Cangas de Onís

The Sella river slides past the outdoor-equipment shops, cider bars and cashpoints of Cangas de Onís with the confidence of a place that has seen it all. In 722 a Visigoth nobleman called Pelayo is said to have rallied the locals here and kicked off the Reconquista; thirteen centuries later the town’s main battle is persuading coach drivers to leave the Roman bridge free long enough for a photograph.

That bridge – actually medieval, rebuilt in the 14th century over earlier piers – is still the headline act. A replica of the Victory Cross, the wooden reliquary carried by Asturian kings, hangs beneath the central arch and frames every selfie. Visit before nine o’clock and you’ll share the stone walkway only with dog-walkers and delivery vans; arrive after eleven and you’ll queue for the same shot behind stag parties from Madrid and school groups from Santander.

Crossing the bridge drops you into a compact grid of alleys that feels more functional than fairy-tale. Estate agents, butchers selling morphine-white fabes beans and a tiny Eroski supermarket do brisk trade while souvenir shops shift fridge magnets shaped like Pelayo’s sword. The set-up suits walkers who need new boot laces or a cheap sandwich more than it suits anyone hunting for cobbled silence, but that’s the point: Cangas is the Picos de Europa’s service station, only prettier.

Sunday morning, smell before you see

If you sleep in on the Sabbath you miss the best show. From eight o’clock the Plaza del Ayuntamiento fills with canvas awnings and the air thickens with the pong of Cabrales. Farmers in boiler suits unload paper-wrapped wedges of the blue-veined cheese that has spent months maturing in mountain caves; the really serious stuff comes wrapped in chestnut leaves and can strip the lining from your nose at twenty paces. Bring cash – the average kilo price is €22 and the queues for the card machine are longer than the ones for the loos. By noon most traders are packed up and heading back to hamlets that don’t appear on Google Maps, so second coffees in the adjoining bars taste best taken early.

A chapel on top of a tomb older than Stonehenge

Five minutes uphill from the market, the Capilla de Santa Cruz squats on a grassy mound like a stone guard hut. The chapel itself is eighth-century Visigoth, small enough to measure in arm-spans, but beneath the altar lies a Neolithic dolmen whose passage grave predates the pyramids. Entry is free; ring the bell and a volunteer opens up, points a torch at the ancient burial stones, then leaves you to contemplate 5,000 years of human real-estate development. Ten minutes is plenty, but the silence lingers longer.

Covadonga: miracle site or traffic jam?

Six kilometres south-east the road climbs into a limestone amphitheatre and dumps you at the Basilica de Covadonga, Spain’s very own Lourdes. Pinkish granite turrets rise above a plaza big enough to host a military parade; inside, mosaics relate how Pelayo and a handbag-sized army saw off the Moors with divine assistance. Coaches disgorge pilgrims by 10 a.m.; if you want breathing space, arrive after five when the day-trippers descend for cider in Cangas and the only sound is the fountain slapping into its basin.

Above the basilica, a serpentine lane climbs to the Lagos de Covadonga – two glacial bowls filled with peat-dark water that mirrors the surrounding peaks. The national park shuts the road once 1,000 cars are inside, usually before breakfast in August. Book the shuttle bus online the night before (€3.50 return) and you can snooze while everyone else crawls bumper-to-bumper. Once at the top, a 45-minute lap of Lago Ercina on boardwalks is enough for sea-level lungs; serious hikers can continue to the Vega de Ario refuge where the cheese bocadillo tastes better for the 700-metre climb.

Walking without the sweat

You don’t need to scale 2,500-metre walls to sample the Picos. From the southern edge of town a farm track follows the Sella’s east bank for four flat kilometres to the village of Covadonga, passing kitchen-garden allotments and the occasional heron. Turn round at the first gorge for a two-hour round trip that ends conveniently outside Casa Mónica, a cider house whose terrace catches the last of the sun. A 750-ml bottle of local sidra costs €2.80 and comes with a free pouring lesson: hold the bottle above your head, aim for the glass at hip height and spill as little as possible.

Rain, midges and why July isn’t always paradise

Asturias markets itself as “natural paradise”, but paradise comes with precipitation. Even in high summer Atlantic clouds can unload 30 mm overnight, turning footpaths into streams and coaxing out midges the size of 1-cent coins. Waterproofs are non-negotiable; a head-net earns you respect from farmers and laughter from teenagers. If the weather map shows a deep-purple blob, swap the high peaks for the coast: Ribadesella and Llanes are 25 minutes away by car and their beaches empty when the mountains disappear into cloud.

Where to sleep, what to eat

Accommodation ranges from riverside campsites (€18 for two people plus car) to four-star spa hotels that charge the same for breakfast. The sweet spot is a family-run guest-house south of the river: rooms at La Casa Vieja start at €65 and include underground parking, worth its weight in gold when the centre is grid-locked. Evening meals are best taken in the sidrerías along Calle San Juan. Try Casa Ricardo for a half-portion of fabada (€7) – big enough for lunch, gentle on chilli-shy palates – and follow it with the ubiquitous rice pudding laced with cinnamon. Vegetarians survive on tortilla and cheese; vegans should self-cater.

Leaving town

Cangas de Onís does its job so efficiently you may be tempted to treat it as a petrol pump: fill up, drive on. That would overlook the satisfaction of sitting on the Roman bridge at dusk watching canoeists paddle home, or the Sunday-moment when a farmer hands you a sliver of cheese and explains, in mime, why the greenest grass grows at 1,200 metres. Stay a night, maybe two, then head for the hills – Pelayo did, and look where it got him.