Spanish Language Skills
Meseta, Meseta, and more Meseta
9/15/2021: Villar de Mazarife
Greetings from Villar de Mazarife, a small town in the Meseta portion of the Camino de Santiago (here’s my introductory post on my Camino if you want to learn more). Currently, I’m sitting in the albergue garden, listening to Giuseppe, one of my Italians friends, play the guitar.
Some quick stats for all of my loyal followers: today I walked 21.5 kilometers from the city of Leon to Villar Mazarife. This marks about 500 kilometers of my Camino with just under 300 kilometers to go to Santiago and 400 to Finisterre (a town on the coast of Spain). Today is day 20 of my Camino (factoring in one day of rest).
Here I am! Hell yeah, I’m more than halfway across Spain!! (I started in St.-Jean-Pied-de-Port)
Ah, the Meseta. Any Camino guidebook or blog will describe the Meseta with one of the following words: “monotonous,” “challenging,” “plain,” “all the same,” and “so mind-numbing you want to curl up in a ball and cry.” Bring me back to the free wine fountain, amirite?!!
Basically the Meseta is what it sounds like: a large table/plateau in the north of Spain that lasts about 8-10 days walking while on the Camino. It comes right in the middle of my Camino journey, sandwiched between more picturesque sections to look forward to.
Every. single. day. is the same: long stretched on highways, never-ending fields, zero shade, very dusty trails, and few villages in which to stop for food/water.
Initially, I embraced this challenge, seeing the monotony as a chance to reflect, talk to family and friends, and listen to audiobooks and podcasts. All of these things have gone terribly, terribly wrong. Let’s start with the family and friends: my international calling plan decided that the minute I stepped into this God-forsaken landscape (and I literally mean the first minute of the first day walking the Meseta) that I would have no more cellular connection (hey T-Mobile, go kick rocks). This meant waiting five days to make it to the next city (everything in between has been dusty villages with barely one market).
Oh but Carine! you may exclaim. What a beautiful chance to connect with nature and the people around you! No distractions! Live ~in the moment~.
Wrong. The Meseta is only possible with distractions. Most of the walking consists of conversation with fellow pilgrims, of course, but for those in-between moments, it’s essential to have a digital diversion when there’s nothing beautiful to look at.
Ok, on to the podcasts/audiobooks situation. Since I have no connection, it’s hard to keep up with real-time news podcasts, my favorite source of entertainment. Instead, I’ve resorted to downloaded audiobooks, taking this as a chance to tick off some of the titles on my reading list.
So what did my genius ass decide to start with, amidst the desolate, hopeless landscape? The uplifting classic by George Orwell, 1984.
This is perhaps the most depressing book I’ve ever read (albeit politically poignant…I do love politics). So as Orwell goes on about the dystopian version of communist London, with its uniformity and maddening grayness, I can at least take comfort in the fact I am in a beautiful, tranquil place. Oh wait.
Well I’ll admit I’m sounding very dramatic. So like any good (aspiring) journalist, I’ll check my own biases with interviews and opinions from others.
Reporting live from the Camino with Marcin from Poland, also known as “Machine” for his breakneck walking speed. I asked this self-described “modest pilgrim from Poland” for his thoughts on the Meseta. Here is what he said:
“This is the rough and unforgiving landscape of the Meseta where there is no place to hide yourself from the scorching Spanish sun.” Machine, is that a metaphor for something? “No I’m just talking some trash about the Meseta,” he said with a smirk.
Anything else you’ve noticed? “The crosses of fallen [dead] peregrinos are paving your way across the Meseta.” Ah, very uplifting Machine.
His last observation was somewhat impromptu. You see, on the Meseta, there are horse flies EVERYWHERE. In the last few minutes of our “interview,” Machine exclaimed a Polish word that is “not proper” for me to learn as he got swarmed by our little Spanish companions.
Me, doing some in-depth reporting:
Pictured below is Machine (“I am becoming famous, yes?” Well if you count my parents, grandfather, and many cousins, then yes).
Despite the Meseta not being my favorite section of the Camino, there have certainly been highlights.
It started in Burgos, where my group (Will, Machine, and Jack) really hit it off with the dreamy Italians + the entire Italian delegation (a total of seven guys and girls). We all stayed in the same hostel and the Italians offered to cook dinner for us. I promptly accepted, saving my swooning for when they were out of eyeshot. That night, Giuseppe, Giovanni, and Simone made us pasta (yes, this was just as good as it sounds).
