Contrasts

Our sleek black greyhound makes a fine contrast against the snowy backdrop of San Isidro ski station. His energetic charging about belies the few white hairs that are already sprouting in his fur.

Last weekend we nipped across the mountains of the Cordillera Cantábrica to León. At the top of the mountain pass, just over the border from Asturias, we stopped at San Isidro ski station to have a little play in the snow. (And to give the poor old motor-home’s engine a chance to cool down after the long slog up the windy pass.)

The ski station had long since closed for the season and the contrast between the hot, sunny Saturday in May and the deep blanket of snow that still enveloped the mountain tops provided the perfect physical illustration of the bipolar weather patterns of the last couple of months, as we have flipped back and forwards between spring and winter. Even this high in the mountains, at over 1500 metres above sea level, it is very unusual to see so much snow so late in the year.

As we mucked about and laughed in the sunshine and snow I also couldn’t help but contrast the day with the last time I had been here. 20th December 2008, I ended the day in the first aid centre, with the ski-station’s doctor attempting, unsuccessfully, to re-place my dislocated elbow and putting a provisional cast on to protect my shattered ulna before sending me on my way to hospital. I eventually made it home on Christmas Eve, with a titanium plate and 7 screws in my forearm and a LOT of very strong painkillers in my bloodstream. It’s really no surprise that I hadn’t been back to San Isidro since.

Despite the involuntary shudder that passed through me when I saw the dreaded torture chamber first aid station and as I spied the exact point on the slope where I had been taken out by a snowboarder, it felt good to be back at the scene of the accident, whole and healthy and happy.

Indeed here I am, some 4 and a half years later, in an entirely different phase of my life but a phase that I may never have reached if it hadn’t been for that disastrous day on the slopes. With an enforced stop to all plans and activities for several months (no surfing, no climbing, no diy, no gardening, no writing, no trips) came an enforced pause for reflection and, with that, some life-changing decisions.

And that’s the thing. Even in our bleakest moments there always exists the seed of as yet unknown joys.

Jack, born October 2009

Sightseeing Where You Live

Here’s a truism for you: emigrate and they will come.

One of the things about being an expat is the number of visitors you receive in your new home. Be it family or friends or some vague acquaintance who quite fancies a cheap holiday abroad, emigrate and the visitors will come.

Now most of the time this is lovely and can be a fine excuse to pretend to be on holiday yourself. But after a time you realise that you can no longer uphold the pretense of being on an extended holiday and you have to acknowledge that you are in fact living in the place and have a life there and all the inescapable daily drudgery that that entails. You cannot always be at the beck and call of every visitor.

Lago Enol, Covadonga. Perhaps the most famous spot for sightseeing in Asturias. Image courtesy of Pelayo Alonso Huerta

The most useful tool we have found to defuse this situation and bridge the possible mismatch of expectations between holiday- and home- maker is our annotated map. We are currently on our fifth (and already increasingly tattered) copy of the Michelin road map of Asturias, on which we have labelled up an array of attractions across the region, complete with driving times from home and other useful information. Visitors with children? Why not check out the dinosaur museum, 30 minutes drive, free on Wednesdays, with a great playpark, cafe and a lovely beach alongside. Culture vulture? The Niemeyer Centre in Avilés is a must visit – the building alone is spectacular and their arts programming is vibrant and internationally relevant.

All our favourite beaches are marked, from tiny coves to exposed surf breaks. For walkers, bikers and climbers we highlight some great itineraries. For anyone on their first visit to the region we recommend a trip to Covadonga and the Lakes  to take in the magnificent, quintessentially Asturian views from the mountains to the sea.

Thus our visitors can pick and choose what most appeals to them and can self-direct their own sightseeing. But that´s not to say that we leave them entirely to their own devices. Depending on schedules (and quality of relationship!) we, of course, do our fair share of hanging out together. With some guests in fact it´s all about the hanging out and very little about the sightseeing. When grandparents come, for example, all they really want is some time with their darling boy. In which instance we consult the annotated map ourselves to remind us of where some good local restaurants are and we dash out the door to leave them to their bonding.

The view from the top of our hill, to the Picos at sunset on a winter’s evening. Every day I walk to the top of the hill with the dog and every day the view that awaits me is different, depending on season, time of day and quality of light. I love it.

