Malaga - Holy Saturday

Today there are no processions, it's a Sabbath day of rest for all involved in. For the Municipality it's business as usual, with the streets to tidy up, seating to be removed and roads to re-open. There are cruise ships in port and hundreds of thousands of visitors out and about wanting to go shopping and enjoy eating out.

For us it was a quiet day of recovery too, with just an Easter sermon to write and a paseo along the beach promenade. I had intended to go and witness the kindling and blessing of the Easter light at the Paschal Vigil, either in the Cathedral or the barrio church of San Gabriel, as nothing was planned for St George's. I was too tired however for a sortie at eleven o'clock at night, even if I only stayed for half an hour, so I prayed where I was instead.

It's been a vivid and often intense week of encounters and impressions left by seeing the many fine artistic depictions of Christ's Passion, and the crowds of local people watching them pass through their own barrios. Some of the trona subjects are unique, others are repeats, though never identical. Given the procession scheduling and one's own positioning in relation to their passage, there's little chronological order to the experience, certainly earlier in the week. This doesn't matter, however, any more than the sequencing of shots or even whole scenes in a movie, play or a novel matters, if the story is being told from different perspectives or includes flashbacks.

It helps to understand and be well acquainted with the whole story, to be able to see the week as a whole. Witnessing it all once or twice in a lifetime by a visitor with no background knowledge must be a puzzling experience. For those who witness these processions year in year out, with or without the support of the church's teaching, there's a element of familiarity and perhaps personal links to cofradia members, which may bring understanding, though not necessarily.

Knowing the whole story of the Passion and what leads up to it provides a frame of reference for recognising its visual representation, and in a rapidly secularising western Europe, including Spain, ignorance is growing, despite us living in the Information Age. There's still so much to be done to make the story of Jesus properly known to people in our era, so they can make their own informed judgement about who he is for us today.
  

Malaga - Good Friday

Today's service of the Word was scheduled for eleven o'clock, a simple affair, starting with the Song of the Suffering Servant from Isaiah, then the dialogue St John Passion read from Gethsemane to the condemnation of Jesus, and followed by Stations of the Cross. The text I was given for the Stations didn't read aloud as well as I thought it would and needed ad lib adaptation. I;d have done better to have chosen something from my own web library of texts, and came away feeling rather unsatisfied. Plus there were just six adults and two children present, again, due to the difficulties of access on a day of few public transport services and much traffic disruption.

After lunch and a siesta, I walked to the Cathedral and joined in their Good Friday Passion Liturgy at five, presided over by the Bishop and Cathedral Canons, plus three robed Deacons for the reading of St John's Passion and the solemn intercessions. Every seat was taken and I guess there were five to eight hundred people present. There was one cross to venerate, and the queue promised to last as long as the service had done so far, so I negotiated my way out through the crowd, with the aim of meeting up with Clare who'd promised to follow me later into the Old Town.

In fact, she texted me from a vantage point above the road tunnel where she was standing to watch the passage of La Malagueta barrio's cofradia del Descendimiento along Avenida Cervantes into town. The sound of drums and then the band starting up had alerted her to its departure up in the apartment, and she found her vantage point just in time to hear a saeta being sung from a balcony above the bar whose terrace overlooks the street where the procession had stopped. 

The saeta is a devotional lament or praise song of Andalucian culture. They happen whenever there is a procession. Clare was most fortunate. Despite being out and about a lot this week, I've not been so lucky, though I did hear one in Rincon de la Victoria last summer during the procession for Our Lady of Victories patronal fiesta.

After a few phone calls and text messages, we achieved a rendezvous outside the Ajuntamiento building where the Alcalde and his chief officers stood outside on the steps paying homage as the procession passed by on Avenida Cervantes. So far Clare had seen Our Lady's procession at the back, but when she caught up with me the Descendimiento trona was just level with me. It depicts the dead Jesus being lowered from the cross into the arms of his mother and the other Marys by two men using long linen sheets. A very powerful image indeed.

We left the procession once at had passed us by and went together to the Cathedral, to be honest in the vain hope of getting access to a toilet. A modest crowd gathering in the churchyard which joins the Cathedral and a substantial sixteenth century building called El Sagrario. Up until this time I had been quite unaware that it was a church. I believed it to be a big sacristy or treasury kind of building. Only later did I learn this is the Parish Church of the barrio in which the Cathedral is set, and that it was one of the elite group of four established immediately after the reconquista in 1495.

As we arrived a procession was forming from El Sagrario stretching across to a large side entrance to the Cathedral, which wasn't the main north porch door. After a while a modest simple trona emerged from El Sagrario bearing a crucifix laid down, but at a slightly raised angle. The hombres de trona wore suits, though other Nazarenos in the procession were robed in black. The crucifix was a very fine piece of 17th century sculpture by Jerónimo Gómez de Hermosilla. What immediately struck the eye was the absence in the image of the feet and most of one leg. It was evident that this damaged image was accorded the utmost respect, but at this moment we had no idea why.

Later we learned it was taken into the Cathedral to be carried about during the Stations of the Cross, and that it would not be paraded out in the Old Town, as it had been occasionally before. This crucifix had been vandalised during an early republican insurrection in Malaga in July 1936, at the outbreak of the Spanish Civil War. Two years later it became the devotional focus of Nationalist military amputees and a patriotic cofradia developed around it. Fast forward a couple of generations and a reconciling effort was being encouraged by church authorities to make it a focus for both Republican and Nationalist amputees, and the cofradia acquired a more civilian ethos, calling for suits rather than uniforms. 

There were still questions around this procession going public however, due to its origins  in military propaganda. Over recent decades movement has been restricted to crossing the Parish churchyard. The story isn't over yet, however. Consensus has grown that the story of Cristo Mutilado should be taken to closure by its repair and restoration to its original form, as part of the long slow process of reconciliation post-Civil War, whose wounds are less spoken of but often still unhealed in Spain. It's an amazing story of enduring religious institutional patience in an effort to bring good out of ill, to the benefit of all who were victims of violence. There are many other such examples at different fault lines in the history of war torn twentieth century Europe. Politicians easily forget when it suits them, but the church remembers, and thinks in centuries.

