“There is something else I am after out here in the wild. I am searching for an even more elusive prey … something that can only be found through the help of the wilderness. I am looking for my heart.” – John Eldredge, Wild at Heart
If the Pyrenees are where you test your body, and if Galicia is where you test your resolve, the Meseta is where you test your spirit on the Way of St. James. The mask comes off and you look yourself squarely in the mirror along the Meseta. You are completely exposed here both physically and emotionally. There’s nowhere to hide.
The Meseta is to the Camino what miles ten through twenty are to the ancient marathon. It’s not as exciting as the beginning, or as dramatic as the end, but it’s there, and it must be done.
This geographic expanse is one, big, wide-open space. It’s the home of the Old Roman Road used 2000 years ago for transporting gold across the heart of the empire. Everything about it sounds so deceivingly romantic.
I cursed the Old Roman Road on a day that seemed it would never end. You don’t realize the importance of reference points until you’re in a place completely without them. It’s a place much more defined by the skyscape than the landscape. There’s an occasional tree every few miles, and the openness of the region means you bear the brunt of searing sun, howling wind, or whatever element Mother Nature offers up that day.
The Meseta is where you understand that your mind isn’t quite set up to comprehend the enormity of distance. If it did, few of us would ever set out on such expeditions. Your mind just doesn’t compute what your feet or your soul will experience across 500 miles. It escapes imagination. Every day, you get out of bed, and you just keep walking.
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