Having settled into our campsite on the edge of town, we set off to cycle into Cudilliero for the evening. What we didn't realise was that we were staying right at the top of a hugely steep valley, which wound down to Cudilliero's port at the bottom. The cycle ride down was scary enough, while we tried to block out the thoughts of cycling back up the North face of the Eiger at the end of the night.
Cudilliero has the feel of a Cornish fishing port – tall houses crammed together, clinging onto the steep hillside, and opening out to a small central square in front of the port full of bars and restaurants. We ate wonderfully fresh sardines, tons of calamares (fried, grilled, stewed) and tried our hand at Asturian cider again – it was reassuring that our first impression hadn't been a false one, it was still as horrible as ever. Trying to put off the cycle ride back, after dinner, we went for "just one more drink", and we stumbled out at 1.30am, before a lung-bursting, leg-burning, life-threatening mountain climb that would have defeated a sober Lance Armstrong rather than a couple of boozed up out-of-shape trundlers like us.
The next day, we sensibly decided to walk rather than cycle, and Adrian treated us to a high speed tour of the Asturian coastline, as we visited the famous El Silencio Beach (supposedly one of the most beautiful in Spain – nice, but not that nice); Luarca – a bigger version of Cudilliero with unbelievably good value menu del dias; and then onto a surf beach, where our good intentions of swimming, were soon put once we'd stepped into the icily cold water.
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