The host of the albergue here in Castrojeriz had kindly arranged for there to be good, hot coffee available here in the early morning, so that we could all start in a good mood. There were no cafés yet open when most people were leaving.

Cats outside the albergue, in the predawn darkness. Again the ‘Tau’ symbol appears.

Looking back towards Castrojeriz before sunrise.

Climbing the hill outside of Castrojeriz. People are walking this morning alone, with their own thoughts …

At the top of the hill, on the other side, looking west. One of the most expansive views on the Meseta. I stood here for some time, taking in the panorama and listening to the wind.

Is wheat something you enjoy? Then come to the Meseta in May.

I pass by a small albergue which has been in operation for centuries (Ermita de San Nicolás)

However I understand that a foot-washing ceremony is part of the stay there, and I don’t want to get involved in that. I need my space.

There is an extensive system of irrigation throughout the area, involving the local river.

L., who has done the Camino Frances ten times, and is something of a connaisseur of albergues, had warned me about the albergue in Fromista. He decided to stay in another one, in the town before. But that town seemed so utterly deserted and dead that I decided to keep on and see for myself. I got to the albergue and took place in a line outside. Every other accommodation in Fromista was booked. I was very early in line and thought that I was assured of a place to sleep there. However I got a surprise – the albergue bills itself as a ‘municipal’ albergue (which don’t take reservations) but it isn’t actually. It does take reservations, which means that it might be booked out as well. Which means that we all might be looking at sleeping on benches in the plaza … After a long wait in line I do finally secure a bed in a cramped and crowded room. While waiting in line I meet a French cyclist, M., who is cycling from France to Portugal on the Eurovelo route 1.

I meet again a few Germans who seemed to have formed a fairly close-knit group. They had been walking together from the start in St Jean, and were much younger than myself. But I would see them again from time to time in the towns along the way in the Meseta. People are mostly hanging out in the small albergue courtyard, and looking exhausted. But I end up going out to a small market and then a restaurant. I feel that my metabolism is getting to be like a furnace in a old-fashioned steam engine. I need to keep feeding it like the railway engineers did with shovels of coal.

The main church in Fromista , which is actually more like a museum. It has rather fantastical carvings of figures on the outside, some of which were removed to museums because they were considered indecorous.