Santo Adriano

The limestone walls of the Desfiladero de las Xanas glow green even on grey days, a narrow slit that looks as though someone has taken an axe to the mountains and forgotten to tidy up. Ten minutes’ walk from the lay-by, the River Trubia has already disappeared underground; the only sound is water dripping from ferns onto the path below. This is Santo Adriano’s headline act, yet at 9 a.m. on a Saturday in May you might share the gorge with two dog-walkers and a pair of German cyclists who took a wrong turn. Space is the luxury here: the council covers 22 km² and holds fewer than 280 permanent residents, roughly one per football pitch.

A Valley that Prefers Boots to Flip-Flops

The AS-228 winds up the Trubia valley from Oviedo, 25 km of river and meadow that feel farther from the coast than the map suggests. Santo Adriano sits at 200 m above sea level, low enough for Atlantic humidity to keep the pastures fluorescent, high enough for morning mist to linger until coffee time. The road is single-carriageway, widened just enough for dairy lorries to squeeze past parked cars; expect to follow a tractor for the last 5 km and to arrive ten minutes later than Google’s optimistic estimate.

Villages are strung out like beads: Tuñón, Villanueva, Doñango. Stone houses sit sideways to the lane, cows grazing almost up to the front door. Hay is still stacked in hórreos—raised granaries on stilts—because the mice have not yet conceded defeat. Mobile signal fades in and out; download an offline map before you leave Oviedo bus station or you’ll spend half the day staring at a blank screen.

One Church, One Gorge, One Railway that Hauls Bicycles

The pre-Romanesque church of Santo Adriano de Tuñón is smaller than a London flat, built in 891 and locked since 1983 unless you phone ahead. The tourist office in Villanueva holds the key (€3 donation, Spanish only). Without a reservation you must be content with the west portal: zig-zag stone braiding, a sun-worn baptismal font, and the smell of damp oak leaves drifting from the adjoining cemetery. Twenty minutes is plenty; the building’s real value is as a milestone on the Primitivo pilgrimage route, not as an indoor gallery.

Across the road the gorge path drops into the earth. The circuit is 7 km, mostly shaded, and takes two hours at British walking pace—three if you stop to photograph every waterfall. trainers suffice in dry weather; after rain the slate turns into a slide and you’ll be grateful for tread. Mid-July the canyon becomes a wind tunnel of cool air, a blessing when the valley above is 32 °C, but also a conveyor belt for Spanish school parties. Arrive before 10 a.m. or after 6 p.m. to keep the place to yourself.

Seven kilometres west, the old mining railway has been reborn as the Senda del Oso. Hire bikes in Villanueva (€15 half-day, helmets included) and you can freewheel 25 km of almost traffic-free track carved into the cliff. Look up at the fenced enclosure near Proaza: Paca and Tola, two Cantabrian bears rescued from a circus, now live out their retirement in woodland with a swimming pool and a distrust of selfies. Spotting them is not guaranteed—bears sleep 18 hours a day—but the viewing platform is only a five-minute stroll from the bike rack.

Weather that Changes its Mind Before Lunch

Asturian meteorology is a hobby for locals and a hazard for visitors. Pack a micro-waterproof even in August; Atlantic fronts slide over the Cordillera and dump fifteen minutes of stair-rod rain just as you reach the furthest point of the walk. Spring brings wild garlic along the riverbank and enough mud to claim your socks; autumn is mushroom season, though picking requires a permit (€5 from the ayuntamiento office, open Tuesday and Thursday only). Winter is mild—daytime 8–12 °C—but the gorge path can ice over; the council simply ropes it off rather than grit, so check the noticeboard at the recreation area before setting out.

Food that Comes from the Farm, not the Freezer

There are two bars in the valley and both close at 10 p.m. sharp. Order fabada, the local bean stew, and you’ll receive a clay dish the size of a cereal bowl: white beans, morcilla, a single chorizo sliced lengthways. It tastes milder than cassoulet and sits happily with children who refuse “funny bits”. River trout arrives butterflied, skin crisped in olive oil and scattered with almonds—simple, filling, €14. Bread is made from escanda, an ancient spelt that gives a nutty crumb without the bloating some visitors associate with white baguettes. Cider is obligatory; watch the waiter raise the green bottle above his head and pour a 10 cm arc into the glass. Drink in one go—Asturians consider it bad luck to sip—and leave the centimetre of foam for the next round.

Cash is still king. The nearest ATM is in Proaza, 7 km away; both bars accept notes but glare at cards. Fill your wallet before you leave Oviedo or you’ll be washing dishes.

Staying the Night (or Not)

Santo Adriano contains one rural hotel (eight rooms, €70 B&B) and a handful of self-catering cottages. Accommodation is clean, quiet and 3 km from anywhere that serves dinner; if you want nightlife, drive back to Oviedo. Most British visitors treat the valley as a day trip, pairing the gorge with the bear trail and retreating to the city for tapas. That strategy works—Oviedo’s old town is 35 minutes by car—but staying over gives you dawn light on the haystacks and the chance to hear cowbells instead of ring tones.

Getting Here Without Tears

Public transport is theoretical. One ALSA bus leaves Oviedo at 08:15, reaches Villanueva at 09:05 and does not run on Sundays. The return departs 19:10, which leaves a long day if the weather turns. Hire cars cost from €30 a day at the airport; fuel is cheaper than Britain but motorway tolls add up, so take the AS-II regional road and peel off at Mieres. Parking at Las Xanas is free but holds only forty cars; by 11 a.m. on bank holidays it resembles a festival field, with creative three-point turns and the smell of clutches burning.

When Enough is Enough

Santo Adriano does not do “must-see” lists. Half a day covers the church and the gorge; a full day adds cycling and a long lunch under the chestnut trees. Attempt to fill a long weekend and you’ll find yourself driving to neighbouring councils for second helpings of pre-Romanesque or joining a canyoning group in the Redes park. The valley’s charm is precisely its refusal to overstretch the visitor: walk, breathe, eat, leave. Come expecting Disney and you’ll be disappointed; arrive prepared for damp socks and sudden shafts of sunlight on limestone, and you’ll understand why the bears stayed.