From Liébana, Picos de Europa
We were in good hands. Being nearly winter, a fire was roaring, a game of chess, a fireside chat and glass of Rioja was awaiting us. The night was so deeply silent that I forgot where I was: hidden in the crinkled mountain foothills of northern Spain’s Picos de Europa mountains.

A favourite memory of this visit was opening the windows of my room the next morning to reveal the high mountains peaks all lined up below the autumnal trees.

From Liébana, Picos de Europa
It isn’t supposed to be clear, it’s November for heavens’ sake. By rights the mountains should be in a thick layer of cloud. My new wife and I should be curled up, guilt free, in front of a big open fire.

But we have been blessed with a beautiful day and there is no excuse not to be up here in the high mountains. Diego wants to show us a walk from Sotres village, it sounded pretty nice. In reality it’s breathtaking.

From Mestas de Con, Picos de Europa
In Spain, if you have grapes, you make wine. If you have apples, you make cider. Since there are no vines in sleepy Sirviella, they stick to cider.

Pepín told stories about childhood days, picking apples and crushing them. And of how people from the village would get together and tell the same stories, year after year, about the sweetness of the first juice and how bitingly cold those autumn nights in the barn squeezing the juice were.

From a mountaintop in the Picos de Europa
Sometimes a moment comes together so vividly that we can freeze in time and go back there in our minds whenever we want. For me, there was a sunset from Collado Jermoso.

I, a man of so many mountain memories, felt overwhelmed by the natural beauty, by the light and shade and by the stillness of the silence. I realised that such moments are always happening out of sight, we just need to get up and go find them. For me, that's what travel is for.

From Mestas de Con, Picos de Europa
Beautiful places would not be the same without the people who live in them. In the Picos, meeting Covadonga in her small shepherd hamlet is the best way I know to understand the culture that transformed the landscape. I listened to her stories, sampled the delicious Gamoneu cheese and enjoyed her smile and true love for sharing.

This is a different kind of luxury - these sorts of exclusive interactions only made possible by personal connections.

From Liébana, Picos de Europa
When the salting was done, I followed Ruben and his donkey, charged with big pieces of dried and smoked cheese, to the maturation cave. I followed his footsteps through a small hole and down a 10-metre vertical staircase into the dark.

The cave opened out into an immense room, where hundreds of cheeses rested on the wooden shelves. Over the next two months or more, the mosses will travel slowly into its core, giving it its unique taste.