284 Unexplored Spain 
The first stage—on wheels—brought us to the village of 
Arénas de Cabrales, where a gipsy fair or Romerta was raging, 
affording striking display of local customs and fashion. The girls, 
handsome though somewhat stalwart, wearing on their heads 
bright-coloured kerchiefs (instead of, as in Andalucia, flowers in 
the hair), danced strange steps to the music of a drum and a sort 
of bagpipe called the Gaita. Cider here replaced wine as a 
beverage, and wooden sabots are worn instead of the hempen 
sandals of the south. 
Maize is the chief crop, and women work hard, doing, except 
the ploughing, most of the field labour. 
The hill-country around belonged chiefly to our host, who 
was received with a sort of feudal respect. Ancient rights included 
(this we were told, but did not see enforced) the privilege of 
kissing all pretty daughters of the estate. The region is primitive 
enough even for the survival of so agreeable a custom. Such 
detail in a serious work must appear frivolous by comparison, 
yet it reflects the genius loci. 
This was the point at which we had to take the hill. 
Our outfit was packed on ponies, and being joined by three 
of the chamois-hunters, we set out, following the course of the river 
Cares. This gorge of the Cares, along with its sister-valley the 
Desfiladero de la Deva, form two of the most magnificent canyons 
in all the Asturias, and perhaps have few equals in the wider world 
outside. The bridle-track led along rock-shelves on the hanging 
mountain-side, presently fallingagain till we rode close by the torrent 
of the Cares, here swirling in foaming rapids with alternations of 
deep pools of such crystalline water that trout could be discerned 
swimming twenty feet below the surface. The water varied 
between a diamond-white and an emerald-green, according as the 
stream flowed over the white limestone or rocks of darker shade. 
Approaching Bulnes, the track became absolutely appalling, 
zigzagging to right and left up an almost perpendicular mountain. 
Riding was here out of the question. It was giddy work enough 
on foot, rounding corners where the outer rim overhung a sheer 
drop of hundreds of feet to the torrent below, and with no 
protection to save horse or man in the event of a slip or false 
step. Not without mental tremors we surmounted it and reached 
Bulnes, a dozen stone, windowless houses clustered on an escarp- 
ment. This is facetiously called the “Upper Town,” and we 