In all honesty, the most telling sightseeing we share with visitors is often the simplest and the closest to home. The views from our garden as we share a meal and a glass of wine. Sharing a dog walk up the lane is a lovely opportunity for a chin-wag as well as to spy the profusion of wild flowers that fill the hedgerows and to gasp at the views from the top of  the hill, with the jagged, snow-capped Picos mountains in one direction and the wide Atlantic ocean in the other.

Sunset from home

These are the views that mark my everyday. They are the views that still cause me to catch my breath despite having lived with them for over seven years. Changing light and weather can always throw up a new vision that has me running back inside for my camera. They are the sights that tell, in a large part, the story of why I live where I do and why I love where I live.

This post was written in response to the prompt ‘sightseeing where you live,’ courtesy of The American Resident and her ‘Love Where You Live’ Linky. Click the badge below to read more posts on the same theme.

Silent Sunday

Springtime, Fully Loaded

Just as one swallow does not a summer make, one sunny weekend away in the campervan doesn’t necessarily mean that our springtime has really sprung. But two weekends on the bounce? Well, now you’re talking.

Being the unpredictable, adventurous souls that we are, this weekend we packed the van and headed off to……drum roll please…..Teverga! Ah, but there is more to this valley than may have met the eye of my blog readers thus far. Saturday we headed straight to the Puerto de Marabio, a high mountain pass with stunning views, a little hermitage, great walking and biking tracks and, you guessed it, some great rock climbing too.

Puerto de Marabio

Further irrefutable confirmation of the arrival of spring lay all around us, despite the presence of snowy caps on the very high mountains in the background. Spring flowers carpeted the meadows and poked their heads joyously out of every available nook and cranny.

The hillsides were speckled with blossom laden trees and the stark nakedness of their wintry branches was softened as nature began to dress them once more. Here’s a picture of a tree I photographed in its autumn finery at the end of November now displaying the latest spring-summer greens.

Another season, another windy day

I guess in reality winter has been relatively short-lived here, the harshest of the weather only really kicking in in mid-January, but it has felt long enough and we are all glad to be returning to a life spent more outdoors.

Another weekend, another chance to play in the dirt

Another day, another place to sleep

Another Sunday, another cave-based siesta. Somebody just woked up. This playing outdoors all day sure is tiring.

Happy Springtime everybody, and happy Earth Day too!

Linking up to Country Kids at Coombe Mill. Click the badge to hop on over and check out lots more family fun in the outdoors.

A Sunny Weekend in Los Valles del Oso

Finally, last week, spring decided it was time to be properly sprung and then rapidly proceeded to catapult us full pelt into summer. With temperatures forecast to be in the high 20s over the weekend there was only one thing for it: load up the autocaravana and hit the road.

As time was short (and our van painfully slow-moving) we decided on a brief trundle just as far as the valleys of Quirós and Teverga, south of Oviedo city. The ‘Valles del Oso’ or valleys of the bear as they are known. (And yes, they do actually have some bears there.) It’s a great spot for family days out, has some world class sports climbing and some great places for overnight van camping. So that’s all our boxes ticked then. Who needs to travel further afield when you have all this on your doorstep?

Clear blue skies, with one rather odd shaped cloud, above a high snowy peak in Quirós last weekend

The carpark at Entrago, Teverga as the sun came up on Sunday morning. Very popular with climbers and families from Oviedo and Gijón there are always plenty of children to play with at weekends here. It´s a great spot for free van camping with newly built toilet and shower block, water and waste facilities, a football pitch, and kiddies’ climbing wall as well as being alongside the Senda del Oso path and in the heart of the Teverga valley. Oh, and there´s a couple of bars and restaurants just round the corner too. Perfect.

Saturday we spent at the very family-friendly crag of Quirós, at sector La Selva. With plenty of trees providing shade at the foot of the crag this was the perfect place for a very hot day. As well as preventing the many children there from burning the trees also provided some unroped climbing opportunities for them.

This year we have finally abandoned the baby back pack and Jack is managing the approach to crags (mostly) under his own steam. I can´t tell you what a liberation this is! The last couple of years it has mainly fallen to Richie to carry the backpack with Jack, an increasingly heavy, and oftentimes wriggling, load. Meanwhile I have been playing my part by carrying up ALL the climbing gear. So that´s a 70 metre rope, a couple of harnesses, 20 or so metal quick draws, shoes etc. Oh, and probably some food and water too. Not to mention a few toys and perhaps some sun cream. I think what I´m trying to say is it´s been HEAVY. Especially on the steeper approaches, where I have on occasion found myself huffing and puffing and bent forward like an old crone. Now that my load has been lightened after such a long time it feels almost like I can breezily levitate uphill. Winner.