Our first day in the Meseta, right after Burgos, ended in Hontanas, a small Camino village that looks frozen in time. This first day on the Meseta was certainly the best because the landscape was quite novel at that point. We also got to see a stunning sunset that night:
Something the Meseta stretch is famous for is long sections without any villages. One morning in Carrión started with a 17 kilometer push to the first town. We decided to take advantage of this (by we, I mean the wonderful friends I’ve made on the Camino. I mostly walk with Will from Belgium and Machine, but have also been spending lots of time with the Italian group).
That morning, the dreamy Italian delegation and I woke up at 4 am to walk under the stars. We had a full couple hours of the Milky Way, shooting stars, and later, a spectacular sunrise. This was my favorite morning on the Camino.
As a side note, one of my favorite challenges on the Camino is making friends across the language barrier. Luckily, Italian and Spanish (which I speak) are similar enough so we can communicate slowly in our respective languages. But (grab your tissues, folks) friendship is more than language. It’s experiences, like waking up to see the sunrise or suffering through rainy monotony on the Meseta together. At the end of the day, we all laugh at the same things, complain about the same things, and support each other as best we can.
Fast forward to yesterday in Leon, one of the largest cities on the Camino. Though I do enjoy the quaint villages along the Camino, I was especially excited to reach a city in order to buy a SIM card for my phone. After doing that, I wandered around the city, touring it’s magnificent cathedrals and grand plazas.
Aside from the acquisition of necessary supplies, the other perk of reaching a city is the food. Generally, food along the Camino is pretty basic, so it’s nice to stock up on your favorite snacks when you can. Here’s an example of a normal day on the trail:
6 AM: Wake up (glare at anyone making direct eye contact) and grab a small piece of fruit or nothing at all
7 AM: Start walking, each step fueled by the anticipation of a cafe con leche and maybe, if I’m feeling self-indulgent, a croissant
8 AM: Start complaining about the distance to the next village, “give me my damn coffee”
Chocolate
9 AM: Yay coffee! I also usually eat a small pastry/fruit or, recently, some peanut butter. Yes, you heard that right, peanut butter. I’ve been looking high and low for my favorite food and finally found it in a small grocery store.
Chocolate
1 PM: Buy a bocadillo (basically a loaf of bread, yes an entire loaf, that is cut lengthwise and stuffed with cheese and ham)
Chocolate
2-4ish PM: Get to hostel
Yes, you guessed it, chocolate
7 PM: Pilgrim meal (three courses, usually consisting of a salad, a main entree, and a desert for under $15)
(^ I call it: A guide to walking 20 miles a day and still gaining weight)
Aaaanyway, back to Leon, I was able to buy some snacks (yay trail mix!) and even visit a traditional charcuterie store:
After stocking up, I attended a pilgrim mass with Machine. These are some of my favorite events on the Camino. At the end of masses like these, pilgrims are usually blessed and the congregation prays together for a safe journey to Santiago.
This particular mass was hosted in the Monastery of San Isodoro, a 11th century structure with a magnificent basilica.
The pilgrim mass in Leon was especially memorable. At the end, instead of blessing the pilgrims from the altar, the priest invited us up to the front of the church. As I faced the altar, the priest handed my fellow pilgrims and me a prayer card. Together, accompanied by the church organ, we sang the hymn on the card and received our blessing. After, as is customary in churches, hostels, and cafes along the Camino, we were given a stamp (“sello” in Spanish) for our pilgrim credenciales. Here’s mine as of 9/15/2021:
I’ll present my credentiale in Santiago to prove the length and duration of my pilgrimage in order to receive a Compostela, the document certifying my journey.
That just about leads me up to today, day seven in the Meseta. I am ending tonight the same way I started the Meseta, eating a dinner made for me by my dreamy Italian friends…pasta pomodoro!
To be honest, they could make me plain toast and I would happily eat it.
9/17/2021: Rabanal del Camino
Guess what?? I’m OUT OF THE MESETA! HOORAY! Now I’m heading towards Galicia, the final stretch of the Camino. Today I started my ascent towards the highest point on the Camino in the Irago Mountains (more on that in my next post). For now I’m enjoying a sunny day in the garden of my donativo, a donation-based albergue. This one is especially notable; it’s just a bunch of tents with mattresses around a beautiful green space!
My friends and I didn’t initially plan on staying in a tent. We had pre-reserved beds in the municipal albergue that were given to the wrong group, also consisting of Italians (lots of Italians here, folks), leaving my group homeless for the night. The initial conversation with the hospitalera (albergue host) gave me the chance to practice one of the Spanish language skills that my beautiful Venezuelan mother has taught me best: arguing.
I walked away from the verbal altercation in a daze, thinking, “wow that sounded like my mother” (yup, one of those classic oh-my-goodness-I-sounds-like-my-mother moments). Ironically, she will soon send me an angry WhatsApp voice note about how she does not get angry in Spanish…I give it 5 minutes.
