Peaks among the mountains

It’s odd going on holiday in retirement. I mean, a break’s always a good thing to have. But being retired is like a continuous break anyway. A break from a break? Seems odd.

But odd isn’t bad. And this break was great.

How should I begin to describe the greatness?

I suppose a good starting point is the place itself. We travelled to Cantabria and Asturias, on Spain’s northern coast. Once there, we spent most of our time in the mountains.

Forests in the mountains of Cantabria

The same mountains, under conditions more English
Except that the temperature remained pleasantly mild

This was only my second visit to northern Spain, and the first proper one. Back in about 1967, my parents didn’t like the idea of visiting the country while the dictator Franco was still in power. But, having got down to Hendaye, in South-West France and right on the border, they decided we should at least pop across and take a quick look. We had a day-long visit to San Sebastián before beetling back to the (politically) safer territory of France. De Gaulle, still President back then, had at least had the decency to be elected to that office, rather than seize power militarily like Franco.

My mother with her sons on that day trip, way back then

In 2020, we could take a little time and let ourselves be enchanted.

We discovered a restaurant we enjoyed enormously. So much, in fact, that we visited it three times rather than try anywhere else. It’s the Mirador Peña Colsa in Cabuérniga if ever you want to try it, and I recommend you do. The local specialty of Cocido Montañes is worth a visit for its own sake, the mountain setting is superb, and we particularly liked the proprietor, with whom we struck up such a relationship that she gave us a bottle of wine as a leaving present after our last visit.

Her attitude was exactly right. Brimming over with friendliness, as so many are in Spain, where rudeness or hostility seem limited to a tiny minority. On our second visit, she announced, “Ah. All my tables are reserved,” and then added, looking around, “now, where can I put you?”

She was a specialist at squeezing people in. We even saw one couple lunching at a table in the car park.

A couple enjoying their at a table on the edge of the car park

Then there were the remarkable landscapes. Occasionally one comes across places one can only think of as magical. On this visit, that was a series of waterfalls – well, at the cascade level – in woodland at the top of a long valley. ‘At the top’ meant a long and weary walk, but the water, without being freezing, was cooling enough to provide all the relief we needed.

Woodland cascade in Cantabria

Even the poodles enjoyed it, with Luci going so far to take a swim to cool herself down.

Luci enjoying the woodland pool

Equally memorable, but for qualities more dramatic than magical, was our visit to the Picos de Europa. These are not the peaks of Europe – the high Alps are far higher – but they are the first sight sailors would see on returning to Spain from the West. The ‘Peaks of Europe’ told seamen tired of the long Atlantic crossing that they were nearing home.

That’s where we had an experience that illustrates one of the other qualities we’ve come to know and, in a rather special sense, love in Spanish authorities. About twenty or thirty kilometres out from where we planned to start our walk, we came across a ‘No Entry’ sign alongside another announcing that the road had been closed for work.

What? After driving so far? They wouldn’t let us get to the start point of our hike?

Now this is something that keeps happening in, say, Madrid. A road will suddenly be closed, with no apparent good reason, no notice and no attempt to set up a diversion. “Sorry, mate,” someone in the local administration seems to be saying, “you’re just going to have to find another way. And if there isn’t one, find something else to do.”

There certainly wasn’t any other way to get where we wanted to go. And, indeed, while we sat and pondered, we saw more than one car turn back. But then we chatted with another driver and we collectively decided that, since they hadn’t actually put a cordon across the road, we might just have a go.

Which was just as well. The road wasn’t closed. There were roadworks happening, at three places – bulldozers hacking great chunks out of the cliffs, in fact – but as long as you accepted that you might be caught by a temporary closure, and have to wait to be waved through, you could still get to the top.

I suspect the men doing the work simply didn’t have any warning signs about possible delays. “Oh, heck,” they probably said to each other, “we’ll declare the road closed. And for good measure, put up a ‘no entry’ sign. The bold and the rebels will come through anyway. If the others go home, well, at least there’ll be fewer cars for us to deal with.”

We enjoyed the hike in the mountains. It was exhausting, and we had to turn back before we reached the top of the pass we were aiming for, but we saw eagles and we saw chamois, as well as spectacular. What more could we want?

A chamois herd enjoying its lunch

And the whole experience was given additional spice by knowing we’d braved a no entry sign to undertake it. All contributing to a great break-from-a-break.