After this encounter, we walked back to the apartment for supper, then I made my way back into the Old Town as the sun was setting, for the last act in the week of processional dramas.

First I encountered the procession of Nuestra Senora de la Piedad, and then that of Santo Sepulchro. An image of Jesus now recumbent in death on a funeral bier, accompanied by Nazarenos in black, and slow solemn music of mounding from the accompanying bands, with the crowds quiet, subdued, no longer exuberant or applauding. This is the image which is to be found normally on the retable behind the altar in the stark simplicity of the former Cistercian convent of Sta Ana not far from the Cathedral. I followed it for a while past Plaza de la Merced until it turned into a side street. Ahead on a junction of Los Alamos, another crowd was gathered. Another image of the Descendimiento had not long passed by. I saw it later, depicting the dead Jesus being wrapped in a shroud ready for burial. 

The crowd hadn't dispersed however, as another procession was winding its way down the hill from Lagunillas, Nazarenos robed entirely in black and carrying lit candles, a slow moving trickle of light in the encroaching darkness of the street. This was the cofradia of the Third Order of the Servants of Mary, making its procession with the final processional image of Our Lady, standing on her own in mourning black, having laid Jesus to rest. This procession wan't due to return to base at St Philip Neri Parish Church until three in the morning.

It was gone eleven o'clock, so I headed for the Alameda Principal on my way back to the apartment. When I was here for Semana Santa four years ago, most of my time was spent on the Alameda or Larios. This year I've not often visited, spending more time out with the free moving crowds in the streets of the Old Town. Although late, there were crowds of people wandering in the Alameda and  still seated in the stands. Here I saw the passage of yet another Descendimento image, perhaps the most familiar one of all in Western art, known as the Pieta - Mary at the foot of the cross cradling the dead Jesus in her arms. 

On my way back to the apartment, appearing from Calle Cister was the trona of the Descendimiento from La Malagueta barrio, on the last leg of its eight hour journey through the streets of the Old Town.  A very satisfying way to end the day and conclude my project of witness to the living tradition and culture of religious processions here in Malaga. Over the previous six days I saw perhaps half of all the week's processions, and realise how much more there is to be seen. It's all been so brilliantly organised and supported by many thousands of committed people, no matter how great or small their personal faith may be. I feel sure Malaga is not only a more prosperous place as a result but also a more kindly, humane decent and welcoming a place to be.

So glad I could be here for this. And relieved that Holy Saturday is a quiet day of reflection before the night time Easter Vigil. You can find my photos here.
  

  

Malaga - Maundy Thursday

As I was preparing breakfast this morning, and pouring myself a cup of tea, the handle of the trendy glass bowl kettle broke spontaneously, causing the  bowl to break on the counter and spill scalding water everywhere. Fortunately I avoided injury, but there was a lot of clearing up to do as a result, and for the time being we'll have to use a pan to boil water, Spanish style.

After breakfast, we heard the sound of distant drums. This was puzzling, as all the day's eight processions were due to set out at different times late afternoon. I think that so many clergy and church officers not involved with last minute preparation would be at the Cathedral for the Bishop's Mass of the Chrism. We didn't plan to attend this, but walked to the port instead, to investigate the the sound we'd heard.

Large crowds of people lined the barrier overlooking the Palmeria de las Sorpresas, where a Spanish navy vessel was moored, and the sound of martial music came from the quay below. The ship had arrived earlier from the Spanish colonial enclave of Ceuta in North Africa, with a detachment of Spanish Foreign Legionnaires, assigned to escort the Mena cofradia del Buen Muerte in procession this evening. It was impossible to get more than a passing glimpse of the band as they marched up and down the quay while the ship's commanding officers took the salute from the top deck. Then they marked off at double time through the Alameda over the bridge and off to their local barracks. Thankfully, being tall and benefiting from the camera's telephoto lens meant that later we were able to see on screen what we'd been unable to get more than a glimpse of in situ.

We walked over into the Old Town, and saw crowds of tens of thousands of people, many of them freshly arrived and either looking for a place for lunch, or trying to locate their assigned seats for the first day of the Triduum. As there was nothing more to see, we walked back, had a drink in one of the beach chirungitos that was open, then did some shopping and had lunch.

At seven in the evening, we held our Maundy Thursday Eucharist. Disappointingly only four people turned up. It's important to realise how difficult it is for members of a gathered congregation to get to church when the city's roads and public transport are so disrupted. The important thing is, to make the offer, and remember those who cannot make it.

Clare stayed in and sewed fabric loops on to all the kitchen towels, so that they could hang properly from the hooks provided. A little something to help make the kitchen work better. A new kettle will have to wait until Saturday, when all shops will resume normal trading. I walked to the Cathedral as the sun was setting, and spent a couple of hours there photographing the comings and goings, as part of the huge crowd that had gathered there.

A trona of Maria Desolata, standing at the foot of the cross, after the death of Jesus emerged from the main north door, and then it was closed for the night. A little later the trona of the Last Supper arrived and passed by, moving down the Calle Cister to solemn music, followed by another trona of Our Lady. I followed the latter as far as the Calle Alcazabilla, and then returned to the apartment. I was quite tired from all the exercise of the past five days, and needed some rest before tomorrow, the Great Day Viernes Santo.  You can find today's photos here

Malaga - Wednesday in Holy Week

Holy Week certainly disrupts everyone's routines and timetables. This proposed Bible Study at Velez Malaga this afternoon was cancelled and nobody came to join Clare and I for the midweek Eucharist this morning. After the service we went for a walk along the promenade, did some food shopping and then had lunch before going into the Old Town to see what could be seen.

