The culinary experience began with a bright morning in Santander. We say bright, but the slow dawn reminded us just how far north our home is: the daylight here appears far later than it does in Norwich, a few hundred miles closer to the arctic…
We walked past a panaderia-cum-cafe on our meander. This was initially packed with policemen and such on their way to work, yet the doors and windows in front of them were barred off with the security grille as if the place were closed. Clearly, there is some sort of special agreement with the regulars.
We returned precisely to this spot after finding an ATM. It was clearly real. The place served us tortilla, which was remarkably soft without being raw. It was accompanied by slices of baguette which we initially dismissed as unnecessary but then realised were excellent for mitigating the high salt content of the tortilla. We had cafes con leche to wash it down, beverages which might better be called leches con cafe in this instance. It was a good start to the day.
This was followed by a two-hour bus journey to Oviedo, crossing from Cantabria into Asturias. On the way we ran parallel to the epic Picos mountains, which – to our shame – neither of us had remembered existed. We googled their peaks’ altitudes, and noted that they made Ben Nevis seem like an anthill.
In Oviedo, we marveled at the best part of the cathedral, which functions as a treasury. It dates to the 12th century and contains mesmerising early medieval sculptures of saints, passages from the Old Testament, weird hybrid creatures and undulating foliage. There was even a St James with an 1100s shell, so recognisable it seemed too good to be true.
After this, in the most touristy and least likely spot, we were served a taste of vertiginously poured Asturias cider. This was superb: Bea found a hidden banana flavour to it and likened it to kombucha, and Alfie was reminded of the ‘wild fermented’ Belgian beer called Geuze. It was also free. It happened to come from an absurd parade-style float with stick-on barrel ends. It boldly declared: “COMO YERA ANTES” – like it was before… Notwithstanding our skepticism re: the availability of floats in “ye olden days”, we were pleased.
We followed this with a long – well, forty-minute, and therefore negligible in comparison to what is to come – walk up the hills out of town. This took us to Santa Maria de Naranco – not to be confused with Naa – an immense and very very old church (9th century AD). This gave us a spectacular view of yet more mountains, this time shrouded in low rainclouds. After drinking this in a bit, we headed back down the hill.
Bea had wisely sought the advice of our AirBnB host on where best to have dinner – “non turístico”. He recommended a restaurant connected to a hotel, not our usual choice, and one that we had actually passed by earlier unawares. The exterior was remarkably nondescript.
The interior, however, was not. Everyone except us was Spanish, and white-shirted waiters were buzzing around, bringing huge plates of food and pouring sidra. We had two raciones, one of ludicrously soft croquetas casera (perfectly fried, salty white fluff with a dot or two of smoky ham inside each) and the other of slightly less soft chicken – the house specialty everyone recommended. Said (pieces of) bird had been given a more-than-decorative scattering of chopped golden garlic: mucho ajillo. A very fun nibble.
Chopping was a bit of a theme in that restaurant, in fact: we were served this meal to a backdrop of 24/7 Toro TV: bullfighting. Over and over, understandably angry bulls were highly flamboyantly skewered. We were slightly horrified. But this horror was not without hypocrisy, given that we looked back at Toro TV from our plates many, many times, and spent our dinner discussing this strange cultural phenomenon.
We had more cider with our food, naturally, poured from behind the little booths that look a tad unfortunately like urinals. This particular example of the Asturian drink wasn’t actually as complex as the one outside the tourist trap, oddly. We did, however, notice that the method of pouring does make a massive difference. It wakes up the drink in all its aspects: acidity, floral aroma, sweetness. Without the manual addition of carbonation, it feels rather flat and muted by comparison. It is reassuring that the gimmick is backed by science. And then we went back home and attempted to sleep.
Perhaps the best part of the day was collecting our pilgrim’s passports. In exchange for a few euros, we were solemnly handed two shells, each on a red string, along with our credencials by the soft-spoken man at the cathedral reception. He was wearing a dark tie patterned with golden shells.
And he wished us ‘Buen Camino!’
– Alfie & Bea
The Camino Francés Swansons are really enjoying your blog, so well done! Could you write ours too, please?