A quick city break to Leon was a nice way to spend a day and a night, especially as the weather was dry and clear. We even went back for a wander during the evening, went to a pub and ordered at the bar. How British.
We did some weather research and made a plan to turn north west and to go into the mountains, “as it looks as though the weather is going to be ok”.
The Picos are a distinct range at the eastern end of the Cantabrian range and now we were headed for points further west. If anything this area would be quiet and remote.
Driving in Spain is always a pleasure. It’s huge, empty and incredibly scenic. Mile after mile gets eaten up and there’s little traffic, lots of climbs and switchbacks. Peaks rise vertically like Dolomitic teeth.
At one mirador I was distracted by the biker trip stickers on the barrier. Us ‘camper-vanners’ don’t do this; at least I don’t think we do.
The temperature dropped as we got into the high country and then we saw snow. Surely not but yes it was. All the peaks above about 2,00 had a good enough covering from Saturday’s storms to retain it for the next few days.
We reached a camp site where we just found a pitch. It’s run by the hotel but as it’s Monday, the hotel isn’t manned and so we can’t raise anyone. I show off unintentionally and drive up to a high terrace, too steep for anyone with 2WD as the front wheels would have no grip.
It’s cold, damp and starts to rain. In fact it rains a lot and that doesn’t mix well with the cold. The saviour is our diesel to air heater which sounds like a jet to start with but soon gets the interior up to 21C and we dry off.
Cook made us a vegetable stew and we dunked our bread and were grateful.
Next day was better and we drove up a side valley to 1,700m where we had a fantastic circular walk around three glacial lakes. As usual we seemed to walk further and longer and higher than others. The views speak for themselves. The sun makes it look warm but it was cold and we had our warm coats which were worn every time we stopped.
There are iron ore extraction ‘relics’ here and the industry was clearly complex, ceaseing in about 1978, which seems very recent and so that shows my age.
This is bear country with several hundred apparently living here. The road signs suggest that we could encounter them at any time but in three days, disappointingly, we saw none. To the uninitiated though it’s very easy to mistake the distant sound of a cow for the growl of a bear.
We tried the local cider, this is served through a pump to simulate being poured in the traditional way which is from a height. (Think Moroccan mint tea or Nepali Char). Then we ploughed into two local meaty dishes, Asturian stew and Fabada asturiana, whilst I tried not to watch LaLiga on the TVs.
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This was the pub in the early evening, almost empty.
As is usual in Spain, the later it got, the busier they were for food. Plates came out of the kitchen fully loaded and voices got louder and louder, as is usual in Spain. By the time we left, sometime after 10pm, the place was really getting going.
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