Meseta

The Meseta (table from the Spanish word Mesa) refers to the high plains of Castille Spain, and it begins directly after Burgos.  I knew it was coming of course- I always know where the flat parts of any hike are located.  But I am not sure I was prepared for this view of forever as we came up to it.  A path winding up a mountain naturally gives you the next marker to walk to, this path is a constant reminder that you are walking 800km.  It is going to take us at least 7 days and a lot of water to cross the meseta.  

Many of the other pilgrims skip this stage, jumping on a bus to the upcoming mountain range (which is certainly coming).  The Meseta is too boring, too hot, too empty, too much nothing, and I get it.   They are not wrong- it certainly is all of those things.  But there is also a majesty to it.  Perhaps I have finally turned into a Midwesterner, but the openness and vast landmass that just doesn't stop can feel just as breathtaking as the mountains. Although Claire did mention that her favorite view was back in the Pyrenees, more than once. 

It's hot and dusty, although there is no humidity, so after an Illinois summer we are actually doing ok.  The lack of shade is an issue.  Well, it's an issue for some, but the master is teaching his apprentice. 

As it turns out Eliza Doolittle was completely wrong in that the rain in Spain actually does NOT stay mainly in the plain.  In fact, it is dry as a bone here.  Almost every step I think about all that rain gear in our packs and the bitterness sets in.  There are some pretty impressive man-made canals that maneuver through the field of the Meseta.  Bringing life to the fields and people who have made this land home here since the 18th century. Further verifying that it has been well known for some time that the rain in Spain did not stay mainly on the plain. It was lovely to walk alongside it, although a boat made out of our rain gear would have been super duper lovely. 

One of my dearest friends (Kristyn Caldwell) hiked the Camino a few Summers ago.  She told us that San Bol was an absolute must-stop, so we stopped.  It is an old Hippie oasis, built next to a water
spring that claims healing powers to the tired and dusty, also known as us.  

I hate puzzles. Always have.  I can see why people who are better than me might like them.  I can understand the love of challenge and strategy.  I like the idea that a puzzle can be worked with for hours in solitude or within community, in conversation or in absolute silence.  I understand it, but I still hate them.  So when we found a 1000-piece puzzle of a white kitten in a HAYSTACK, this seemed like it might be my penance for never doing puzzles with my kids.  I had no excuses this time.  No laundry, no emails (they didn't have internet, cause you know- Hippies), no papers to grade, no floors to vacuum, or even dinners to cook.  I had nothing to do for hours and only my two sweet girls and a thousand pieces of hay. 

I'd love to say we finished it and now I love puzzles.  Neither are true.  But as I was sorting through 900 pieces of golden hay, the thought occurred to me that there can be value in starting things you can't finish.  I am goal-oriented,  and even on this journey, the goal of making it to Santiago is forefront in my mind.  You know, all the product and none of the process stuff.  Maybe we won't make it, no piece of evidence so far has given any indication that families are supposed to walk across countries.  We might fail, and because I decided to blog this journey, we are gonna fail pretty publicly.   But here is the thing, I was ok with that as I realized we also didn't even have 4 corner pieces to this blasted puzzle.  It was never about finishing the puzzle, it was about sitting down with my two kids on a beautiful porch and chatting about why mom also doesn't like cats, particularly ones that are ALL white.  Maybe it was the healing waters of the spring, maybe it was those Hippies, maybe it is the Meseta, but today I felt it: the long exhale of enjoying the moment.