A Relaxing Day in Gijón: Sights, Fishing, and Coastal Bliss

We rolled into Gijón late and knackered. No idea where we’d parked, no idea what the plan was. Just bed.

Woke up to seagulls and waves—a good sign. Less good when you realise seagulls and bacon butties don’t mix. We’ve both seen what those beady-eyed scavengers can do back home in Hull. Not today, lads.


Finding Our Feet

First stop: the beach. Needed to get a feel for the place, plus Mary wanted to dip her toes in the water.

Playa de San Lorenzo. Big, sweeping bay, golden sand, perfect waves. Bridlington vibes, but warmer.

I stood there, taking it all in.

“Could’ve brought the kids here when they were little,” Mary said.

“Aye,” I nodded. “But we had a caravan in Brid.”

We wandered into town, past cobbled streets, colourful houses, and cafés spilling out onto the pavement. Not many Brits, which made a nice change. It felt like Spain. Proper Spain.


Cider That Requires A Skill Set

Lunch? Had to be cider and fabada asturiana.

Found a sidrería, got settled in, and waited for the show.

The waiter lifted the bottle high above his head and poured the cider from a ridiculous height into the glass. Something to do with aerating it. Looked great.

Tried it myself. Disaster. More cider on the table, floor, and me than in the actual glass. Mary was crying laughing.

She composed herself just long enough to demolish a bowl of fabada—Asturian bean stew. Thick, hearty, good for the soul but probably not the stomach. I knew I’d be paying for it later.


Attempting to be Fishermen

Right, so Gijón’s a fishing town, so we thought… let’s give it a go.

Paid 50 quid to head out with a bloke called Pedro—or Petro. Never got to the bottom of it.

Mary was buzzing. Me? I’ve never liked fishing.

The sea was calm, the view of Gijón from the water was cracking. That was the good part.

Mary caught a mackerel. Showed it off like she’d just reeled in a great white.

Me? Tangled my line five times, nearly threw the rod in the sea, and provided free entertainment for everyone onboard.

“You’re a natural, Kevin,” Mary grinned.

“Aye, natural at being sh*t at it,” I muttered.

By the time we got back to shore, we’d caught just enough fish for a disappointing sandwich. But we’d had a laugh.


An Easy Night & A Bit Too Much Wine

After all that effort, we kept dinner simple—local bar, harbour view, cold wine, fresh sardines, calamari. No effort required.

We sat outside, watching the lights on the water, half-cut, full, happy.

“That was a good day,” Mary said, leaning back in her chair.

“Even with the fishing?” I asked.

She laughed. “Especially with the fishing.”

Back to the van a bit wobbly, a bit sunburnt, and very content.


What’s Next?

No idea. Some tiny coastal village I can’t remember the name of.

But that’s tomorrow’s problem.

Tonight? Sleep.

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