The Meseta, but more so.
Here, then, is the real Meseta. Hontanas to Castrojeriz, which huddles around the base of an imposing hill in the middle of the valley, is much of what came before - gently rolling hills, rocky outcrops, thistle verges and eagles overhead. I pass some locals ferreting about in the swampy ditch alongside some farmland. I lean in closer and see that they are methodically filling up a wet plastic bag with snails. After Castrojeriz, however, and over the top of Alto de Mostelares, the plain stretches out wide and endless before you. No shade, no deviation, no sound except the crunch of boots on dusty road and occasional pilgrim chatter, though that too seems to be swallowed by the endless blue above. For most of the time this meditative atmosphere holds, although at one point I attempt to capture the grand sweep of the plain ahead and in the video pick up an Irish group, one of whom wants to take a picture. “Let me go down the hill some, save me bending over,” he says. “Sure you do th...
