Where the mountains meet the sea: my journey through Asturias

There are journeys that feel less like travel and more like a quiet return — to something within yourself, to a rhythm that feels deeply familiar. My visit to Asturias was one of those. A place where green dominates every shade of the landscape, where the sea breathes against ancient cliffs, and where silence carries the sound of rain and distant bells.

I traveled there with my mother — the person who taught me to look closely at the world, to find wonder in a leaf, a stone, or the way the light filters through the trees. She’s the one who made me fall in love with nature’s details, the poetry of landscapes. Traveling with her through Asturias felt like closing a circle, sharing again that quiet admiration for beauty in its most genuine form.

Oviedo and Gijón: between calm and tide

Our journey began in Oviedo, a city that hums softly between history and modern life. The old quarter smelled of roasted chestnuts and rain. Sculptures greet you at every corner — silent storytellers of a city that moves at its own pace. From there, we drove to Gijón, where the horizon opens wide and the ocean becomes part of every conversation.

The seaside promenade was alive with laughter, dogs chasing waves, and that unmistakable northern breeze. We paused often, just to breathe it all in. There’s something grounding about the way the light hits the Cantabrian Sea — harsh yet tender, a perfect metaphor for Asturias itself.

The Majesty of Covadonga Lakes

No photograph could prepare me for the Lakes of Covadonga. The drive upward felt like a passage through clouds — winding roads, grazing cows, and sudden bursts of light between the peaks. When the mist finally lifted, it revealed still waters reflecting a sky too blue to seem real.

We sat in silence for a long time, my mother and I, just watching the mountains breathe. The camera stayed still for once. Some moments aren’t meant to be captured — only felt.

Hórreos and Hills: the soul of the countryside

Deeper inland, the rhythm slows down. Wooden hórreos stand proudly across rolling green hills. Photographing them became an unspoken ritual during our trip. Each one seemed to guard a secret, a memory of the land and the people who have lived with such quiet resilience.

There’s a serenity in those landscapes that’s hard to describe, soft, timeless, and deeply human. My camera tried to capture that stillness, the texture of wood against mist, the way morning light caressed the old beams.

Luarca and Cudillero: colors by the sea

If Oviedo is quiet poetry, Luarca and Cudillero are pure color. Fishermen’s houses cling to cliffs, painted in blues, oranges, and reds that defy the grey of the sky. From above, the villages look like watercolor palettes spilled into the sea.

The simplicity of Asturian cuisine — hearty, honest, filled with local flavor — mirrors the spirit of its people. Later, we discovered fabada asturiana, rich and comforting, and cider poured with a theatrical tilt, always with laughter and warmth.

Reflections from the North

Asturias reminded me of why I’m drawn to nature again and again — because it strips away the unnecessary. It invites you to listen, to walk slower, to notice. Traveling with my mother through these landscapes felt like rediscovering the roots of that appreciation: the patience to observe, the joy in small things, the reverence for silence.

If you ever crave authenticity, go north. Follow the scent of wet earth and salt. Let the mountains and the sea teach you about balance, endurance, and beauty that doesn’t need to be loud to be unforgettable.

Asturias doesn’t ask to be discovered — it simply asks to be felt.