We resumed our little stroll in La Espina, an hour and a half by bus from Oviedo, ready for a big weekend of walking. The path ran parallel to the road, through green, Yorkshire looking territory. La Espina is on top of the hills and there are dozens of windmills up here failing to spoil the view. After a while we passed one of the standard Camino signs, but this one had the word 'bar' in big letters, so we followed the arrow... rude not to.


The bar was called El Coxu, which is Asturian for the Limper, as the original owner was a guy with a limp. It looked like there was no one about, the bar was dark, but a woman appeared (as if by magic, for all the Mr Benn fans) and served us a morning warmer (anise de guindas, basically unsweetened anise with fruit and sugar added before being kept for a year unopened). Fortified, we carried on to Tineo, the biggest town hereabouts, which isn't saying much. It's up on the side of a hill and the buildings have a patina of grime that suggests they've endured a fair amount of damp, ugly weather. We took the advice of a couple of people we'd spoken to and ate in La casina (lit: littel house, and it was, literally a little house) where, to Julio's dismay, they weren't serving the boiled meats he was hankering after, instead it was a plate of grilled cheek with salad and chips. Cheek? you say, well yes, cheek, mmmm tender face meat.

After dinner the rain started. I'll not mention it too much more except to note that it didn't stop until two days later.

After Tineo we contoured the mountain, and were stopped by a hail from a bearded, weatherbeaten chap. He claimed to be the last of the filipinos, which he said, meant that his family fought in the Philipine wars (Spains last overseas sally). He seemed to sit in his shed and wait for pilgrims, then confuse them about what was open, the distances of the stages and so on. He did give us a guide to the camino though. He claimed he sat out all day for the air (his house was a few hundred metres down in the valley) but then went and ruined it all by smoking cigars non stop.

We walked the rest of the afternoon, in the rain, and as it got dark we neared a village where we had been advised by various internet comments, to avoid one of the bars because they apparently didn't like pilgrims, and charged them a fortune for whatever food they bought. Instead we shed our wet weather gear in Casa Ricardo where we amused the locals. In places like this, deep in the heart of Asturias, a couple of English walkers are classed as exotic. It was early but we knew it was the last place to get any food before the albergue (where there was none) so we had a tortilla, perfect walking food. Then the landlord treated us to a chupito so we left happy, into the dark. No fripperies like streetlights away from these villages.

4km further on we reached Borres, and the albergue. Albergues are free, if you're a pilgrim, although they rely on donations to keep going. The keys are normally in a box by the door although they can sometimes be in nearby houses or bars. The albergues here are repurposed village schools from what Julio calls 'The black years' the years of the republic before Franco (1934-36) he says that in a voice that leaves you in no doubt that he's not a fan of that republic. The door was locked. There were no keys... I was starting to worry until the door opened and a worried face peered out. A couple from Valencia had arrived much earlier and had sensibly locked the door. We chatted for a while as we sorted out things out, it was a 12 place albergue, so 6 double bunks, but clean, with hot water, showers, toilets and blankets. We turned the lights out and went to sleep to the sound of a storm howling outside.

Labels: asturias, camino primitivo, walking

  ¶ 3:26 PM