The northern coast of Spain is pleasantly green with groves of eucalyptus and pine. Most of the towns look like they have an industrial history. Some are sadly depressed while others seem to be striving for a rebirth. By chance we arrive in Villaviciosa about dusk. In the middle of a pretty but empty park there is a kiosk marked "Information". The young woman in the kiosk seems surprised to see us - or anyone, that late on an October afternoon. She gives us a map and marks it with the locations of the hotels.

This is one of the Spanish north coast towns that may have a brighter future. There are attractive shops and restaurants. We wander a couple of blocks off the main plaza and discover an tastefully restored old town with cobble streets. There is an ancient cideria which looks like a western movie set - complete with characters. We find a little hotel and take a room. The clerk tells us that for tapas and wine we should visit the "Chocolate Factory" which looks interesting, but it is closed for annual vacation. We find another bar filled with locals and have a couple very good glasses of wine. For dinner we choose a sit-down restaurant where the waiter talks us into cutting our order in half - because it is "much too much food". For this unusual but very welcome advice we leave a large tip.

The next morning we examine our map and find a tiny "yellow road" that goes inland from here to the Picos de Europa then turns east and finally rejoins the main highway. We are never sure what to expect of yellow roads, but this one is a good choice. It rises steeply from Villaviciosa and soon we are in the clouds. The clouds part and reveal that we are near a mountain top. We can hear cowbells or goat bells but we can't see any animals except for a couple of horses grazing on the steep hillside.

This has been a beautiful diversion from the main coast road. It looks very much like Switzerland. In October there are few tourists, but this area may be very popular during the summer months. There are a lot of hotels and vacation cabins, mostly closed. Near the river there are a number of canoe and kyak outfitters.

For some reason the little yellow road is blocked, and the signs are diverting us further up the mountain to an even smaller, and prettier yellow road. It is two lanes and nicely paved; looks fine, normal. After about ten kilometers we are approaching a tiny hamlet which straddles the road. Suddenly the road shrinks to one half of one lane so that it can squeeze between an old stone farmhouse and a stone barn! As we thread the needle we must simultaneously execute a sharp right turn to avoid a fence. Our little car makes it, barely. What happens if you arrive at this point driving a motor home? Do you back down the mountain 10 kilometers? In rural Spain, as in rural France, it makes sense to drive a small car.