Of course walking with a  toddler does mean taking things at a rather more leisurely pace. Jack, Dogly and I made the (usually 20 minute) descent to the car from La Selva in a sedately fascinating hour or so. There were flowers to be sniffed, sticks to be collected, water to be drunk from fuentes and cows and goats to be inspected.

The ministry of silly walks.

Eventually we made it down to the carpark by 6pm. At which point Jack insisted on taking out his balance bike for some off-roading action. Only when he was covered top to bottom in muddy splashes, true mountain biker style, after some daring stream traversing was he finally content to return to the camper for tea. Meanwhile his poor mother was exhausted from chasing him up and down the bumpy paths as he gleefully chucked himself downhill at speed. Still, my payoff came the next morning when he slept in until 9 am.

Climbing at Eléctricos, Teverga

Sunday was spent climbing with more friends at Electricós in Teverga while Jack mainly played with his diggers in the dirt, made letters from twigs and sneaked in a little siesta in a shady cave. That evening we happily trundled home again, all contentedly exhausted from a weekend spent playing outdoors.

Idyllic

I was just sorting through memory cards full of photos that I have yet to organize or do anything with, when I came across this one. I took it on the 8th March at 8 am (The wonders of modern digital photography triumph over my innate forgetfulness.) That means I was on my way to the school bus stop with my son. The simply stunning morning light made me forget the usual morning scurry and sent me dashing back indoors for my camera. (Child abandoned on the street, swinging his rucksack in the air.) Sometimes the beauty of nature really does just stop you in your tracks.

Just as I was wondering how to catalogue this snap and musing on how I might use or share it somewhere, the daily prompt from WordPress popped up in my reader. Idyllic. It seemed perfectly in step with my response to this photo. I clicked through and discovered that the prompt related more specifically to what your ideal community looks like. How it is organized and how community life is structured. What values does the community share?

Then it struck me, this photo shows exactly what my ideal community looks like. It’s a  community based in nature and shaped by nature. A small community but with strong ties. On the horizon you can see the small cluster of houses perched atop the hillside, mirroring our own hamlet, dwarfed by the scale of the mountains behind and the expanse of green stretching between tiny, scattered villages. It could feel lonely but it promotes a depth and strength of connection between neighbours that doesn’t naturally occur in places, such as cities, where you can maintain a lofty self-reliance and independence.

The Spanish refrain goes: ¿Quién es tu hermano? El vecino más cercano’ meaning, your closest family is your nearest neighbour. This is never truer than when you live in a small community in the country. We rely on each other in a myriad of ways, both practically and socially. From borrowing a pint of milk rather than making a 20 minute trip to buy one, to sharing a cup of coffee and a chat on an otherwise solitary day.

Even our water supply (the very staff of life!) is community managed. This means periodic village meetings, the occasional Saturday morning spent clearing brambles on the hillside where the pump-house is or, in times of emergency, days spent chasing and fixing leaks in the pipework. I’ll be honest, sometimes it’s a worry and sometimes it’s a drag but it teaches me a darn sight more about personal and environmental responsibility than paying a quarterly water bill ever did!

So there you have it. My country idyll. Just right for me right now. But what about you? What’s your idea of an idyllic community? And are you lucky enough to already live there?

The local water board in action last summer. That’ll be all of us then!

The Perfect Snow Storm

By the time the month of March comes around spring is well and truly on the way in Asturias. Winter is behind us and while we can still spy snow on the high mountain tops we have long since had our one annual day of snow cover here in the hills close to the sea.

So you can imagine everyone’s surprise when, last Wednesday, we woke to this:

And it wasn’t just a light dusting of snow that had fallen overnight. It was this deep:

Don’t think anyone will be sitting on that chair anytime soon

Or hanging out washing on that line…

The morning air was subdued and still and not a soul stirred in the village. Well, until the little boy from next door caught Jack’s attention window-to-window.

Then it was time to dig out our snow gear and head out for some fun.

A snowboarding helmet is obviously a vital piece of equipment for the day that’s in it.

With no power and no chance of the internet repair man making it for his designated appointment (after a week of waiting for him!) it was destined to be a day of play for everyone. Kudos to our electricity suppliers however as somehow, despite the treacherous weather conditions and our remote location, they managed to restore supply before nightfall.

