La aventura asturiana, parte 2º :: Los Picos de Europa, Llanes, y más de Cangas de Onís

A little late in my update, I do apologize. I have been lazy this week, nothing more than that. I feel I've almost fallen back into my horrible American procrastination habits that for at least a while I thought I had shed. I downloaded season 2 of The Simpsons this week. That, and I started re-reading 1984 (as I recommend everyone does). Let's start this with a panorama.

I really recommend clicking on that to view the full size at Flickr.

That is one of the lakes from the (national? continental?) park Los Picos de Europa, more specifically the area called Los Lagos (since behind the camera in this photo there was another big lake (photos up later on Flickr). 

We woke up early. Very early. Too early. Bad coffee at the hotel (the kind you'd expect at some diner in the northwoods), didn't help any. The bitter cold outside waiting for the bus woke us up, it was refreshing and welcome, I hadn't felt a cold breeze like that in months. Reminded me a bit of autumn in Wisconsin (as it seems everything does nowadays). We traveled in this smaller bus up a long and winding road through Los Picos. For probably a half hour went slowly gained altitude, curving along the narrow mountain roads. Observing run down shacks, farmers tending to their cattle, feral horses and dogs--the typical of Los Picos, yet so new and invigorating for me. Any tiredness I had or bad mood quickly shook off as we rose further and further into the mist. I was in the back seat of the bus, it stretched to both windows. No one sat with me. I was jumping back and forth between the left and right windows, frantically. I was in love with the place, I couldn't soak up enough of it. I tried capturing some videos of the ride up that hopefully will show you all the feelings I had when I was riding up that mountain.

We were told by our bus driver we had 25 minute (--completely unrelated side note: Mitch I hope you're reading. Host mother is listening to talk radio as she's cleaning the house, and "The Final Countdown" just came on and I thought of you). Understandable. There wasn't much to see from the tourist's perspective. Just two lakes. Great, everyone has lakes. For me though, I could have spent half the morning there. I could have just stood there staring at the lakes from a peak, taking in the environment and mountain air for an hour alone. It was majestic there. Energy was everywhere. I'll refrain from describing more because I fear I'll just seem like a fool trying to describe God or something. Photos won't do it justice but I hope they'll help.

From Los Lagos to Llanes, a port town on the northern coast of Spain, on the Bay of Biscay (Mar Cantábrico). By now it was warmer, sunny even. On the main street, hot even. But by the bay, with a strong wind whipping in my face from the ocean, it was exhilarating and welcome. Llanes is a classic port town that derives every part of its atmosphere and life from the sea. A river runs right through the middle of town towards the bay, lining along the river and dozens of terraced bars, cafés, and restaurants. Each with I'm sure equally delicious food straight from the ocean that is but a few hundred meters away. Not only does Llanes have the luck of being on the ocean, providing it a bounty of fresh and delectable seafood--it is also in Asturias, cow capital of Spain (as I've mentioned before, it's like the Wisconsin of Spain). They have the sweetest, most flavorful pastries in Llanes. Think of it like a queen bee in a bee hive. There's your regular honey that the worker bees produce, then there's royal jelly that comes from the queen. The cows in Asturias and the area around Llanes are like queen bees--queen cows, if you will. 

Lunch, at Casa Canene near the river and main street, was easily one of the best lunches I've ever had in my life. Not necessarily because of the food (which itself was amazing) but just the atmosphere--the old wooden table filled with nine great friends conversating and laughing, the decor of the bar (so typically Spanish), the bar itself being packed with dozens upon dozens of Spanish sitting down for lunch. It was crowded, it was loud. It was fantastic. We ate for probably two hours or more. We had the menú del día, where you get a first and second plate, plus a dessert and wine (unlimited house red wine). The majority of us ordered paella for our first plate. 

This was the first real paella I've ever had at a restaurant in Spain.

It came out on a huge platter, overflowing with that beautiful gold saffroned rice, mussels, shrimp, chicken. Then second plate, while it may not sound too spectacular, was a hamburger with a fried egg and fries. Clearly not a typical Spanish plate, but it had been a month since I had a real hamburger. Plus, it came with a fried egg. Eggs! No bun though, as seems to be the norm in Spain. The meat was tougher than your typical American burger, but every bit as good, covered in sauteed onions. I plopped the egg on, added some hot sauce...and I was ready to eat. I ended up eating other peoples' leftovers, a piece of bistec here, some lomo there. I was full. Then dessert. Natillas, flan, and why not, some ice cream too. I was completely and utterly stuffed. I could barely move and I was far too content with just sitting there for the rest of the day. And I probably had a whole bottle of wine myself.

Best. Lunch. Ever.

Enough about food, I'll save that for the Diaries. After lunch we went to the breakwater and walked along it, admiring los cubos de la memoría.

Once again, I could have stayed there for hours. Just sitting on the breakwater looking out into el Mar Cantábrico. It was so calming, so tranquil, even with the waves crashing up again the cubes. I was in my own world. I was sitting right next to Monica and Amelia, who were having a conversation, and all I could hear was the waves, the wind, and the mere muffles of words. I stared into the sea as if I was expecting it to respond with an answer, a solution. To what, I don't know. The sea remained silent, and I wasn't disappointed in the least.