I was struggling a little with making sense of the processional timetable of the day, from a paper copy I'd picked up on Monday. I thought a procession was starting from St John the Baptist church around five, but it started in earnest over an an hour later, so arriving late we didn't miss it. This is  one of the four city parish churches established immediately at the start of the sixteenth century, post reconquista. It has several cofradias associated with their own long histories. Anyway, we were there when the trona of Jesus hanging alone on his cross emerged from the church through huge clouds of incense. This different from the crucifixion I saw last night, from another cofradia.

As this procession started, another trona appeared in an adjoining street on another route, depicting Jesus crucified, but with the cross being hoisted into position by several soldiers. Twenty minutes later a second trona emerged from St John the Baptist church, depicting Jesus being scourged at the pillar by the Roman soldiers. A third trona, this time of Our Lady followed this, escorted by a squad of soldiers and their band, all of whom, while marching performed precision co-ordinated juggling acts with their guns (hopefully unloaded), or their musical instruments.

We then made our way back to the apartment for an early supper. As it was still light, I left Clare behind to relax. She's not so accustomed to crowds as I have become lately in Malaga. Here people seem to enjoy being together in large numbers, and are good natured easy with each other in close proximity, used to there being small children, families passing through with infants in push-chairs, somewhat in in contrast to Britain where I feel tense and edgy in a crowd. It's such a different social culture.

I got as far as the Cathedral, where there were large crowds of people accompanying a procession of Our Lady, whose trona was visiting the Cathedral. Half an hour later another procession passed by outside the Cathedral down Calle Cister. By this time the Cathedral doors had been closed for the night as it was half past ten. The trona depicted Jesus at the time of his death with the three Marys and St John standing there witnessing the moment.

Once the crowd had loosened up I started making my way back to base along Avenida Cervantes, passing yet another procession with a trona of Our Lady and another of Jesus alone carrying his cross, not expected to return to their home church until well after midnight. I was glad that I only had a ten minute walk before turning in for the night. That was quite a demanding day of walking and standing.  So many surprises and so much to take in.  My photos of the day are here

Malaga - Tuesday in Holy Week

Clare's flight was delayed by an hour leaving Cardiff this morning, but this gave me extra time to cook a vegetable soup before leaving for the airport to collect her. I walked to the train at the far end of the Alameda Principal, and this gave me time to observe that work was still in progress laying out rows of chairs in front of the seating stands lining the main thoroughfare. Buses were still coming and going in the free outside roadway that gives access for cars and public transport to the Avenida Andalucia the other side of the rio Guadalmedina. Road closures for processions would start until later in the afternoon, and the bus stop information display panels not only give time, weather and advance warnings, but also indicate the real time location of processions currently taking place. It's impressive, and a very useful stream of public information.

Clare texted me once she was off the 'plane. I was by that time on the train as it approached the airport station. I knew I'd have roughly another half hour to wait, so I bought a coffee and positioned myself by the arrivals hall exit. Sure enough, there were no more delays and three quarters of an hour after meeting, thanks to train and bus, we were in the apartment and eating lunch.

Later we walked through the (closed) road tunnel into the Old Town. Crowds were beginning to line the pavements of the Avenida Victoria, so we joined them and waited for the procession to make its way towards us from the church of Nuestra Senora de la Victoria, with which several cofradias are associated. This afternoon's procession was of a trona depicting the arrest of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, featuring a live olive tree, as well as figures of those told about in the Gospel story. 

Half an hour standing an waiting was enough for Clare at this stage, so we returned to the apartment just 6-7 minutes away for a cup of tea. Clare decided on a late siesta, and I went out again for a few hours to see what else I could see, given the extra hour of daylight we have this week. This time I went to the Alameda Principal and to Calle Larios (as the Calle Marquesa de Larios is known in the processional timetable), and watched a trona of Jesus alone carrying his cross approach and pass the VIP tribune in the Plaza de la Constitucion then go up Calle Granada on its way to the Cathedral. 

It was impossible to return to base via the road tunnel as the streets were packed with people, but by now the alternative routes are becoming familiar. Passing by Calle Larios, I caught sight of another trona heading for the VIP tribune, this time it was the single figure of Jesus hanging on the cross. By this time the sun had set and the street lights were coming on, fatigue and hunger discouraged me from lingering, so I re-joined a refreshed Clare for supper and catch-up time before bed.

One way or another I'd seen just three of the six cofradia processions of the day. The others would be out and about too late for me this time. My photos are here

  

Malaga - Monday in Holy Week

It's been an intense few days following Malaga Semana Santa processions. It's just over ten minutes walk from the apartment to the nearest part of the Old Town, so walking is far more convenient than taking a bus, so returning for meals was easier than eating out in one of a multitude of busy crowded restaurants, and that meant two trips a day on top of walking around, standing about to see what was happening, and taking photographs. 

I wasn't easy to get an advantageous viewpoint with hundreds of people thronging every street along processional routes. Being tall, I could stand back and hold my Song HX300 camera right above my head, benefiting from its hinged preview screen, and telephoto lens to capture scenes I couldn't see well at eye level. Not that I was alone in doing this. Phone cameras likewise raised aloft nowadays are a persistent feature in any crowd of spectators, and need to be cropped out of images which are thankfully large enough to magnify well to produce a good subject image. All that walking plus the stretching certainly gave me a good daily workout, and left me feeling like I'd swum a mile.

This morning was taken up shopping in preparation for Clare's arrival. After a late lunch, I made my way to Dos Martires Parish Church in the Old Town to see one of their cofradia processions start off. As we were waiting, the sound of another procession passing by hundred metres away drew my attention. It had come from the Buen Pastor parish up the hill in Lagunillas, and on the trona being carried Christ Crucified was depicted. Outside Dos Martires, the long procession of penitentes, plus a band slowly gathered in nearby streets. Half an hour later than expected, church doors opened and the ceremonial entourage of the trona began to emerge in clouds of incense. Then, from inside the church another band struck up, and as the trona of Jesus carrying his cross came out, the cortege began slowly to move, with stops punctuated by the ringing of bells. A pattern being repeated on different routes and times across the old town by half a dozen different cofradias each day.

