Gone are the wide open fields of harvested wheat, straw, corn and sunflowers. Gone are the gently rolling hills. Gone are the treeless expanses that seemed to stretch into eternity.
Now the hills are aggressively challenging. The groomed pathways have given was to rocky trails. The landscape is densely forested. Serious mountain ranges are on the horizon. Stone fences and houses have changed from rounded rocks to neatly laid and hewn slate.
Stonework in a couple of villages today — and ancient doorways and windows:
Today started as a gently rising path and it never dropped. It climbed higher and steeper until the end, in the mountain village of Foncebadon.
Seventeen miles, all uphill.
It was glorious.
Never thought I’d hear myself say it: I love hills! (Thank you, my trainer Karla and Wolf’s Gym in San Miguel de Allende.)
Looking back from Foncebadon, that might be Astorga in the distance:
And then there is Mateo, the guy who turned stamping pilgrim passports into an art form. He was at about midway on today’s hike:
