Saturday was cool and overcast, so there wasn't much incentive to do much outdoors, apart from a walk to the supermarket for fish and chicken. I spent most of the morning working on a sermon, and the evening in front of the telly. Just outside the barrier on the entrance to this urbanizacion, the road has been blocked off since I arrive, for the construction of a new drainage channel. This requires a tricky deviation through a large tarmacked open area occupied by Nerja's big mercadillo on Tuesday and the Flea Market on Sunday. Thus far I hadn't needed to use the car. I wondered if the work would be finished and the road unblocked in time for the arrival of Flea Market vendors.
Untypically in this part of the world, there is no longer a permanent daily covered town market. The small late 19th century market building has been turned into a cultural centre, and currently displays an exhibition of large abstract canvases decorated with random paint splashes - the kind of thing you might see filling huge white surfaces in a modern corporate headquarters building. I lasted about five minutes when I went in to visit there, before losing interest at the sight of so many of them side by side, with no unifying theme, and no context to define their signficance.
This morning the exit road was clear, except for one barrier across half the road at the far end where one enters the roundabout, straddling my exit lane. This succeeded in disorienting me, as this was my first outing in the car. The area was still empty of activity and vehicle traffic to give me reminders of which way to go, so I negotiated the rounadabout the wrong way around. The only witnesses being two Guardia Civile officers who stood there and watched without responding. I realised my error and exited by the correct lane, feeling a total fool, and drove cautiously to Almuñecar for the nine thirty Eurcharist, wondering all the way if I would remember details of the route, as these were presented to me. I arrived without further mishap, and celebrated for a congregation of fifteen.
The pattern of local pastoral activity has changed. A small group of Hermanas have returned to work in the district. La Capilla de los Pescadores where our services are held is in the ground floor of a four storey community house, which was formerly their residence, and a place where social outreach activities took place. There's now a Mass beginning at eleven, so there's more time pressure now that there was on previous visits, to finish our service and clear up to make way for the congregation that follows us. We were joined by a Spanish man who arrived early, with his arm in a sling and a bump on his head, hoping to beg some money I think. He might have been a gardener or a farmer, as he told me that he'd been injured either by falling out of an olive tree, or by a falling branch of an olive tree. Like many others this would leave him unable to work with little social assistance or insurance. The plight of agricultural day labourers the world over. I got an idea of what he was saying despite his accent, and spoke a little to him in Spanish, and then introduced myself in Spanish to the Hermana who had arrived to prepare for the service.
Finding a parking place in the barrio de San Miguel on return to Nerja was quite difficult, although the town is not exactly bustling with tourists at this time of year. It turned out to be First Communion Sunday in the church, and there was a huge crowd in party mood greeting the young communicants, all smartly dressed, outside the entrance. The atmosphere was very happy, and our little flock of Anglicans were content to wait a little and enjoy the moment, until the crowd eased enough to pass inside and get ready for our Eucharist. We started a quarter of an hour late, with the diminishing buzz of a dispersing crowd in the background. There were thirty of us.
In the congregation were several people from South East Wles including one from my home town Ystrad Mynach. Also in the congregation, to my great surprise, were Carol and Lawrence. Carol was an undergraduate in Bristol University at the same time as Clare and I were there, and we were all members of the University Church of England Society, run by the Chaplains. If my memory serves me right, this is the first time in forty nine years that we've met. She and her husband spend time in Nerja several times a year, staying within walking distance of Church House. I'm looking forward to a catch-up session on Tuesday.
Straight after the service, the chaplaincy's annual general meeting took place in the church undercroft meeting room, and there were two dozen for that. It was very well run, and a pleasure for me to be no more than an observer. This was followed by a splendid bring and share lunch, which I very much appreciated, as it was gone three by the time I got back to the house, to while away the rest of the day. I felt somewhat tireder than usual after Sunday duties in such a different context, so I relaxed and dozed while it rained and ventured out for exercise a couple of times in between showers. On one stroll I look down from above on a bird of prey, possibly a peregrine falcon, hunting for food out of the caves in the side of the Chillar river valley below the urbanizacion. But I was too slow getting my camera into action to grap a photo - this time.
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