Up the street, the tronas of Christ and our Lady from Buen Pastor parish passed by, then twenty minutes later the Dos Martires Trona emerged from church with its own procession. Each cofradia dresses in broadly similar vesture, but uses different primary colours for identification. Black, white, red, green, purple or yellow, vivid and striking. Faces are masked, preserving anonymity of age, gender, social status. Children, who may offspring or grandchildren of penitentes, wear the vesture and are seen walking hand in hand with their elders. Small boys with toy drums strive to imitate the marching drumbeats of the processional bands. Culture and tradition, caught as much as taught.

Remarkable in this procession was a group of Gitanos, not robed as penitentes, but making their presence known in the much larger crowd by their hand clapping, singing and flamenco style dance steps, let by a single guitarist as they followed the trona of Jesus scourged at the Pillar. They were followed by another processional band, and on times they were competing with it. I felt sorry for the guitarrista, who broke a string with heavy strumming, but kept playing anyway. It's hard  to know if the gypsy group are organised to participate into the procession, or insert themselves as a group with spontanaiety. Their identification with Our Lord's abusive treatment is natural, as they are regarded by many as an underclass in Andalusian society, despite the remarkable contribution made by them to the culture of music and dance.

I followed the procession almost as far as the Mercado Atarazanas. As it passed the casa cofradia of Santa Cena, the doors were open, revealing the tronas within. The guardian officials, holding their staffs of office, stood to attention outside as the procession wound past, and admirable gesture of respect and solidarity, I thought. This entire week of devotion is about everybody doing their best and encouraging each other, rather than competing to be the best.

I began winding my way back across the Old Town, noting how crowded the Alameda Principal and Calle Marquesa Larios were, with pedestrians on top of the many thousands of people paying for a spectator seat. In Calle Grenada I ran into an impenetrable crowd awaiting the passage of another procession. It looked familiar, indeed it was the Dos Martires procession, still going strong two hours into their journey with at least another hour until it arrives back at base.

The street remained crowded, and it wasn't long before another procession appeared, which I think was of the cofradia de la Pasion, depicting Jesus seated wearing the crown of thorns exhausted after interrogation and torture. A less than familar image, but powerful nevertheless.

I had parked myself on the doorstep of a jamon curado sandwich bodega, and ended up going in for a beer. I was so impressed to see a waiter with a try held high over his head weaving his way through packed crowds to serve outside customers with a cheery smile on his face. A man dressed in purple dashed in from the procession, lifted his veil, asked for los servicios, then dashed upstairs. There are several purposes behind the frequent stops I realised. One is to allow pedestrians and traders to get across the street. The other is for refreshment or comfort breaks, and yet another to let people join and leave the procession. That way, the whole city is able to continue about its business of looking after the visitors it welcomes, and be true to its sense of self and tradition. 

Eventually, the crowd eased and I made my way back, with darkness descending, tired but amazed at having seen so much. Today's photos are here

A Palm Sunday, both typical and untypical

Our Palm Sunday Eucharist at St George's this morning was attended by group of thirty visitors from Sir Roger Manwood's School in Kent. They were, in fact the school orchestra, who'd earlier in the week played two concerts in Granada, and after our service played for us in Malaga. Three of the youngsters took part in the readings for the day, and several took Communion as well. There were altogether sixty of us.

Instead of the Year B St Mark Passion, we used a dialogue version of the Passion that uses passages from other other Gospels as well - useful for anyone wanting to preach on Jesus' Seven Last Words, for example. I preached the concise sermon I'd prepared, without straying too much from the script, and we finished at our usual time of 12.15 giving the orchestra three quarters of an hour to get ready for their performance.

Not all those who attended the service were able to stay on afterwards for the concert, but a sizeable number of people came in off the street, and we had an audience of forty, which is remarkable, since the poster advertising the event only went on display last weekend. We were treated to a variety of music, classic and contemporary, and various instrumentalists we showcased in different pieces. One of the violinists is also a chorister in Canterbury Cathedral. She sang a Handel duet with a flautist, and showed that he is developing a voice that will be more versatile than a treble of either gender.

I was glad that I bothered to prepare a big pot of soup for lunch beforehand, as I was starving by the time I returned to the apartment around three. At four, I made my way into the Old Town through the road tunnel. It was closed to traffic, as the road around the Plaza de la Merced was occupied by a Palm Sunday procession, from San Agostino Parish Church, featuring a trona that depicts the Triumphal entry of Jesus into Jerusalem, and a trona of Our Lady of Holy Protection, cared for by the 'La Pollinica' cofradia. 

Hundreds dressed in the dramatic coloured garb of penitentes, children and adults alike formed the procession, and the band of drums and brass numbered over fifty people. The juxtaposition of church ceremonial and imagery, the music, the drumming at slow walking pace and  the use of bells to communicate messages along the 500 metre line of the procession, I found powerfully moving to witness in a secular everyday context. Normally, the stories we hear in the liturgy we internalise to take them away with us into the rest of our lives. Making those stories visual in public clashes our inner and outer worlds together in a stimulating, challenging way.

After following this procession for half a kilometre, the sound and then the sight of another emerged at a crossroads, beyond where the first one turned off, so I went to investigate. Coming down the hill from the Plaza de Capuchinos was the procession of the cofradia del Prendimiento, whose trona depicts the betrayal and arrest of Jesus, plus Peter's denial. This was followed by the trona of Our Lady of Great Forgiveness. In Spain I find there are so many titles of dedication relating to Blessed Mary I've never heard of before.

I followed this procession for a while, then headed through side streets to Calle Marquesa de Larios, where I watched the passage of a trona depicting Simon of Cyrene taking up the cross of Jesus, but I couldn't figure out from the handy little processional scheduling booklet which cofradia this one was or the trona of Our Lady following. Then I went to the Alameda and watched the arrival of the trona of the cofradia de la Humilidad aka 'Ecce Homo' as it portrays a tranquil Jesus bound, being presented by Pilate to the crowd, with a fierce, chained Barabbas raging in the background.

