Now that I was past Burgos I had entered the infamous meseta. I’d read much about this flat supposedly monotonous part of the Camino and how it can be the most difficult stretch mentally. It’s true the landscape wasn’t as spectacular to look at, but it had it own quiet beauty, with wheat fields stretching as far into the distance as the eye could see.
I was parepared for the flatness. What I wasn’t expecting were the animal sounds, which could be almost deafening at times. I have never heard birds singing as loudly as I did on the meseta, nor have I heard as many frogs croaking at any one time (they lived in the irrigation ditches).
While I was, so far, enjoying this leg of my journey, I must have been pretty tired by the time I reached Hontanas. I can tell because I wrote very little in my journal, and what I did write was mostly in point form. Leave it to me though to record what I ate that night: salad, hake, and rice pudding. Apparently it was delicious but I now only have a vague memory of it. Sadly, details of this trip are already slipping away from me. I must write faster so as not to forget more.