I wake up to beautiful sunshine. I have breakfast and head off. I drive to Gijon and park up next to the beach. An English lady asks me if I speak English, she then realises I am driving a UK car. Neither of us know if we can park in the small area where we are. She and her husband take the risk and walk off. I realise that I haven no real reason to be in Gijon, and drive on.
I stop at Rodilles, which is a small little village with a very famous wave. The local surfers have the worst possible reputation, and visitor surfers are not welcome at all. I drive down to the beach. It is beautifully backed by dunes and a pine forest. I park in the car park and walk through the forest and onto the beach. There is a lady taking a walk on the beach. I notice the surfers at the far end. The waves are big and it is going off. I sit and watch the local surfers take every single wave. The wave stands up so quickly that they never paddle to catch the waves. They just paddle into position, wait, and the wave sort of picks them up and they stand on their boards.
I drive on and I try and the find the beaches at the small town of Santa Marie del Mar. I go around in circles and have a pointless conversation with a Spanish guy. I see that the locals have painted over the arrow on the sign to the beaches. That is a common thing in Spain as the local surfers don’t want visitors at the beaches. I eventually find the beaches, but they have black sand and many rocks, not really a surfer’s beach. I decide to drive on to Luarca which is supposed to be very pretty.
I drive through lots of road works on the high roads cut into the mountainside. I find the village and descend the road down into the valley. In the town someone does a ridiculous manoeuvre past me, and the Guardia Civil police follow me but then turn away. I didn’t fancy a run in with them, they don’t have the best of reputations. I follow the sign for the recommended campsite. I go down the signposted road, but it is shut. I go down another road, but end up going several kilometres the wrong way. I come back and notice another sign for the campsite. I end up driving kilometre after kilometre on windy farm tracks before finding the campsite, exactly the sort of roads and driving I need to avoid. I get a little pissed off. The campsite is closed! I follow a different road back to town and end up going down a ridiculous cobbled lane that has turns so tight that the van barely goes around the turns. I am pissed off at this point.
I head back into town and find the signs for the other campsite. It takes me back out of town. After taking many turns, and seeing the Guardia Civil again, I find the campsite. Just on the road I came in the village on. I could have avoided all of the driving in town, the farm tracks and the crap windy line. Oh well, at least the campsite is nice. I chat to a guy parked next to me. He is travelling on his own, in a massive motorhome. He says he lives in it, and spends his time between France, Spain and Portugal. We agree to have a coffee later.
I wash my clothes and hang them on the communal line. I take a walk up the road, and it starts to rain, very heavily. I get back without getting too wet, by waiting under a tree. Hopefully in the morning my washing will have dried a little.
I’ve not had the best of days. I am hoping that tomorrow I can have a good surf. I passed many empty beaches today.