By this time I'd been walking around for over three hours and was beginning to feel tired, so decided to head for the apartment for supper, and a chance to digest the extraordinary experiences of the afternoon. My unfamiliarity with the many life sized sculptured images on display meant in each case that I needed to look long and hard to work out what each was portraying. Sometimes it was a scene combining several actions, other times a snapshot of a momentary detail in the passion story which an artist had meditated on and extracted a lesson for the beholder. Catholic tradition has many detailed devotional commentaries relating to the Passion, both popular and obscure. Giving life to them in the form of three dimensional religious art-works is a huge feat of creative imagination, whose development spans centuries. and continues today.

My photos from today's processions are here

  

Visits on the eve of Holy Week

Weekend shopping done and sermon written for tomorrow, more concise, half my usual length, since Palm Sunday liturgy tends to be longer than usual due to the procession and the dialogue Passion reading. I believe nethertheless that it's necessary to ofter some interpretation of what we're about for those less than familiar with Holy Week tradition. One cannot any longer take for granted that visitors will know anything of what we're about. Tomorrow there's a lunchtime concert by a visiting school orchestral group from Sandwich in Kent, and they'll be attending worship beforehand. If we finish by 12.15, this will give them enough time to set up, and for concert goers to arrive.

Late afternoon I walked through Old Town streets, noting that refreshment stall holders are setting up for business, selling drinks, ice creams, roasted sugared almonds and other sweets. Some of the casas cofradias were open as well as churches, and visitors were pouring in to look around. I went to the very imposing one built in Perchel in the 1990s opposite El Corte Ingles, which was classified as a Minor Basilica by Pope John Paul II, dedicated to the Sweet Name of Jesus of Nazareth of the paso and Our Lady of Hope. The hall housing two huge gold gilded tronas with Jesus carrying his cross on one, and Mary with long embroidered mantle is vast and has a fresco covered ceiling painted by a contemporary artist. Simply breathtaking.

Then I went over to the Parish Church of St Pedro Apostol on the other side of El Corte Ingles across the broad multi-lane highway, and found for the first time it was open, with about fifty people saying the Rosary together before Mass. It wasn't really possible to look around or take photos, so I didn't stop long, but walked back to the other side to visit San Domingo Parish Church, which was open and getting ready for Mass. There were many people there, looking at the tronas prepared for the coming week, if not coming for Mass. I then crossed over the rio Guadalmedina and made for the Parish Church of St John the Baptist, whose bells were ringing, and arrived there just in time to join in the first Mass of Palm Sunday.

No palm crosses were distributed, and there was no entry procession either. The church was quite full, including the standing area at the back. The side aisles and chancel were occupied by tronas to be taken in procession, starting tomorrow after the main Mass of the day. This time the priest who celebrated spoke Castilian Spanish at a measured pace, which made it not only easy to follow the service, but also to understand most of St Mark's Passion, and his brief homily. This I found very moving, also rewarding after putting much effort into learning Spanish out of context over the past five years. 

There's something special about getting to the point where you can hear and receive the Gospel in another language. It happened to me in French when we were in Switzerland. Shamefully, I still struggle for this to happen in Welsh, where my understanding is still terribly partial, despite it being the mother tongue of my homeland. I'm looking forward to the week ahead, in which the Gospel story will be told in dramatic three dimensional representations on the city streets, another kind of translation altogether.

  

Getting ready for PIlgrim Commuters

It was overcast, colder and rain threatened but didn't fall all day. When I walked down to the quay this afternoon, a large cruise ship was moored alongside the Bahamas registered 'Braemar' run by Fred Olsen Cruise Line catering largely for the British market. It has nearly a thousand passengers and a three to one passenger to staff ratio. It's currently cruising around the Andalusian coast on an 'Orange Blossom Cruise'. There's certainly plenty to sniff in the Malaguenian air at the moment.

The Spring Fair trading stalls are open for business now, and the white wooden huts offer a striking backdrop for a colourful range of products on display. Over on the Alameda several more seating stands had arrived and been positioned ready to be moved into place when roads close for Semana Santa. Calle Marquesa de Larios was busy with visitors and shoppers. In the midst of it all was another Living Sculpture, I've not seen before, Jesus carrying his Cross to Calvary. Not an advert for the coming week, however, as there was a bowl out for donations in front.

I made an effort to count all the stacks of wooden chairs in this street, and reached a figure of more than seven thousand chairs, which will have to be laid out in time for Sunday. The huge raked seating stand in the Plaza de la Constitución, holds about another fifteen hundred seats, and then there's the seating in the Alameda which I haven't counted, but could add up to another couple of thousand at least. 

None of these places are free, but there's still room to spare for the many tens of thousands who will come and stand to watch the processions, like me. And not surprisingly, for there are 41 processional cofradias scheduled to take part during the eight days of devotion. Heaven knows how much it costs to turn a couple of main thoroughfares into a public arena, safe for people of all ages to gather. There are reckoned to be five million people visiting the city during the week. 

What I found striking when I was last here for Semana Santa in 2014, during my locum stay in Fuengirola, was how many of them came in from the coastal towns and inland areas on public transport, day after day. So many people taking time out to steep themselves in this re-telling of Christ's Passion story through images paraded through the city streets.

Remembering departed colleagues

A bright sunny day today with occasional gusts of chill wind to remind us it's still early spring even if Semana Santa is approaching rapidly. Just as I was setting out for my afternoon paseo, I received an email from Llandaff diocesan office announcing the death of two priests I knew.

Canon Harold Clarke, had been Vicar of St Martin's Roath, and in retirement attended St German's. Once he found standing at the altar for Sunday Mass too difficult, he would sit in choir, and at the end lead the recitation of the Angelus, and continued to do so until he was hospitalised. He was much loved by people there, and led prayers with a lovely serene smile.

