Day17 - Hornillos to Castrojeriz (21km)

The 'Way' continues to cut its white path through the landscape. The weather continues to remain dry and not too hot. I continue to meet new people. The Camino continues in its own particular manner....

                      

Today we pressed on further into the Meseta. It remains largely green, largely cereal crops and largely flat. I am told that in a few weeks time it will be brown and golden from the heat so I seem to have chosen a good time to undertake my journey. I walked mostly alone save the occasional conversation with walkers that I passed and I was accompanied only by the crunch of the path beneath my boots, the continuous bird song, beautiful and varied (there are a lot of birds along this part of the route, most of which I don’t recognise) and my own thoughts. I stopped for coffee and tortilla at one tiny village with a population of only 70 people before pressing onto the next - my destination - which was hardly any bigger. This is how it will be until Leon: a few small and ancient villages of solid stone dotted along the route. If it were not for the Camino I think many would not have survived. I read that some of the albergues are old monasteries and other buildings that were once abandoned but now - refurbished - have new life breathed into them. Indeed, the same point was made later that evening by the kind, generous and enthusiastic albergue owner where we stayed as he showed us around the 10th century cellar beneath his albergue. Without the Camino, he said, there would be no pilgrims. And without the pilgrims there would be no Albergues.

                          

Castrojeriz

The reason we were in the cellar was that the communal dining room, where we all shared a hearty meal, contained the beam of a massive wine press overhead. The aging owner was telling us about it in broken English, French and Spanish, complete with mimed demonstrations of wine crushing by foot and the turning of the massive corkscrew winding mechanism by two pressed diners. It was then into the cellars for a small glass of wine and stories of how ancient tunnels spread for some kilometres in the region. This was all part of the service for staying in his establishment as, with infectious enthusiasm, he shared with us something that was clearly dear to him.

After one last wander along the village streets it was back to the albergue and bed before I would be locked out at 9.45pm.