At Leon, a few new pilgrims joined the Camino and our rest day meant some people we hadn’t seen for a while caught up. After our wonderful day of gluttony and with some different faces, we returned to the meseta. The second half of this day was particularly brutal – 17km without shade or water. At least at the end we found a hippie albergue offering a vegetarian meal of home-grown vegetables and a free yoga session. As I’ve said – “Pilgrims must suffer.”
After we ate, the albergue host pointed out a gate at the end of the garden through which, he assured us, we would find the route. At six the following morning, Joe and I were through the gate but the route was nowhere in sight. After a few laps around a roundabout, we eventually found one of the yellow arrows that mark out the Camino and got back onto the path. Although my muscles and blisters were feeling a lot better by this point, my knees were suffering. Fortunately, a plethora of Camino characters provided a host of solutions to hill walking and knee pain. As with most Camino advice, each adviser was adamant on theirs being the superior solution whilst each suggestion contradicted the previous. The classic advice of walking in a zigzag was offered, although ultra-runners felt it was a ‘waste of steps’ (and Selin kindly informed me that I looked like an idiot); running up/down hills was a controversial method, alarming those you passed by giving them the impression they were being chased; walking backwards was efficient and relatively safe, but did look quite unhinged; similarly, walking poles, joint compression pads, and sports tape was introduced at various times. In the end, regular doses of ibuprofen seemed the most reliable solution.
He had no answers as to why he was crossing the road.
Having left early, at nine we were still 6km off our first town, Astorga, and breakfast. The route was an off-road farm track and so when we reached the top of a short hill and came across a table packed with fruits, biscuits, cakes, fresh orange juice, meat and cheese we considered we might be hallucinating. The man running the stall had walked the Camino a few years ago and had set the station up with food and hammocks, only taking donations in return for food or rest. Replenished by peaches and watermelon, we continued on to our breakfast. The day ended staying in a yurt, a cute cat called India, eating paella, and entering a Galician witch ritual around a bowl of burning alcohol.
Saving carrying the peels. 
By the following day, it seemed we were securely out of the meseta. I am not sure what the next section was called, I think everyone had lost interest in where the route was going at this point and were just blindly following yellow arrows. The views were stunning as we climbed up to the Cruz de Ferro, the iron cross at which pilgrims leave a rock symbolic of leaving behind their burdens. The cross itself was quite underwhelming compared to the Christian and pilgrim iconography we had seen along the way; however, the rocks, letters and photos surrounding it were moving.
The day ended in the pretty town of Acebo; having seen billboard promising an albergue with a pool in the town for days, imagine our disappointment on learning it was not yet open for the summer. We disagreed with Spain on when summer began. The albergue we were staying in was new and, although not particularly expensive, it felt to be marketed at a slightly bougier clientele. As the following day was a Sunday meaning most shops would be closed, we paid an extortionate six euros for an upsettingly mid-tier breakfast buffet and were then asked to leave for packing cheese sandwiches to take with us. The day was a slow one, particularly after taking over an hour lunchbreak and then spending another hour in a playground about 300 metres from where we’d stopped for lunch. We did eventually get going again, although I did get waylaid running into some people from the previous evening at a bar a kilometre out of the town we had reserved beds in. The final kilometre was completed and we had a lovely evening in a large group in Camponaraya with, as usual, red wine and dinner.
India the Cat 
A Year in Nepal 