Suspending the End

Most of the year, you can walk through Oviñana and right out to el Faro Vidio—the lighthouse at the point—without encountering a soul. That’s one of the great pleasures of living at the Molino. We’ve got the stunning natural vistas of the California coast, but we don’t have the crowds or the traffic.



But late July through early September—vacation time for Spaniards and many other Europeans—is different. The beach we frequent, San Pedro, as well as the Faro Vidio, are cluttered with campers, minivans, pitched tents, and all other manner of portable sleeping contrivance.

I can’t say I blame those who come to sample Asturias’ remarkable beauty (we moved here, after all), but neither will I deny that I’m a little happy when they fade away.

By this time in September, only a few remain—stalwart voyagers committed to one more memorable cliff view, one last night falling asleep to the sound of the ocean’s waves.



The couple we happened upon during our walk to the Faro Vidio Sunday morning typifies this species of sturdy traveler. Their maize minivan parked alone at the point, she glumly packed while he hitched up his suspenders, lit a smoke, and stole a final glimpse of the sea below.

Jutting out his bare, sunburned, jug-belly, this veritable Man-O’-War among tourists stood as if in defiance of the season’s passing, his attitude palpable: a man, a woman, a vehicle, a destination, and the time to get there—that’s all you need.

Soon, they were headed back to their daily grind somewhere on the continent.