Fr Erle Hastey and I trained in St Michael's Llandaff at the same time. He was a year older than me, and had left school to become a miner in his native Yorkshire. Once he'd tested his vocation, he was sent to Brasted Place, a pre-theological college which served the church of England by educating those who had missed out on suitable qualifications to enter ministerial training at school. The scheme was residential and contributed significantly to the spiritual formation of aspiring priests as well raising their educational level. Sadly such institutions are no longer affordable in a shrinking church, though thankfully catch-up education is now widely available while people are working.

Erle's years down the pit meant that he seemed older and wiser for his age than those of us who had been able to go right through schooling to University. He was incisive, witty and sometimes quite challenging of those he thought less than certain about the foundations of catholic faith, under the sway of liberal modernity, like me. I learned from our exchanges over late night tea or coffee to be more confident in what I had received of the faith growing up, and like him, not to put up with pious nonsense and hypocrisy. After ordination our ways parted, and we didn't meet for twenty years, until I was working for USPG and he was Vicar of Tonyrefail. Then another twenty years slipped by until we met in the Cardiff city centre street outside St John's, when I was Vicar, and just due to retire.

May both these admirable companions in mission and ministry rest in peace.

There were groups of young people on Playa la Malagueta in swimming costumes, sunning themselves and playing games. I could hear French and German being spoken as well as Spanish. Some braved the coolness of the sea for a swim. For them, term is ended I guess, and it's time to chill out - literally in the case of an energetic few.

On the quay, retailers are moving in and stocking up the white painted wooden cabins which are the basis of the Spring/Easter market, ready for this weekend's trade, when visitors flock in for Samana Santa. Over on the Alameda, a collection of large seating stands, assembled offsite I guess, have been delivered, ready set up for use. They are wheeled, and so can easily be moved into place, but for the moment they are bunched together in spare open space, looking like a chaotic traffic jam. All down the Calle Marquesa de Larios stacks of twenty odd wooden chairs have been delivered, ready for the labour intensive task of laying them out. 

Old Town visitors, shoppers come and go as usual. Even the Living Sculpture guy, dressed in a news print suit and reading a newspaper, was setting up for the afternoon when I passed by. I dropped in to La Casa Invisible free community arts centre for the first time and had a coffee. They are selling tee shirts with their branding printed on it at the moment for five euros, and announced a special offer. A beer and a tee shirt for six euros, except that in larger print above was written 1000 pesetas, which I think was the equivalent to six euros. There's still a certain amount of conservative sentiment in Spain for the old currency, and there are still retailers whose till receipts and price labels show both. But this is a radical/liberal arts centre, so this promotion was very much tongue in cheek!

I returned to the apartment by a route which led me past the Cathedral. I was surprised to discover that the scaffolding in the street between the Cathedral and Bishop's Palace had disappeared. I had thought it might be for the benefit of TV cameras, but evidently not. It must have been there for some maintenance work on one of the buildings.

  

Reformation heroes

As I arrived at St George's this morning, on my way to celebrate the mid-week Eucharist, there was a crowd of three dozen youngsters flocking around the Cemetery gatehouse, just arrived with their teachers for a tour by way of a history lesson. Annoyingly, I'd left the church keys in my raincoat pocket, so couldn't open the church, so had to wait with the couple who'd come for the service for Rosella's arrival, as she had a set of keys. A little too late, I learned that the gatehouse manager also has a set of church keys. Now I know, for another time!

He and the school party followed me up to the church, and he gave them the introductory talk about the history of the cemetery, at first in good English, but reverting to Spanish when he realised that he was losing some of the kids. Then, I found it hard to follow him in Spanish as he spoke at normal pace, too fast for me. They were obviously having a good time, and several of them made an effort to greet me, and a few requested the whereabouts of the toilet, which was good Spanish practice for me. One of the teachers told me they were from a Torremolinos school, and that the class included a group of German kids on an exchange visit. Perhaps partly the reason for starting by addressing the group in English, as German teenagers would have more of a grasp of English at their age, as they'd have started Spanish later. Ah, proper education!

Today's celebration commemorated Thomas Cranmer of Canterbury, along with William Tyndall, my cultural heroes of the English reformation, Tyndall because of his seminal Biblical translation work, Cranmer because of his liturgical translations and innovative thinking behind the creation of the Book of Common Prayer both in 1549 and 1552 versions. Both of them lost their lives, because of their invaluable contributions to worship in our mother tongue, both of them politically murdered, in my opinion. 

I made a point of using the Common Worship Eucharistic Prayer C in traditional language, as this is the closest CW gets to his original 1545 oeuvre. Throughout the service, I could see groups of kids outside, freely exploring and enjoying being out of the classroom for a change. I was amused earlier when one of the local lads asked me how much the church was worth. Son of an estate agent? I wondered.

The four of us attending the Eucharist stayed on for Bible study, then I had to make haste back to the apartment to eat lunch before driving to Velez Malaga for their afternoon Bible study. I only just succeeded in arriving on time as I needed to get some petrol on my way there. There were seven of us for this week's session, and we finished off in a cafe across the main road. I was charged with the task of checking documents for a Safeguarding vetting application for a churchwarden new last year, and the process had for various reasons been delayed. It's a not infrequent issues for office holders in expatriate communities, it seems.

Then back to Malaga, and a fresh attempt to find another of the routes down from the A7 autovia to the Paseo Maritime. It's good to know about them all, as there can so easily be traffic diversions or congestion in a particular spot. The one I found today descends into Pedregalejo, the next commune along to the east along the coast from La Malagueta. The last kilometre or so is down a winding and steep road to a set of traffic lights, so sometimes there can be long queues to get out on to the Paseo Maritime. Next time I go to Velez, I'll have to explore this route in the opposite direction, although it's not going to be quite as straightforward.

   

Special preparation sessions

As it was a bright and breezy day, I started yesterday morning by doing a load of washing. It dried in a few hours, even though it wasn't very warm.

