Its official name —Whale Transit— It sounds like a maritime liturgy, and there's some historical reason for that: Whales were butchered here when they were plundered, back in the 18th century.as if carving up a myth at the foot of the dock. But the people of Gijón decided to rename it with a more sonorous and affectionate name: the Cholo Hill.
Why is it called Cholo Hill?
The origin of the nickname, like so many in Asturias, is lost in the fog of popular humor and the fog of the Cantabrian Sea. Some say that “cholo” is a Peruvian word that means mestizoSome dispute it, and there are those—the barroom sages—who prefer not to know, because the mystery adds flavor to the cider. Its origin is uncertain, and we can't confirm any of the versions circulating online; we have to leave it at that.
There, on that short and legendary slope, the stone floor not only withstands heels and bicycles, but also supports one of the most vital institutions of Asturian urbanism: outdoor socializing with poured ciderAs soon as the sun peeks over the breakwater, the locals divide the space as they divide time in summer: unhurriedly, with glasses in hand. The bottle is passed from hand to hand with the ritual of those celebrating more than just a drink: they are celebrating the enduring presence of their own culture.
La Cuesta del Cholo is not visited, it is frequented. It is a place of passage that invites you to stop, a balcony without a railing overlooking the portWith the scent of salt, the cries of seagulls, and the echoes of endless conversations, this is the place to be. Here you might find the local rambling on about football, the bewildered tourist asking what a "culín" is, or the urban poet savoring the sunset as if it were a fresh verse. The bars—which some call temples—spill out onto the street, their architecture consisting of nothing more than a table and chairs, because the rest is provided by the surroundings: the boats, the breeze, and that Gijón sky which, when it chooses, behaves like a postcard.
And it wouldn't be fair to talk about this hill without remembering its role in the old fishing village of Gijón, when fishermen unloaded their catch just a few meters away, at the fish market, and the fish auction was as crucial an event as high mass. The Cimadevilla neighborhood, which casts a shadow on one side, has always been the rough and noble heart of the city., and the Cuesta del Cholo, its access ramp to the present.
Today, when everything is labeled with marketing terms—street food, slow tourism—, The Cuesta del Cholo survives as a natural resistance to the artificialThere's no need to disguise it as an experience: just sit down, order a bottle of cider, and let time pass you by.
Text: © Ramón Molleda for asturias.com
