Teverga

The road into Teverga doesn't mess about. Within twenty minutes of leaving the A66 at Oviedo, the AS-228 starts climbing proper—first through apple orchards, then into narrow valleys where limestone walls close in like a geography textbook diagram. By the time you reach the village of Entrago at 500 metres, the temperature's dropped five degrees and your ears might have popped. This is mountain country, and the mountains make the rules here.

At just under 1,500 permanent residents scattered across hamlets with names like La Plaza and Páramo, Teverga feels less like a single village and more like a loose federation of farmsteads that happened to get a council office. The capital—if you can call it that—is a cluster of stone houses around the 12th-century Colegiata de San Pedro, its Romanesque portal carved with figures that have watched over this valley since long before Spain was a concept. Inside, the capitals tell stories that would've been familiar to medieval pilgrims: Daniel in the lions' den, Adam and Eve discovering shame, various saints meeting unpleasant ends. The colours are faded but still there—reds and ochres that survived centuries of candle smoke and winter damp.

The Bear Trail and Other Illusions

The Senda del Oso cuts through Teverga's southern edge, following an old mining railway that once hauled coal from these mountains. What sounds like a gentle family outing—"practically downhill all the way" according to British cycling websites—actually involves a 200-metre climb from the Tuñón junction before the long glide down to the Prehistory Park. The gradient's kind enough for toddlers on balance bikes, but don't be fooled: this is still a mountain valley where weather changes faster than you can say "waterproofs."

Bicisenda del Oso runs the bike hire operation from a hut beside the trail. They're used to British families arriving with unrealistic expectations—yes, they have trailers for dogs and babies, no, they can't magic away the headwind that funnels up the valley most afternoons. The free return shuttle (a battered white van with bike racks) collects weary riders at 5 pm sharp. Miss it and you're pedalling back uphill, which rather spoils the illusion of an easy day.

The Prehistory Park sits halfway along the trail, its concrete dome emerging from beech forest like a Bond villain's lair. Inside, they've recreated Cantabrian cave art using laser scanning and 3D printing—effectively a "greatest hits" of Altamira and its lesser-known cousins. British visitors tend to emerge impressed despite themselves; there's something oddly thrilling about standing nose-to-nose with a bison that was painted 14,000 years ago, even if it's a replica.

When Maps Lie

Mountain walking here requires a recalibration of British concepts of distance. Ten kilometres might sound like a morning stroll, but add 800 metres of ascent through beech forest that turns to ankle-deep mud after rain, and you've got a proper expedition. Peña Sobia dominates the southern skyline at 2,100 metres—a long day's walk from any direction, with a final scramble that can turn lethal in cloud. The mountain rescue team, based in neighbouring Proaza, are professional but stretched thin. They'd rather not spend their Sunday hauling down someone who thought "it looked quite close on Google Earth."

The Hayedo de Montegrande offers a gentler introduction to Teverga's forests. This beech wood hangs to the northern slopes between 900 and 1,200 metres, its trees twisted into surreal shapes by centuries of wind and snow. October brings the colour change—copper and gold against grey limestone—but also the first frosts. The track from La Plaza village is drivable in dry weather, but turns to axle-deep ruts after rain. Park at the top and walk down; your suspension will thank you.

What Passes for Civilisation

Food here follows the mountain tradition of "whatever keeps you alive through winter." Pote tevergano appears on every menu—a thick stew of beans, pork and cabbage that makes British stews look positively dainty. La Chabola restaurant in Tuñón will do you a media ración (small portion) if you ask nicely, though "small" is relative. Their chuletón—a T-bone from Asturian beef aged 45 days—could feed a family of four, though they'll cook it past rare only under protest. The escanda bread, made from local spelt, has a nutty sweetness that works surprisingly well with the region's blue cheese, Queso de Los Beyos.

There's no petrol station in the valley. None. Fill up in Oviedo or at the Repsol in Campomanes before you turn off the main road. The nearest cash machine is in Proaza, 15 kilometres back down the valley, and not all bars take cards. Phone signal disappears entirely in the Bear Tunnel and remains patchy along most of the trail—download offline maps before you set out.

The Seasonal Bargain

Spring arrives late at this altitude. April can still bring snow above 1,500 metres, while the valley floor erupts in wild garlic and daffodils. It's the sweet spot for walkers—clear skies, empty trails, and accommodation prices that haven't yet inflated for summer. The Casa Rural El Xestu in La Plaza offers rooms from €70 in April, rising to €95 in August. Their breakfast includes eggs from hens that scratch around the churchyard opposite.

Summer brings Spanish families escaping the heat of the plains, but even then, Teverga never feels crowded. The real invasion happens during August's fiesta season—each hamlet hosts its own weekend of cider-fuelled mayhem, with traditional bagpipe bands that sound surprisingly similar to Scottish reels after enough natural cider. Book accommodation well ahead if your visit coincides with San Pedro (29 June) or the Chestnut Festival (late October).

Winter is when Teverga reveals its harsh side. The AS-228 regularly closes above 1,000 metres during snowstorms, cutting the valley off for days. Locals stockpile firewood and food like survivalists, and the Bear Trail becomes a cross-country ski route. It's beautiful, certainly, but requires proper winter kit and the sense to turn back when weather closes in.

The valley rewards those who linger. Stay three days minimum—long enough to walk the Senda del Oso, climb a proper peak, and recover with cider in Bar Alendro while watching the sun catch the limestone cliffs above Entrago. Teverga won't give up its secrets to day-trippers ticking boxes. Like the Romanesque saints carved on the colegiata's portal, it keeps its own counsel, revealing itself only to those prepared to slow down and look properly.