Then, I had an email from Church Warden Jane in Montreux, giving me contact details for a couple who want a wedding blessing at St John's while I'm there on locum duty in the summer. Last year I was also in contact with a couple about their wedding blessing several months before I went out the Switzerland. This was far superior to a last minute rush, and I had time to give to this as co-incidentally I was here in Malaga at that time. 

After lunch, I drove out of the city along the east bank of the rio Guadalmedina, then took the A45 autovia towards Granada, for a rendezvous with Doreen the Chaplaincy's Curate, at a hotel restaurant just outside Casabermeja called El Corte, about 20km from Malaga. 

We have some adult candidates for Confirmation on Ascension Day and needed to talk through all aspects of the course. She'll be taking a session on her own when I'm far away at Salinas, we'll be sharing a couple of sessions and I'll be doing a couple on my own. The candidates so far at all Saint George based, and as the two of us have to move between the dispersed three church congregations, it's a challenge to make suitable arrangements. Also we have to adapt the course material to the candidates, and distribute it through five sessions. So, we discussed our priorities and approaches at great length while we planned, and worked over beer and tapas for three hours before parting with homework to do.

It will be a challenge to both of us, since the candidates are Nigerian migrant workers, based in the city but sometimes working elsewhere. Doreen already knows them, I don't. We're both going to find this challenging, but I think our varied set of past experiences in mission will hold us in good stead.

More preparation work to do today, for the Liturgy of Good Friday and in particular the Passion reading. I couldn't find an A4 leaflet file of the dialogue version of St John's Passion  in my web archive for use with a congregation, although I thought there was one somewhere which I created a long time ago. 

When I was at St John's, we still used an old fashioned Lent, Holy Week and Easter Church in Wales booklet containing this kind of material, dating back to the late sixties. It had been well conceived and was still good for use once a year. Perhaps the dialogue version I wanted is in my Geneva archive. That hasn't yet made it into the Cloud but is on one of my memory sticks. Ah well, never mind. I have done a new text now.

With this task complete, late afternoon I was able do go to Mercadona for my main week's grocery shopping, and then went at a pace for a circuit of the port and the Old Town in a chill wind, to be sure of getting some vigorous exercise after several hours hunched over a keyboard, editing.

Down on the quay, near the Pompidou Cultural centre, a cluster of white wooden hits is in the course of erection since yesterday. They suggest to me that there's going to be some sort of seasonal market in the coming weeks, as I know there will be around St John's in Cardiff city centre. I look forward to seeing this with great interest.
    

Visitors and visiting

This morning I drove to Velez Malaga to celebrate the Eucharist for a congregation of eighteen. We had visitors from Berlin, two couples. Curiously, both the women wore scarves over their heads, not in a way that suggested they might be Muslim, but more reminiscent of old time custom for women to cover their heads for worship. There are conservative Christian sects which still do this, but this is uncommon in my experience among modern Lutheran, and one of the men said they were Lutheran, yet they didn't take communion. This is also unusual these days, because of ecumenical agreements between Anglicans and european Lutheran and Reformed Churches. 

Nobody afterwards asked them why they hadn't received communion. I wonder if they thought we were Roman Catholic, as we worshipped in a Catholic chapel? The women may have thought this to be respectful of local custom,  given the widespread observation of head covering among Spanish Catholic women, now rapidly dying out except for special occasions calling for traditional dress.

After a coffee with congregation members in a bar across the main road, I was taken by far to the finca of David and Janice on a steep hillside of the Valle de Torrox, a few kilometres from Torrox Pueblo. The place has spectacular views of the surrounding hills and out to sea beyond the  quite big mediaeval pueblo blanco built along a promontory rising up out of the valley.

The region was settled two millennia before the Moors came and developed the town as a coastal trading gateway to Granada, reached by a network of ridge trails. The valley is patterned with terraces olive tree and fruit orchards. David and Janice's steep hillside garden has orange, lemon, peach, crab apple, almond and avocado trees. After an excellent lunch accompanied by much story-telling, I came away with a bag of lemons and avocados that'll last me a good few weeks to come.

On the return journey, I investigated a route from the A7 autovia that follows the rio Guadalmedina down to the Plaza de la Merced in the Old Town, within easy reach of the apartment, having got this route wrong leaving town last Sunday. I was on course as anticipated until the last stretch. The road I should have turned into was blocked by police, obliging me to cross the river near La Rosaleda, the football stadium. The road signs were so confusing I went around a lengthy one way system a couple of times, none the wiser about how I could find the traffic lane for moving towards the city centre. It was the parking information sign for the city centre El Corte Ingles department store which got me established in the right direction. There was a string of these which led me back to familiar terrain.

Oh yes, the police road-block diverting traffic was due to a full passiontide procession through the streets of Nuestra Senora de la Piedad to and from the barrio Parish Church of the same name. I am learning to navigate the inner city streets by trial and error. Understanding and following the road signage conventions sometimes seems impossible, even though I've been driving in Spain for years.
    

Mass disappointment

Friday was sunny but cloudy with a few showers, a fresh day, and good for walking, so I climbed up to the Gibralfaro mirador in the afternoon before making a circuit of Old Town streets less familiar to me. Looking down from above, the port looked emptier than usual. An HGV ferry and a container ship which has been slowly discharging and adding to its cargo all week.

Then I walked down and into the old town to look for the Vega photographic shop I recalled from last time, not far from the Iglesia de Santiago where Picasso was baptized. As I was having trouble tracking it down, I googled for photography shops, identified the correct name and map location. The only trouble was that I had trouble making sense of what the map said on such a close up scale. at this point I was only couple of hundred metres away, so my phone said, but which direction wasn't clear, until I walked a while to establish my direction of travel. Sometimes, Google maps is very useful, and other times, it's just confusing. You really can't beat an old fashioned street map, so long as you can work out which way is north.

