Similar to the English 'mesa', the Camino's Meseta is a broad tableland that stretches from Burgos all the way to Astorgo, more than two weeks of walking. When on top of one of the Meseta altos, one can see all the other table tops at the same height, indicating how this land looked until erosion has slowly lowered some to a level below, so large, broad fields stretch out between and below the intermittent Meseta tabletops.
Made of limestone, the eroded flat lands are really only good for growing wheat, which has been harvested, and the occasional field of sunflowers, which has yet to be harvested, the upright, brown, nodding seed heads looking like pilgrims praying to the sun.
It is dusty and hot, although the mornings, which stay dark later now that we have passed the equinox, are cooler and we try to get going before the sun rises but while it is light enough to see, so that we can get a couple of hours in before the sun's heat intensifies.
The villages are all unique and yet they start to blend into each other, with stone and brick walls, red ceramic tile and brown metal shades that meld into the landscape as our steps take us onward. Some of the old places are adobe, made of sundried mud and straw. These don't last as long as brick, which doesn't last as long as stone, and deserted houses have crumbled walls and rooves open to the sky. The first thing we see and the last thing that can be seen is always a church tower, and even the smallest villages seem to have more than one of these.
The cultivated fields are mostly gold stubble, with the wheat and hay baled in huge ten bales high and ten bales wide walls, ready to be collected and stored or shipped. Other fields are fallow, with grasses growing tall amid wildflowers and seed pods. This part of Spain has produced grain for a large part of Europe for a long time, mostly wheat but also some oats and barley.
There is little shade, although we are grateful to see and maybe walk alongside the odd line of poplars that rustle in the breeze and tremble with birdsong. some of these have obviously been planted along the camino and we thank whoever did that so many years ago for our benefit today. A small river, irrigation ditch or canal will produce a willow or two, grasses and bullrushes. The colours of our days are rich but continuous: gold fields, green trees, blue, blue, blue sky. On some days we walk along Roman roads, still cobbled, so straight that all we can see ahead is a long line of pilgrims. We marvel at the thought of the millions and millions of feet that have walked along these roads that have moved, ramrod straight, across the landscape for almost 2 millennia.
It is a part of the Camino both loved and hated by pilgrims for messing with perceptions of time and distance.
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