To the beach, which I didn't care too much about (but then again, when have I ever?). So Kristine, Monica, and I headed up the stone steps to a large outcrop of land thrusting into the sea. I won't bother explaining the view, just look at this panorama.

And this one too (more of the beach area and some of the cubes too).

We went back to Cangas de Onís for dinner. We ate at a restaurant that was overtly black and orange. Very Halloween. Very weird. The food was good though. Fabadas with murciella and chorizo for first plate and chorizo for second plate. I couldn't finish, I was ashamed but realized that lunch was gigantic and that no real human being could have had both of those meals in one day. I probably gained ten pounds that day. 

Sam and I went for a walk, peed off a bridge into the river that runs through Cangas de Onís, then headed to a bar. From the outside it was hard to tell it was a bar. Very nondescript. Very hole in the wall feeling. All sorts of characters were there. Mostly men, but off all backgrounds. Younger kids, business men, construction workers. Alcoholics, addicted gamblers. Pool sharks. 

I only wanted water, as I had had far too much wine at dinner (I wasn't in the best mood so obviously I medicated myself with a depressant. Logical choice, no?). Armani, Lindsay, Sam, Amelia, and I. Lindsay was quite drunk and insistent on buying whatever it is that we wanted. Armani headed up for a second round, and I joined her to do what I do in every bar in Spain--admire the selection of liquors behind the bar. And then there it was.

Absinthe.

Armani got her drinks and we headed back to the table. I casually mentioned they had absinthe. Armani and Lindsay were insistent. I didn't want to try that night. I was convinced otherwise. I ask the bartender, how much. One shot, two euros. We get a shot. He tells me to drink it slowly. Armani, disappointed now that she just got a new round, but delighted that absinthe is only 2 euros, gets three more shots. We drained the bottle, the bartender gave us the last one free. Now, I may have had a bottle of wine or more at dinner, but I was not drunk at this point. It seems that when I have a huge dinner or lunch coupled with wine, I don't really feel it. The green fairy is not as kind. It smells like Yagermister and tastes like puke. You have to choke it down your throat and resist the urge to throw up. Really. You know that horrible scratchiness you get in your throat after you just puked? Absinthe gives you that feeling the second you swallow it. It's strong. Very, very strong. I had to sip it ever so slightly then I chased with water, plenty of water. Which I realize now probably wasn't the best chaser, but hey--it's absinthe!

Lindsay was too drunk, I escorted her back to the hotel early. She passed out right away on the bed. I stayed up trying to write in my journal. My normally horrible handwriting was ten times worse. Where I hadn't been drunk after dinner, I surely was now. I wrote about eight pages by the time Armani, Sam, and Amelia got back 45 minutes later. I was still drunk, and yet I had been drinking water all night. Seriously, I was being fed water at dinner, then had two bottles at the bar, plus plenty when I got back to the hotel. I was still drunk. We stayed up for another two hours. I was still drunk. I woke up the next day. I was not still drunk, but I had quite the headache. I puked. Twice.

People say absinthe gives you hallucinations. Others, more modern, say that's just a bunch of fabricated or exaggerated stories from Oscar Wilde and other late 19th/early 20th century writers. I was skeptical too, like many scientists are today about the hallucinogenic properties. I did not hallucinate. However, I fully believe now that if I had only been drinking absinthe and had more than one shot, I would have been hallucinating. 

Absinthe is a hell of a drug.

La aventura asturiana, parte 1º :: Oviedo & Cangas de Onís

I am back from the Asturian adventure, three days in La España Verde, the most majestic and inspiring and delicious part of Spain. Definitely not the stereotypical flamenco-dancing, bull fighting, sangria-drinking Spain -- it's the place people don't really know too much about but it always a huge surprise when they realize that it is still Spain. I was disappointed when first applying for study abroad that the farthest north program was in Alcalá (which is not northern at all), as I wanted to study in La España Verde (Galicia, Asturias, Cantabria, y País Vasco). I was reminded why I wanted to in the first place this weekend. Asturias and Cantabria...well, you'll see. I'll relate the weekend in four parts (one post for each day and a final Epicurean Diary España Verde edition wherein I recount my amazing meals and run in with absinthe).

This whole trip started Friday morning at 8a.m. sharp in la Plaza de Cervantes, where all twelve of us (Blen was "sick"), along with Fausto and Cristina hopped onto our unnecessarily large autobús with Silva, our driver, and headed out towards the north country, green Spain, the wonderful land of Los Picos y el mar Cantábrico. The seven hour or so trip took us through los Picos as we were heading into Asturias. The typical boring landscape of Castilla transformed into a vibrant, mountainous, and green region filled with plenty of trees, deep valleys, and small lakes. Spotted along the route were tiny villages, sometimes consisting of no more than 30 houses or so. What fascinated me most about these places is how no two houses nor building looked alike nor were there any advertisements on any of the buildings or bars. No recognizable stores, no chains of any kind. I was in love. I couldn't help but think that if this was in the States everyone would have the same model home, painted white with a perfect, tiny square back yard, and down the block would be a Wal-Mart or McDonalds. 