 

Silent Sunday

Sailing Santander to Portsmouth, Again

We’re back in the UK for our first visit in nearly a year and once again we chose the ferry to get us (and all of our many, many bags) here. As our family love affair with ferry travel continues, it seemed rather appropriate (although entirely coincidental) that we set sail from Santander to Portsmouth on Valentine’s Day. Particularly so as it was on February 14th some seven years ago that we first voyaged in the opposite direction, in a hired van laden with all of our worldly possessions, hearts full of excitement and heads a-whirr with the adventures that awaited us in our new life in northern Spain.

Scoping out the horizon from the porthole in our cabin

I can’t quite believe that a full seven years has passed since we first abandoned British shores but it has and I am very pleased to report that there is no sign of a seven-year-itch on the horizon. Asturias now feels very much like home.

That said, a trip to the UK does paradoxically still feel like a return home. Familiar faces and places, precious time spent with much-missed loved ones and the chance to stock up on some old stalwart products that you just can’t get in Spain. All the space in our car that the distribution of a few cases of Rioja and Albarino wines to our hosts in the UK has liberated will be occupied on the return journey by cases of peanut butter and Marmite, securely packed in place by sacks of teabags. We are living the expat cliche dream.

In fact, in this bi-located life of ours it’s fair to say that the decks of the Pont Aven ferry itself are also beginning to feel a little like home. Or should I say, ‘the big boat playground’ as Jack has taken to calling it.

The soft-play area is certainly the place where I invariably spend the most time onboard. Luckily it has some comfy seats for adults and I always end up enjoyably whiling the time away in conversation with other parents as our offspring bounce riotously around in preparation (hopefully) for a good night’s sleep in the cabins below.

Operation ‘tire out toddler’ takes to the outside deck

I love hearing these other travellers’ stories – from that of the Spanish family who have swapped the sunny skies of Andalucia for life in a cold and draughty Scottish castle that they are renovating as a hotel to that of the mother who only holidays in destinations reachable overland or by boat because of a particularly vivid dream she had 20 years ago in which she both had a child in her forties and also perished in an air crash. When she unexpectedly gave birth to a son at the age of 42 she instantly forswore air travel. To be fair, I think I probably would have too!

Meanwhile, the highlight of the voyage for my other half was the fact that the Manchester United match was being shown on the big screen in the bar. That was my cue to retire to our cabin with an exhausted, blissfully sleeping toddler and a George Clooney movie on the laptop. A perfect Valentine’s Day all round.

Checking out the cabin

Security was tight in the onboard shop, with a uniformed police presence ;)

Jack even got a Valentine’s Day serenade

Operation ‘tire out toddler’ takes to the outside deck

Disclaimer: this post was sponsored by Brittany Ferries and we received a discount on our sailing. All words and opinions expressed are entirely my own.

Thrills ‘n’ Spills and Hot Aches

Until today Jack had only ever seen snow either on the far-distant mountain tops or on Caillou (a Canadian kids cartoon that airs on Spanish tv.) Today the snow line was forecast to dip to 300m above sea level (we live at a little over 400 metres). And dip it did. We woke to this.

In retrospect it was just as well that the ferry we were planning on taking to Portsmouth today had been cancelled due to gales in the Bay of Biscay. It could have been a stressful drive to the ferry port, assuming we were able to exit the village in the first place. As it was, instead of rushing to Santander for 12.00pm we had plenty of time to indulge Jack’s wonder at the white stuff.

When we ventured outside there was some initial whingeing surprise at just how cold it was. That’s the crucial aspect that you miss when you’re just looking at snow, whether it be on the horizon, the silver screen or just through the window. Still, once friends from next door had been drafted in for a snowball fight the cold was forgotten about. At least until the hot aches kicked in. By then it was time to retreat, dry off and warm up in front of the fire.

By the time the hot aches had subsided more friends arrived – this time with sledges. They live just 5 kilometres down the road from us but a crucial 150 metres nearer sea level. No snow at all had settled there and so they headed up the hill to ours in search of some sledging action.

We’re going on a snow hunt….

And find it they did. There were thrills…..

And spills…..

And finally, more hot aches. Which signalled time to retire indoors once more. By this stage the snow was rapidly melting anyway. Tomorrow the snow line is forecast to be at 500 metres. With a steep uphill walk we should be able to find some more sledgeable hillsides. And then on Wednesday, storms at sea permitting, we shall be on our way to the UK, where more snow may well await us.