Where the Meseta Ends and Something New Begins
Reflections on Days 17 to 24 on my Camino de Santiago journey - Late April 2007
All the Way to the Sea
I wandered through so many silent towns—
closed doors,
promenaders long lost,
letting me pass
to where their love had gone.
Then, one evening,
in a city of soft rain and golden streetlight,
your voice found me.
Your eyes—grey,
as grey as the beautiful sky—
held something kind,
something that waited too.
You brought me inside
and asked me to wait.
I watched you warming,
slowly returning to yourself.
And I breathed a sigh,
wondering why so many doors
had to be closed
for this kiss to happen.
You told me
you were like me—
heartbroken, but still open,
fallen, but climbing again.
We were resting, finally,
after walking so far.
Your hands—cold
from the road, from the weather—
touched my chest,
and something between us
held tight.
My dreams bloomed red and purple,
then red again—
flowers carrying me
all the way
to the sea.
And when we said goodbye,
it was with every door open—
as if love had walked us
to the very edge of the world,
just to teach us
how to arrive.
Over the next week on the Camino de Santiago I walked through many places full of closed doors. Beautiful testiments to a time when people lived in their own worlds of small town and countryside . When a black smith and a carpenter would work together to make the doors that welcomed strangers in and kept soldiers out. The buildings were rustic and full of the expression of personalities long gone. Those people in this rough land full of the feeling that another invader might come though soon. Full of the expectatation that one day they may visit Madrid or the far off ocean.
Day 17 – Terradillas to Calzadilla (30+ km)
I left Terradillas early and found myself back on the high plains of the Meseta. The sun rose behind me, slowly stretching light across the stones and the freshly ploughed fields. Daniela and I walked together for some of the morning. Our strides matched in an unspoken rhythm. That alone can feel like a miracle on the Camino—when someone’s pace feels like your own.
After 11 kilometers, we arrived in Sahagún, a once-grand town anchored by a powerful Benedictine monastery. I don’t remember much of the place beyond that. The day had become a slog. Nearly 400 kilometers into my Camino, the beauty was still there, but my body was asking for pause. The miles from Sahagún to Calzadilla felt longer than they were.
I knew then I needed rest. Soon
Day 18 – Calzadilla to León (April 25th?)
That day I walked in silence, often thinking about freedom—not the kind stamped in passports, but the deep kind. The kind that lets you walk where you want, how you want, and think what you will.
I walked the old Roman road, knowing it had carried both armies and emperors. That the same Spain beneath my boots had also been a battlefield in the Civil War. So much blood in this soil, and yet I walked in peace.
I thought of my great-uncle Ron—how he survived a Borneo beach landing in WWII by pretending dead among fallen comrades while the Japanese soldiers checked bodies. The cost of freedom isn’t an abstract thing. And so, I kept walking with gratitude in the background of my being.
That evening, a fellow pilgrim and poet snapped a photo of me. Fatigue wears a smile
Day 19 – León (Rest Day)
Rain in León. Soft, contemplative.
Daniela and I wandered through the city, its old and modern sides pressing up against each other like two centuries, like two cities catching breath. We visited the cathedral. No photos were allowed, but I remember the stained glass glowing like a sacred hush.
In the streets, many bronze sculptures waited in corners and alleys like quiet companions. The day gave me the gift of beauty—and pause.
Day 20 – León to Villar de Mazarife (21 km)
We left León and walked through a landscape half-built. Empty buildings. Freeways that led nowhere. “Se vende” signs everywhere. The dreams of another decade abandoned before they were born. Recession in Spain, but not in our hearts.
And then there was mud. Sticky, stubborn, boot-gripping. We laughed through it. We saw sheep in the distance and a shepherd on a donkey, a timeless a sight. Here, shepherds still have right of way. Freedom without fences.
That night, we stayed in a quiet albergue. Our only company was a Canadian woman returning a donkey to Pamplona, and two Frenchmen. The donkey was calm and probably wise.
Day 21 – Villar de Mazarife to Astorga (30 km)
We walked. Again.
Through quiet towns. Into a bar in Villavente where the barkeeper, hungover let us in for a morning coffee while cleaning up from the night before. Best coffee I had in Spain.
Later, we reached Astorga. A beautiful city that seemed to rise suddenly out of red clay fields. We passed Roman ruins, found a cathedral, and visited a Gaudí-designed museum. I learned this was the first place in Spain to sell chocolate. Naturally, I bought some. It helped get me up the mountain the next day.
Day 22 – Astorga to Foncebadón (27 km)
We climbed again.
From 850 to nearly 1,500 metres, walking through stone villages and past slate-roofed huts. Sheep and goats shared the road. The air thinned.
We reached Foncebadón in the late afternoon. A mountain village full of ghosts and sheep. The albergue was simple, full, we had mattresses on the floor in the warm upstairs. That night I slept well, wrapped in tiredness and something that felt like peace.
Day 23 - Foncebadón to Villafranca del Biers (45km)
It was a very long walk this day. Mostly down hill. At times alone. At times with Daniela. Wildflowers were lining our paths. Grapevines in new bud symetrical in the fields. Strange houses almost falling over but somehow standing. It is now all a bit of dream.
Day 24 - Villafranca del Biers to La Faba (155 km from Santiago)
I was very much in the rhythm of walking up and down mountains in this part of the world. There was a period during this day when I got lost, for once I wasn’t watching and I walked past the famous yellow arrow that leads through the laneways and town. I ended up walking about five kilometres extra by myself. One old lady leaning on a fencepost tried to tell me where I was - speaking to me fast in the dialect of her area. I had no idea where I was- so I doubled back to where I had been. I met up with Daniela in the next town. I was feeling worn out after a massive day the day before - 45 km. The longest I had ever walked. I was feeling worn out, but I was getting stronger too.
I hope you enjoyed my latest poem and my reflection on the Camino de Santiago from eighteen years ago. So long ago.
For those of you reading the email version and are curious, this post on Substack will have more photographs uploaded soon - especially of Day 23 & 24 - I hit the limit for photo uploads as an email.
With warmth,
Damian
What an incredible record. Thank you for sharing.