While my Yelp review for this hospitalera is zero stars, I am at least pleased that I finally got the chance to practice my ‘angry español’ (silver linings, silver linings).
Often on the Camino, you have to adapt to lack of lodging. It gets trickier the closer you get to Santiago because pilgrims that start their journeys closer to the endpoint create more competition for beds in albergues (especially while capacity is limited due to Covid). If I were a ~benevolent dictator~ the people who have walked five hundred freaking kilometers would get first dibs.
But as the saying goes, “the Camino provides,” and provide it did. Alejandro, the owner of the donativo, graciously offered us spots in his outdoor albergue, saving us an extra 20 kilometers of walking. On top of that, I’m much more excited to camp out in the mountains of Spain…an opportunity I would have never encountered without the initial albergue mishap. I will try to take a picture of the neat spot as soon as the older gentleman doing stretches in only his briefs moves off the main green (ah, the sights and sounds of the Camino).
So here goes my second attempt at camping on the Camino (fingers-crossed it’s better than the first…no seafood paella in sight, thankfully).
Update, one hour after writing this: It is about to downpour…again, what have I done for this bad camping karma!? Reader poll: would you prefer to A) have food poisoning in the woods and sleep on the cold ground or B) lose your pre-reserved bed and have to sleep in a tent in the rain and a take a cold shower at 40 degrees. Leave answers in comments below!
As I approach the homestretch of the Camino, I’ve started to think about how this experience has and will change me. More than that, I’ve tried to think about how my fellowship has changed me (so far).
I’ve settled on an interesting distinction: the difference between being proud and feeling accomplished. Throughout my life, I’ve felt accomplished about many things: finishing a tough assignment, going on a long run, getting a good grade, etc. It’s a sort of satisfaction in completing a challenging task that you have set out for yourself. It’s a more common sensation than feeling proud of yourself, I’m learning.
I think for the first time in my life, I truly feel proud of myself. This is a difficult emotion to explain. For one, feeling it took a new level of confidence that I’ve never possessed until now. Throughout my travels and my subsequent Camino, I’ve seen just how capable I can be (and anyone can be) when the going gets tough. From figuring out transportation to conquering a language barrier, I’m facing small challenges each day and having no choice but to tackle them.
These tiny victories have added up into a confidence that has come out in somewhat unexpected ways. For instance, the other night when Giuseppe was playing guitar, many of us gathered around to sing along. I hate singing in front of new people and never do it; it’s just one of my “things.” Singalongs, therefore, are far from my favorite. But there I was, unconsciously filling in the words to “Country Roads” without a care in the world. As stupid as it sounds, I’m proud of that.
I’m proud that I’ve made it over 500 kilometers. Do I feel accomplished? Sure. But most of all I’m proud. And it’s not that my feet moved consecutively one in front of the other for a mind-boggling distance, but because I decided to embark on this journey in this first place.
In my introductory blog post, I talked about my once far-fetched desire to be “that girl,” the whimsical one that goes off and travels the world. I was never able to fulfill that dream, too bogged down by fears of academic and professional repercussions, by fears of doing “the right” [conventional] thing. Too bogged down my the need to feel “accomplished.” That was not something Carine would do.
Well now I’m here. And I’m still sometimes worried about those things. But I’m also keenly aware that this experience is valuable in a whole new way. I’m coming to know who I am, what my limits are, and where I can continue growing.
And that’s something to be proud of.
PS: All Roads (Unfortunately) Lead to Rome
The Meseta is famous for long highway stretches. Because of this, there are often alternative routes that go through more remote areas.
One day, Machine, Will, Giuseppe, Suzanna, and I opted for a famous detour called the Via Trajana which follows an old Roman road for about 17 kilometers. Wow! How historic, I thought to myself. What an adventure!
Turns out that the Romans sucked at building roads. This was basically 10 miles of pebbles getting in my shoes as I looked around at dead sunflower field patches. Three hours into this, cue the clouds. It started to rain. A couple minutes later, cue the apocalyptic winds. With no trees, I felt like I was going to blow off the face of the earth.
But these are mere inconveniences. The worst part of this ordeal was the lack of bathrooms.
I have a squirrel bladder (I’m a road trip’s worst nightmare).
In normal hiking situations this is of no bother to me. Just go find some trees.
Well in the Meseta, this is impossible because there are literally no trees (and no hope). There are only thorn bushes. Yes, thorns (it makes sense that even the vegetation is vicious).
Well on that note, talk to you all in a few days with a post-Meseta update…until then, buen camino.
I would prefer C)Come back home😕😢😭❤
Arguing in Spanish? Who? Me!?😉❤