We left early again from our hotel in Cangas de Onís, heading straight towards Comillas in Cantabria. Moments before we left for the bus I "purged" the previous night's ghouls from my body in order to insure a much happier ride for all.
Like Llanes, Comillas is a coastal town, however the bulk of the city center is significantly farther away from the ocean than is was in Llanes. There is a very steep cliff a bit in from the beaches where the majority of the city sits. We got off at the beach. We had to walk up that cliff to get to anything cool or important. Not a problem, I was feeling quite fine and in the shade it was very pleasant out (I could have done without the sun, as I always can). We learned about Marqués López and this fun adventures up in Cantabria from our dear cultural tutor, Fausto. We traveled to his big palace that was furnished by Gaudí (though the furniture was missing at this point...didn't matter as we didn't enter the house, just sat there looking at it from outside). It was your basic walking tour of some historically significant places and buildings that tends to go in one ear out the other, even if you don't want it to.
The real adventure that occurred in Comillas was my quest for a bocadillo. Cristina gave us 30 minutes free to roam about Comillas before we had to re-meet and get on the bus to head to Santillana del Mar. Others went off to find postcards or some souvenir stuff. I briefly looked at the stuffed cows and other cow things that I really wanted but were far too expensive for what they were, then promptly thought to myself "Shit, I am hungry, I need to get myself a bocadillo before we get on this bus."
I had 25 minutes. There was a bar next to the plaza that we started at and were to meet back at. It looked like a full on restaurant, so I continued past it to another plaza area where there were plenty of terrace cafés. Some had signs saying "sandwiches," which are really not the same as bocadillos, and they happened to be sit down sandwiches, so I kept on. I ended up in a very residential part of town and quickly turned around, realizing that while it would be cool to wander off and explore the town a little more, my hunger was more important.
I returned to the starting plaza, saw a supermarket...but it was closed (as most are on Sundays, ¡qué pena!). However, right next to it was a little bakery/diner place that, on the outside of the shop, had a sign saying "bocadillos." I was in luck. I go in "Qué tipos de bocadillos tienes?" to which the woman replied "No tengo bocadillos." I was shocked and extremely disappointed at this flagrant false advertising.
I continued on up the street. I thought I was getting away from the bar district, and losing hope of finding a boca in time, until I found a deli with a sign outside declaring bocadillos inside. I go in, ask for bocadillos, to which I get a big "¿Qué? No tengo bocadillos." Seriously, don't put up the sign people if you don't actually have them. I will just keep on walking and not disturb your fútbol game (which the guy was actually watching) if you don't tempt me with the thoughts of fresh tortilla. He was more helpful than the last lady though, he pointed his finger in some random direction and said to go there for something to eat.
I go there. I walk in the bar, which for being 11:30 am on a Sunday was quite populated with old men shooting the shit (what a life!), and immediately spot the sign for bocadillos behind the bar. Including prices. I go up to the bartender and ask. No, they don't have bocadillos, what am I, crazy? What could possibly give me the idea that there might happen to be some sort of food in this bar, especially any type of bocadillo. He sent me on my way, with the name of another bar that actually had bocadillos, or so he told me. Bar Filipino. It sounded familiar and I remember seeing its sign somewhere.
I headed in the direction he told me, got to the plaza where we were supposed to meet in 5 minutes. Everyone was already there ready to go. I quickly said "hola" and kept walking. I knew I saw the sign around here somewhere, a big, red Coca Cola bar sign that said "Bar Filipino." I walk towards that supermarket, turn back, yes...there it is. Wait a second...Bar Filipino is the same bar that is attached to the plaza where we were meeting. Right at the very beginning of my boca-ventura. I foolishly passed it off, and now here I was, standing inside asking for a bocadillo de tortilla para llevar and clearly they had them. Within a minute I was holding a fresh boca in my hand, and the next minute we left for Santillana del Mar.
And then we got to Santillana del Mar. We only had two and a half hours there. Or, when we got off, what seemed to be forever. I wondered to myself, what the hell am I going to do in the podunk town for two and a half hours? Simple, do what we do best: comer. While I had surprisingly filled up on the boca, the rest of mis compañeros were dying for a good menú del día. We found this wonderful restaurant with a terrace garden, secluded from the din of the street. There was a giant tree next to our medieval feeling table. The table was large and round, and made out of thick, dark wood. We all sat around it in quite comfortable chairs. I just got a café con leche, which turned out to be quite good. The rest got paella and fried eggs and jamón serrano and all that good Spanish food. I wasn't too disappointed by not eating, I tried some of the serrano and wasn't too pleased, more salty than usual.
We spent the full remaining two hours sitting there eating. I cannot begin to explain how much I love these long lunches that we had up north. There were so peaceful, so full of life and camaraderie and good spirits. I never have felt so comfortable at a dinner table. I've decided what my last meal would be. I'd tell the guards: I don't care what it is, just get me three hours, a big table outside, and all my friends and you can kill me all you want afterwards...I'd be too full and complacent to even care I was going out.
And then the ride home. I wished it could have lasted longer. I was disappointed when Cristina told us, around 8pm, that it'd only be an hour more. I didn't want the weekend to end. I felt I grew a lot closer to my friends. It was a much needed break from school and Alcalá (as fun as Alcalá is, Asturias kicks its ass any day of the week...I really wish I could study there next semester). One of the most memorable moments of the whole trip was one of the last. There we were, late at night on the on the bus ride back, a group of us just standing around in the middle of the aisles...chatting. Just talking, joking around, even talking quite a bit in Spanish (after Cristina complained that we were the group that most spoke English ever). It was wonderful, even magical...so serene and I felt so comfortable.
Almost. Almost at home.
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