lotta steppin’. After Spanish class we ate an early lunch and then set out for Parque Arqueologico-natural de la Campa Torres. We knew it would take us an hour and forty minutes to get there on foot. We had no commitments or plans for the day and could take our sweet time, plus there was a bus that stopped near La Campa Torres that we figured we could take home if needed.

The early walk took us through the neighborhoods of El Natahoyo and La Calzada in Gijon. We had walked to Playa de Arbeyal, which is near the Gijon port, in Natahoyo before so had seen a good bit of the barrio already but I had no idea what a bustling area it was near the neighborhood center. El Natahoyo has a working class family feel to it that I like. While not the most beautiful area but it has a good vibe to it.

Next was the La Calzada neighborhood of west Gijon. The farther we walked, the more the city disappeared. We were still in Gijon but houses (with yards!) replaced apartment buildings. We even saw a few horses and goats as on we went, climbing hills. I feel like everywhere we go in Northern Spain, we’re walking uphill. Escalar, escalar. I’m not complaining (yes you are) because it’s always worth it.

Phil assured me that somewhere near our destination was a restaurant that we could stop at for a rest. The signs we passed for the restaurant, Les Cabañes, and the promise of a cold beer and a seat kept the pep in my step. After waking for almost an hour and a half, we finally came upon Les Cabañes! They had a large, inviting patio (terraza) that was almost empty with the exception of one other table. We arrived at an odd time, a bit late for lunch and but much too early for dinner. Since we had eaten early lunch at home, now we were looking for a cold drink, a Radler to be specific. Radler’s are very popular in Asturias in the summertime, and why wouldn’t they be? Sixty percent beer, forty percent lemonade, they are delicious and refreshing and with only 2% ABV, you can easily have a couple during the day without feeling (too) tipsy. To accompany our radlers, the waiter brought a small charcuterie plate of chorizo, two types of jamon, and bread. I mentioned in my last post that bars, restaurants and cafes in Asurias often serve a small, gratis plate of food to snack on (pinchos are what they are called) and this particular plate of food was a real score. The chorizo was so good and really really spicy. Spicy food is not common in Spain as Spanish food is very flavorful but not spicy. Phil and I enjoy spicy food so the chorizo was an especially welcomed treat and it paired so nicely with the cold radler.

We decided to have one more cold one before we left and when the waiter returned, I told him how much I liked the chorizo, “Me gusta el chorizo. Es picante.” He responded with a smile and said, “Es picante, no?” and we nodded our heads. So when he returned with our second round of radlers, he also brought another plate with only the spicy chorizo and more bread. It felt rude not to eat it, so we polished off that plate as well.

After we left we told each other we must go back to Les Cabañes and eat a proper meal. They are known for having the “best lamb on a steak” in Asturias, so says their website and a few signs on the patio. I’m not sure if this means it’s an actual lamb leg steak, lamb cooked on a spit, or some other deliciousness I don’t even know about but when we eat there, I will certainly let you know.

When we left the house that afternoon, we decided not to bring our wallets, just a €20 note and my change purse were our funds for the day, as the museum was free and we had already eaten a full lunch. We wouldn’t need a credit card, right? Note to self: always bring the damn card! Although, if we’d had the card, we might still be at Les Cabañes, drinking beer and eating plate fulls of lamb and chorizo. After spending €7 (around $9) at Les Cabañes we carried on. I feel the need to point out that the cost of four beers, and two small charcuterie plates in Los Angeles would have cost at least $45. I don’t usually talk about prices in my posts because I don’t think it adds to the story but c’mon, that’s one heck of a deal!

La Campa Torres was a further 15 minutes away from Les Cabañes. It is located on a clifftop overlooking the sea, from which you can see the beautiful ocean, the city, the port, and the Repsol oil maritime terminal (see the globe below) which is oddly located right next to La Campa Torres. So, a real mixed bag, view-wise, depending on where you look but all in all, it was stunning.

La Campa Torres is the largest maritime fortified enclosure on the entire Asturian coast. It originated in the 5th or 6th century AD, was occupied by various tribes, and Romanized in the 1st century. The area was gradually abandoned with the founding of the Roman city of Gijon (and building of the Roman wall) in the Cimavilla area of modern-day Gijon.

We walked the grounds and the two small museums for a couple of hours before heading back. We walked to the bus stop we had passed near the entrance of La Campa Torres only to discover that the last bus during the week picks up at 3pm… and it was 6:45pm. Soooooooo, we started the long walk home, stopping in La Calzada and then in Natahoyo for a rest and a beer. The large plate of pinchos at Cafe Doza in Natahoyo were much needed for the last stretch of the walk home. Luckily we had just enough left from our €20 to buy bread at the panaderia (making it there with only seven minutes until close, phew!) for dinner that evening. Our trip to La Campa Torres, the walking, the views, the neighborhoods, and the food all added up to a pretty fantastic day!