Somiedo Valle: Looking toward Valle del Lago from the mountainside trail.

Tucked away on the southern border of Asturias, one of the northernmost provinces of Spain, Somiedo ticks to a slower pace, and the complete isolation makes it sometimes seem as if time were actually standing still. It's a place where hitch-hiking is a recognized mode of transportation, strangers offer you blankets when it's cold, the locals trust you to pay your bills in the next town, and even the cows know your not from "around here".

The region of Somiedo, which occupies some 300 square km, has been a natural park since 1988 and was recognized as a wildlife reserve in November 2000 for its environmental variety and preservation of tradition. The area has a total population of about 1700, spread throughout 38 different villages whose main industry is the raising of dairy cattle. In fact, the people there live much like they did centuries back, although they have abandoned the traditional branas (huts) that still remain preserved in each of the valleys as traces of the original ganaderos, or cattle ranchers, in the region. Other than this, the way of life hasn't changed much. Even tourism is fairly new to the area, as the region has only been popularly known throughout Asturias for about 10 years now, and still remains a fairly well-kept secret throughout the rest of Spain.

This young tourism lends itself to a handful of tranquil and scenic hikes without annoying crowds, with plenty of friendly hosts, and miles of unspoiled terrain where the only sounds to be heard are the echoes of cowbells through the valley and the occasional moo.

When we arrived in Pola de Somiedo on the only daily bus that passes through the tiny town, we set up camp in a deserted campground, the only one in Pola, and took off on a small hike. The views were impressive, the weather was ideal, and best of all, there wasn't a soul around unless you count a slug that slimed lazily along the dirt path.

They said it had snowed there in Somiedo two weeks before we arrived, but you could hardly believe it from the sight of things. Except for the sky above and the warm, glowing sun, everything was completely covered in green. With only a few passive white clouds, the sky was unthreatening and the weather showed no sign of changing. There were only a few patches of snow on the rocky mountain tops way up there, but the green reached all the way up to that point where the pure, white snow still remained. Even farther down below, the grass was freckled with dandelions and daisies.

Only 8 km and a quick hitch-hike, or walk away from Pola de Somiedo, lies the even smaller pueblo of Valle de Lago. In the tourist office of Pola, which is also the town library, they informed us that a taxi service was also available, but insisted that it's really not necessary to call a cab when with a flick of the thumb and a little bit of luck you can catch a quick ride. When we headed out the following morning, the first car that passed us on the mountain road stopped to pick us up without any hesitation.

The man was from a smaller village a little bit before Valle de Lago, and was going to visit his family for the weekend. The new-car scent and business attire hinted that he had long ago moved away from his little pueblo, but there was still obvious pride in his eyes when he pointed out his family's cattle on the mountainside.

He dropped us on the side of the road next to some grazing horses. According to a small hand-made sign a few meters ahead, we had officially arrived in Valle de Lago. Only a couple hundred yards from the entrance, the campground here was equally as abandoned as the one in Pola de Somiedo and turned out to be a perfect base for hiking around the area.

The hike we set out on our first day in Valle de Lago was one of 12 that are spread throughout the five major valleys that make up Somiedo. The trail led up through the valley, past Lago del Valle, an emerald green laguna that lies at the end of the valley below snow-capped peaks. It later continued over the mountainside, through the high meadows and ended about 12 km later in a smaller valley composed of four smaller lakes known as the Lagos de Saliencia.

Ascending the mountainside towards Saliencia, we could see the entire valley clearly, all the way to the little yellow tent we had left behind and every shade of green imaginable in between.

Once at the top, we tossed ourselves out on the ground and took a quick, but snoringly satisfying nap. The silence was so profound that we could easily hear the wind passing through birds' wings overhead. Somehow, after this nap and stopping several times on the way back to soak in the scenery, we managed to make it back to the campsite before sunset.

The day after our lake hike we took advantage of a guided horseback excursion and were able to see much more in two hours than we could have covered on foot. Our guide was a quiet local with a camouflaged cowboy hat, who gazed boringly at the spectacular views as he puffed away on cigarettes and grabbed at twigs in passing trees to occupy himself during the ride. When we reached an old Asturian cattle village made up of small grass-topped huts, he pointed out a mountain goat perched on a peak, calling it "un bicho de la montana," literally, a mountain bug. He then plopped himself down to rest while we excitedly explored the miniature huts.

The structures, although no longer in use, were incredibly well-preserved, all the way to their balanced stone roofs. Our guide later told us that the huts were used only during the summer, when the otherwise inhabitable mountainside transformed into lush meadows, perfect for raising cattle.

Somiedo Lago: Lago del Valle (lake of the valley), the largest of the Somiedo lakes.

Arriving back at the campsite we found ourselves with seven euros between the two of us, and we still had to pay for our stay at the campsite and the horseback ride we had just finished. Knowing that the there was no ATM in the pueblo (there wasn't even a store) our city mentality told us we would be scrubbing pots or cleaning horse stalls to pay for what we owed.

Attempting to explain or situation to the campsite manager, we didn't even get through half of our story before she waved her hand at us nonchalantly and told us not to worry. Apparently, we could just leave the money with the owners in the corner store right before the bridge down in Pola de Somiedo on our way out. It was the only town in the area with an ATM.

The hike back to Pola de Somiedo wasn't difficult and turned out to be a great way to say goodbye to Valle de Lago. We received several offers for a ride, even saw the man who originally took us to the little pueblo, and our waiter from eating out the night before, but we turned them both down, deciding we would be more satisfied if we walked. The weight of our packs was comforting, and the walk helped us sleep that much better in the tent that night. Once again, we were the only ones in the campground.

On our way out of Pola the next day, we were two of four people on the daily bus. As we drove out of the park, the bus began to fill with people, and the silence of the valley was replaced with the anxiety of the city. For the first time in three days I looked down at my watch, and the time actually mattered to me. I then remembered the words of a local poet I had seen etched on a wooden sign in Valle de Lago:

Aquí se para el reloj...
Se pierde nocian del tiempo,
Se reponen energias,
Los problemas cotidianos
Se olvidan por un momento.

(Here the watch stops...
The notion of time is lost,
Energy is regained,
Everyday problems
Are forgotten for a moment.)

Our moment had suddenly come to an end.

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