As predicted I woke to the sound of the church bells striking 6 a.m. outside my window. As if on cue, one of the guys in my dorm room started snoring louder than I have ever heard someone snore before. It was a roar of nasal thunder. Realizing I would get no more sleep, I got dressed, packed my backpack, made some tea and headed out into the cold, dark morning.
The church bells struck 7 a.m. as I walked out of town, the slightest hint of light just beginning to creep across the sky. My walking poles on the pavement and the birds greeting the dawn were the only sounds. It was a peaceful, crisp morning. The sunrise was subtle but sustained as I made my way along the dirt path.
Various signs mark the way; these signs are often tagged with inspirational or encouraging quotes. This morning I saw one that I particularly liked:
“Die with memories, Not with dreams”
Today was postcard perfect as I continued my walk across the Meseta. The sun was shining. Picturesque landscapes, towns and ruins kept popping up around every corner. Clouds, castles, convents, and churches all caught my attention. It was so perfect that when I got to my intended destination, I just kept walking.
Today I walked 22 miles.
Every day is a new adventure and I love hearing about it and the pictures are wonderful. 22 miles! Damn, Erin! You’re simply incredible.
Great day! Huge progress on such a wonderful day. The pictures were some of your best.
Hope you have a r earful evening and night. What an incredible journey you’re on; both life changing and life affirming. Love you, Dad
Fantastic pics, Erin. you are capturing the essence of the hard land of Castilla (this is de historic and politic name given to geographic term of Meseta), my country. Azorín was another writer of the spanish 1898´Generation as Machado. He published a book of prose, “Castilla”. This is a short extract:
“Las nubes, sin embargo, que son siempre distintas, en todo momento, todos los días, van caminando por el cielo. Hay nubes redondas, henchidas, de un blanco brillante, que destacan en las mañanas de primavera sobre los cielos translúcidos. Las hay como cendales tenues, que se perfilan en un fondo lechoso. Las hay grises sobre una lejanía gris. Las hay de carmín y de oro en los ocasos inacabables, profundamente melancólicos, de las llanuras. Las hay como velloncitos iguales e innumerables, que dejan ver por entre algún claro un pedazo de cielo azul. Unas marchan lentas, pausadas; otras pasan rápidamente. Algunas, de color de ceniza, cuando cubren todo el firmamento, dejan caer sobre la tierra una luz opaca, tamizada, gris, que presta su encanto a los
“The clouds, however, that are always different , at all times , every day , they walk the sky. There are round, billowing clouds, bright white, which stand out in the Spring mornings on the translucent skies. There are as wispy veils, which are outlined in a milky background. There are gray on a gray distance. They are of carmine and gold sunsets endless, deeply melancholy plains. There are as equal and inmumerables fleeces, which show by between a piece of a clear blue sky. Some march slowly, paused; others pass quickly. Some, ash-colored, when they cover all sky, dropped on earth a dull light, subdued , gray, which lends its charm to autumnal landscapes.”
I’m really enjoying your daily blogs. Thank you!
Love your recount of the days Erin! You are allowing us to experience a little taste of El Camino. Keep it up!!
Postcard perfect indeed! Erin, you have inspired me through your words and photos. Thank you so much for your postings. Just know that your Mom’s Kansas City “group” are cheering for you!