The bus ride consisted mostly of everyone else sleeping except for me and a few other people at random times. We occupied ourselves by eating our bocadillos and staring out the windows in awe. As much as I can't stand bus rides, I actually enjoyed this one since I was with so many good friends. I was almost sad when we had to get off because we arrived in Oviedo...then I remembered that I was in Oviedo and was about to have a much greater time in Asturias.

We didn't spend much time in Oviedo, three hours in the town, and then another hour and a half up on a hillside over looking the town. There was this big cathedral there, which we spent far too much time in. I don't care for places that a) don't allow photographs and b) have pictures of artifacts hanging up on the walls instead of the actual artifacts themselves. Seriously. They had photos of these gilded crosses and shrouds that were allegedly supposed to cover Jesus when they took him off the Cross...but they didn't have the actual shrouds. Just the photos of them, all faded hanging in frames. Very odd. 

The rest of Oviedo was pretty amazing though. It is a very large city but definitely doesn't feel like it. It's modern, full of wonderful architecture and statues everywhere (apparently it's the city with the most statues in the world or something -- and the only one with a statue of an ass...wait for the photos). And I mean statues everywhere. We couldn't walk a city block without seeing a few. There was even one of Woody Allen (which I got pretty excited about). Oviedo has such a small town feel, the people were nice, it smelled normal (for a European town this is rare), and there was an entire section of town where they just had a fish market, a bunch of bakeries, butcher shops, and cheese stores. Pretty sure I was in love and wanted to move upstairs of one of these shops immediately. Asturias and Cantabria are famous throughout Spain and Europe for their cows. It felt like I was back in Wisconsin. All the tourist shops had all these cow paraphernalia, stuffed cows, cow mugs, cow hats, cow t-shirts... I was quite content. 

Even more to remind me of Wisconsin? Yes. In the large park in the center of Oviedo, besides having wild turkeys (already thinking about Thanksgiving, although you don't eat these ones I'm told), they had thousands of chestnuts lining the paths. Unfortunately the leaves hadn't started changing yet or else I would never have left the place. 

We headed up a mountain, up a cow trail, on foot. Passed some old farm houses and also some farmers walking their cattle up the path. We didn't go all the way up but we went pretty far to look at two old churches/temples of which we didn't even go in...not that I would have been too enthused. I can see the complaint people give often about how they hate sighting in Europe because all it is is "Oh, there's another church. And there's a cathedral. And there's a temple." It's true. Now, I wouldn't mind that too much if these places we were visiting were architecturally amazing, and not dilapidated piles of rocks. Anything pre-Roman just doesn't do it for me. Show me gothic or Renaissance, then I'll be paying attention.

Nevertheless, I had a great time and I believe the crisp mountain air (and the somewhat cooler temperature) rejuvenated everyone's spirits and we were all quite happy and jubilant for Cangas de Onís and our dinner there at a sidrería.

Sidrería: a place where they specialize in sidra. Sidra: a carbonated alcoholic beverage similar to champagne that is produced in la España Verde. Smells like puke, tastes more like beer (with a 6% ABV too), yet really cleans out your teeth, almost like mouthwash. At first I wasn't too enthused about the taste, but it eventually grew on me. More about that during the Epicurean Diaries. And about the dinner, or at least the food served. The ten of us (Tommy and Alix opted instead to go eat pasta and pizza at a pizzaría instead of partake in our gorge-fest that was the dinner at el Conchu (the name of our lovely sidrería). And what a fest it was. We had the sidra in the middle (of course, you know, that you have to pour the sidra into the glass from on high), and nearly everyone got something different (save for me, Maya, and Kristine, who all got croquetas). We ate and laughed and generally were merry. We ended up trying each other's foods, sampling everything from the simple chicken breast to chorizo in sidra sauce to some crazy pork/turkey soup thing that Armani got.

What only added to the experience was the actually restaurant. We came in with a big group and were easily accommodated because they only had huge, long tables meant for big groups. There was only one table open, the place was jam packed with whole extended families and groups of friends eating and drinking. Everything about that place gave off such a cozy vibe. Felt like a north woods bar, plenty of woodwork and down to earth characters inhabited the place. The only thing that was out of place was the fact that the waiters took our orders on iPhones. A bit of modernity in the otherwise authentic Asturian sidrería. 

While others were content after this meal, I, as usual, was up for a night cap, a glass of wine at another local to get more of the flavor of the town. After rejecting the loud Irish pub (my veto), we found a quiet, stone-walled and wood beam-supported tavern for some red wine. We stood around a big wine cask and had a glass of the house wine, which was pretty good (as it always seems to be). It was heading towards midnight and they were closing. We were the last people in there and I loved how was we were heading out the two workers were sitting down to dinner. They had a bottle of wine, a basket of bread, and a large portion of freshly sliced jamón ibérico in front of them. It was cute, I was jealous (though still stuffed from dinner so I was more apathetic), and it made me feel all warm inside...and immediately want to move up to Asturias.