El Franco

The tide peels back from Playa de Porcía at half past four on an October afternoon, revealing a crescent of honey-coloured sand no wider than a cricket pitch. By five the crescent has doubled; rock pools glint like fragments of broken mirror and a dozen parked cars on the clifftop suddenly look premature. This is El Franco’s party piece: the beach that refuses to stay the same shape twice.

West-facing and therefore one of the few spots on the Cantabrian coast where you actually watch the sun drop into the sea, the municipality stretches for barely 20 km between the river Eo and the Galician border. The A-8 motorway brushes its southern edge, but the coast road still narrows to a single track round Viavélez harbour where fishing boats tie up three abreast. Five thousand people live here, scattered across smallholdings that smell of seaweed fertiliser and wood smoke. It feels smaller than it is, partly because there is no single “centre” – just a string of parishes whose stone houses turn their backs to the wind.

Harbour first, beach second

Start at Viavélez rather than the administrative capital La Caridad. The harbour wall is wide enough for a push-chair and gives an instant lesson in local economics: gulls fighting over squid frames, diesel drums repurposed as salt-proof tool boxes, men mending nets with orange plastic gloves. At the uphill end, the cider house El Puerto opens at noon; if the wooden barrels are already sweating, the first pour of the day is ready. Order a plate of navajas – razor clams that arrive split, grilled and still twitching. They taste like sweet scallops with a hint of iron, and cost €11 before 14:00.

From the harbour it is a five-minute walk to El Portu, the start of the coastal path. The first kilometre is almost flat, following a mule track cut into the cliff. Gorse and bramble arch overhead; blackberries ripen in September and walkers who fill a hat brim are rarely told off. Beyond the radio mast the surface roughens – loose shale and fist-sized rocks polished by the sea. Turn back here unless you have boots and a tide table: the next headland floods at high water and the escape route involves a vertical steel ladder beloved by the local bomberos for practice rescues.

Sand that comes and goes

Porcía beach lies two minutes below the car park by the cemetery. At low spring tide it links to the smaller cove of Pormenande, giving almost 1 km of sand. Mid-tide halves the width; high tide erases everything except a wedge of shingle against the dunes. British families who arrive with windbreaks and cool boxes sometimes discover the Atlantic lapping at the bumper. The Spanish solution is to check the tabla de mareas printed on the back of most supermarket receipts: anything above 3.2 m and you should bring deckchairs, not towels.

Even at its slimmest the beach works for body-boarding – a left-hand break forms off the river mouth when swell exceeds 1.5 m. There is no hire kiosk; bring your own board and expect water of 18 °C in August, 12 °C in May. Wetsuits are not vanity here, they’re survival.

Cheese, cider and the €14 lunch

Head inland for lunch and the temperature rises three degrees. Maize fields and apple orchards replace gorse; the road to La Caridad passes paneras – raised granaries on staddle stones that look like miniature churches. In the village square, Bar Carola serves the municipal menu del día: fabada bean stew, followed by entrecot flambéed in cider, then rice pudding heavy with cinnamon. Bread and a bottle of still water are included; the price is €14 and they only take cash. Children who balk at beans can be placated with an empanadilla from the bakery opposite – a tuna-and-tomato turnover the size of a Cornish pasty, €2.30.

For self-caterers the weekly market sets up outside the health centre on Friday mornings. Look for Afuega’l pitu, a cone-shaped cheese that ranges from chalk-white to sunset-orange depending on how much paprika is rubbed into the rind. It crumbles like Wensleydale and tastes faintly of lemon; drizzle with local honey and even teenagers concede it beats cheddar.

When the weather turns

Asturian guidebooks claim El Franco enjoys a “micro-climate” – less rain than Luarca, more sun than Ribadeo. The boast holds true in spring when the carrasca (holm oak) is already in leaf, yet Atlantic lows still arrive without warning. If the horizon turns the colour of pewter, the coast road can flood at Arnao; carry on to the A-8 and loop back via Tapia de Casariego. In winter the same depressions fling spray over the harbour wall; Viavélez feels like a Cornish pilchard port circa 1950, especially when the streetlights flicker and diesel generators thump outside the fish-plant.

Snow is rare at sea level but the interior lanes ice over. Book accommodation within 2 km of the coast if travelling between December and February; owners will text you when the gritter has passed.

Staying the night

There are no chain hotels. Casonas converted into rural houses supply most beds – expect stone walls 80 cm thick, Wi-Fi that drops when the wind is westerly, and a breakfast of sponge cake and hot milk. High-season rates hover around €90 for a double, including garage space for bikes. One property, Casa Rustica above Porcía, has a glass balcony cantilevered over the cliff; at spring tides the sea rattles the foundations and guests swear the mattress vibrates. Reserve by WhatsApp and pay the balance in cash on arrival – card machines still count as seaside luxury.

Camping is unofficial but tolerated above the high-water mark; pitch after 20:00 and leave before 9:00 and no one complains. Fires are banned – the gorse is tinder-dry by July – so bring a gas stove and take litter out; the nearest bins are at the cemetery car park.

Side order of cathedral

Most British visitors treat El Franco as a cheaper dormitory for Playa de las Catedrales, the photogenic arches 18 km west in Galicia. Low-tide permits are required from Easter to October and sell out weeks ahead; if you forgot to book, drive over anyway and walk the cliff-top path at sunset – the stone buttresses glow ochre and you avoid the coach-party queue. Back in El Franco the municipal tourist office (open 10:00–14:00, closed Monday) will stamp the same credential for one euro less.

The honest verdict

Come for the shifting sands, the harbour cider and a coastline that still belongs to fishermen rather than estate agents. Do not expect medieval alleys, boutique shopping or nightlife beyond the occasional queue for the ice-cream machine outside the Co-op. Two days covers the highlights; three if you add the coastal walk and a bean-fuelled drive into the cider country south of Villaviciosa. Leave before the fourth and the village reverts to its real owners – men in overalls who rinse squid ink from plastic crates while the Atlantic rearranges the beach for tomorrow’s audience.