Castilla in black and white # 1: desolation

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Centuries ago the dust of their bones was violently blown by the wind and today it is scattered throughout a world that never had to forget them, since it did not even get to know them.

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Lost in one of the crossroads of that deep Castile that falters when tourism passes by without setting foot in those roadside bars that live off the candles to Santa Gema and the loyalty of the truckers, the thousand-year-old Castilian necropolis are the perfect metaphor for an adjective of sinister meaning: desolation.

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Castilla and its old heart of stone are dying in the meanders of a History that has always preferred to look at other pools, perhaps ashamed of its own mud.

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They are the perfect example of oblivion; of that subtle indifference that makes life a continuous turning of the page, without stopping even for a moment to review the most eloquent and endearing of its infinite chapters.

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It is the endless story, the sanbenito of some peoples and people relegated to ostracism, who, like the parched plateau fields, await the blessed water of May to flourish again: welcome to Castile.

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NOTICE: Both the text and the accompanying photographs are my exclusive intellectual property and therefore are subject to my Copyright.

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