Siero

The cattle lorry brakes hard outside Pola de Siero's market hall. Hooves clatter on steel ramps while a farmer in a Barbour-style jacket—cut from waxed cotton made in Valladolid—shouts prices in Asturian Spanish. Tuesday has started, and the town's split personality is on full display: industrial estates one side, stone barns the other, all hemmed in by hills that top 600 m and trap the morning mist.

At 211 km², Siero is less a single place than a patchwork of parishes stretched across Asturias' central plateau. Motorways slash through it, yet five minutes off the dual carriageway you can walk a lane where cows have right of way and the loudest noise is a stream gurgling under hórreos, the region's raised granaries. Ordnance Survey devotees will recognise the terrain: gentle, green, and deceptive—every bend reveals another small valley, another slate-roofed hamlet, another cider barn with the door propped open.

Between Workshop and Meadow

The council's 51,000 residents earn their living in two overlapping worlds. One is metal and logistics: the Silvota industrial park near Lugones employs more people than live in some neighbouring villages. Delivery vans from Galicia and the Basque Country queue at roundabout cafés where coffee costs €1.20 and comes with a paper sachet of sugar whether you ask or not. The other world is grass and milk. Those same cafés sell squares of Afuega’l Pitu, the local DOP cheese that crumbles like a dry Lancashire and tastes faintly of lemon, because the dairy cooperative is two streets away.

Visitors expecting a tidy "either/or" will be disappointed. A detached villa with Art-nouveau ironwork—built by an indiano returning from Cuba—can sit opposite a 1990s apartment block whose balconies overflow with drying laundry. That jumble is the point. Siero doesn't do postcard perfection; it does real life at 300 m above sea level, where the air is cooler than on the coast and the rain, frankly, arrives more often than is convenient.

Tuesday Mornings: Bring Change and Curiosity

Market day is still the easiest way in. The cattle section opens at dawn; by nine the ring resembles a compact version of Bakewell livestock market, only with cider barrels instead of pork pies. Even if you have no intention of bidding on a dairy heifer, the auctioneer's patter is worth the detour. Parking behind the Recinto Ferial is free but full by 09:30; latecomers use the FEVE station car park (€4.20 all day) and get a preview of the rail service that shuttles to Oviedo in 18 minutes for €2.40.

Inside the covered hall, stalls sell everything from Galician kippers to metric Allen keys. One counter offers cheese so fresh it still holds the dimple of the cloth. Ask for "un cuarto" and the vendor will guess you're foreign, cut you an extra slice, then refuse to charge for it. Somewhere between the sock stall and the honey stand you'll remember why British high streets feel anaemic: this is retail as conversation, not click-and-collect.

Walking It Off

Siero will never feature in a list of Spain's "epic hikes". What it offers instead is a network of parish footpaths—some tarmacked, some mud—that stitch together villages at a very British 3–5 km spacing. The Ruta de los Palacios Rurales is the handiest introduction. Starting at the church of Santa María in Lugones, the loop passes four minor manor houses whose glory days ended when the railway arrived. None charge entry; one is now a nursing home, another hosts language classes for unemployed teenagers. Expect stone walls smothered in camellias, the smell of wood smoke, and the occasional Land Rover Defender that still runs on agricultural diesel.

If you prefer altitude, drive to the village of Viella and take the track sign-posted "Alto de la Cobertoria". The climb is 350 m over 4 km—no harder than a Lake District calf-burner—and the summit puts you level with buzzards that ride the thermals above the AS-17. On a clear day you can see the Cordillera's snowcaps; on a murky one you get atmospheric drizzle and the satisfaction of earning your cider.

Winter changes the rules. Above 400 m frost lingers until noon, and the council grades only two roads as priority for gritting. A dusting of snow is enough to cancel school buses, so check the webcam on Pola de Siero's town hall site before setting out. Spring, by contrast, is ridiculously green, the verges knee-high with cow parsley and the first cider houses hanging out signs that read "Nueva Cosecha".

Eating Without Theatre

Sidrerías in Siero pour cider the same way Devon pubs pull ale: fast, with foam, and no one cares if you spill. El Rincón de Tiñana keeps a foot in both camps—traditional wood-panelled bar up front, modern extractor fans out back—so your jeans don't reek of fermentation. Order a media ración of fabada (bean stew) and the waiter will ask if you want it "para inglés", meaning half the usual portion of morcilla. Say no; the blood sausage is milder than a British black pudding and the beans taste of smoked paprika, not fat.

Casa Chusco, tucked behind the market, specialises in Gochu celta, the local Celtic pig. The chuletón for two weighs 900 g, arrives on a wooden board, and costs €42 including roast piquillo peppers. Vegetarians can try La Tahona de la Abuela, a café that does an excellent cachopo de berenjena—breadcrumbed aubergine layered with goat's cheese—without making a fuss about it. Both venues open for lunch at 13:00 sharp; arrive at 15:30 and the kitchen is already mopping the floor.

Where to Lay Your Head

Pola de Siero has three business-style hotels within 200 m of the station. Rooms are clean, parking is free, and doubles run €55–70 year-round except Easter week, when prices double because of the Huevos Pintos fiesta (think painted eggs, brass bands, and streets that smell of food colouring). The smarter option is Hotel Parque 3 km south in Lugones—indoor pool, gym, and mountain views from the top floor—though you'll need a car to reach the cider bars at night.

Self-catering works if you're on the Camino Primitivo variant that passes through. Turieno village has two newly restored cottages sleeping four from €90 per night; the owner leaves a bottle of local cider in the fridge and instructions to "consume within three days—after that it's vinegar".

Honest Afterword

Siero will not change your life. What it will do is remind you that Spain does not finish at the coast, that cows and factories can coexist, and that a Tuesday morning among livestock auctions feels remarkably similar whether you're in Derbyshire or Asturias. Come with a half-tank of fuel and low expectations; leave with a round of cheese in the boot and the realisation that "ordinary" places often tell the most interesting stories.