It started to rain, and as it was nearly seven, I set out for the apartment. Bells rang announcing the evening Mass at Santiago, so I decided to join the congregation at worship. There must have been a hundred there. Most took part in the service, though some just prayed privately before one of the side chapels containing a processional image of Christ or Our Lady. There was a young priest on duty. He spoke fast and had a thick accent, therefore little he said apart from the Mass itself did I understand, and likewise the man who read the lesson and Psalm. I couldn't even identify the piece of scripture being read. Most disappointing, bad for my linguistic self-esteem. Still, it was good to spend time praying a part of a congregation, and answering Mass in English, as I still haven't got around to memorising the Spanish responses.

Saturday, it rained all day, so I didn't go out of the apartment, but occupied myself sermon writing new reading and email answering. I don't know where the time went, how a day can just slip by with seemingly little to show for it.

   

An original solution to wear and tear

After a morning of routine domestic and office tasks, I took myself and my camera out to the port on my usual itinerary. Overnight there'd been a changeover of ships berthed, and the ferry to Melilla was busy being loaded with freight lorries bound for Morocco, or elsewhere in North Africa. I think it makes a couple of runs a week, but this is the first time I've seen it this year. 

Parked in the open area near the Pompidu Centre was a large mobile exhibition vehicle, branded with Google's name and colours, with a minimal hospitality suit and presentation area in front of it. A promotional road show is out and about visiting sites in different parts of the city, aimed at getting entrepreneurs to buy specialised Google digital services and training to use them. It didn't seem all that  busy, perhaps because it had only just arrived, or because few local people were out and about, but still enjoying a lunch break indoors, given the uncertain weather.

On my way back from a circuit of the old town, I used the route which passes through a pedestrian tunnel on the hillside above the road tunnel underneath the Alcabaza fortress at the base of the Gibralfaro mountain. Close to the entrance I noticed an open gate in the fence which forms the Old Town-side enclosure of this historic edifice. It opened on to a pathway around half of the base of the walls, driven through dense ground covering shrubs. What I found unusual was that the pathway was paved and lined on both sides with sheet iron, rather than a fence. From afar the path is an unusual rust-red gash through green shrubs covering the hillside. Once I started walking along it, I realised the ingenuity of the idea.

Visitors can walk along the hillside to the point where it overlooks the 1st century Roman theatre, and there are iron viewing platforms for those who want to take pictures of the Old Town from up at  rooftop level. With a potentially high volume of visitors, maintaining a path through such vigorous and thick shrubbery and enclosing it for safety's sake with low chain link fence would be costly to maintain. Vegetation would encroach on the path, and the pedestrian wear and tear would make a path, whether paved or unpaved, subject to erosion at the edges. 

Constructing a stylish iron trough as a hillside walkway provides safe access for abled and disabled visitors alike, and helps conserve the fortress grounds. Clever. I didn't notice this last summer, as the gate was always closed when I was passing this way, possibly something to do with the conversion of the theatre ruins into an open air auditorium for a summer season of world classic dramas, and not needing there to be a crowd of people overlooking the stage from a distance and watching for free. At least, that was my conclusion.

Convent discovery

This morning's news brought the announcement of Professor Stephen Hawking's death at 76, living longer and more creatively, thanks to modern medical medicine and technologies, than any other sufferer of motor neurone disease, fifty five years since diagnosis in fact. Truly one of the greatest creative minds of the twentieth century, trapped in a paralysed body, yet remaining capable to the end of his life of participation in scientific and social life, thanks to a high level of personal care and support. He has inspired several generations of young people to consider the universe with curiosity awe, wonder. There was no room for God in his world of theorisation, but he was never the kind of thinker to discourage others from being curious about the subject, and to think for themselves. What a wonderful legacy.

There were just four of us for the midweek Eucharist this morning, I prayed for Ken Dodd, conveyor of joy and laughter (a churchgoer apparently) and Stephen Hawking communicator of awe and wonder, ( yet an atheist), giving God thanks for two such remarkably different twentieth century lives. We were four for the bible study following the service, but the conversation still made it well worthwhile. When we finished, I went to the bank nearby to cash my cheque al portador for the locum duty fee. It comes in handy as I was just about to run out of the euros I brought with me. I had a long wait to be seen, not because there was a queue, as on other occasions there has been, but because the cajera disappeared with another client, so I had to wait until a colleague noticed my plight and came over to attend to me. As banks here shut at two, it was a relief to me as the hour was far approaching after my wait.

It was decided not to hold a bible study in Velez Malaga this afternoon, as too many of those hoping to come were away this week, or had other urgent duties to perform. I didn't mind, as took time to draft a Sunday sermon, and then take a walk around town with my camera, and see how much more work has been started to erect Semana Santa spectator ranks of seating. I found that work has also started on some sections of the Alameda, and that must be a complex segregation task, given that bus stops in both directions and still operational, not to mention the area cordoned off for Metro line construction.

Scaffolding topped by a platform has been erected in the narrow street between the Cathedral and the Bishop's Palace. It's not for spectator seating, as processions will have to pass beneath it, to enter through the north central doors. Most likely it's for television cameras, given that Semana Santa in Malaga is broadcasted live on a local TV channel.

In a side street between the Cathedral and the Alcazaba, I found open for the first time the 17th century Cistercian Abbey of Sta Ana. There's a Museum of Sacred Art, but the entrance was closed for building work, but the late 19th century church was open. It's a plain small building with grill enclosed west gallery and loft in the south wall above the chancel, for nuns keeping vigil over the Blessed Sacrament, when exposed for adoration. Above the aumbry lies the recumbent image of the dead Christ, before burial, and Mary looking down on him distraught. In its simplicity, it's a powerful image for contemplation. 

Sta Ana closed as a convent in 2009, but is still used as a place of worship. During restoration work, it was discovered that the Abbey had been built on top of the city's ancient Roman baths. Not surprising really, as the remains of the first century Roman theatre are nearby.

Since I've been here, I've put the telly on once to find out how it works. It's attached to a digi-box but I have yet to figure out if it does programmes in any other language than Spanish. Somehow the evenings slip by quickly, listening to or reading the news, editing photos, making a meal. There's no time to get bored.

     

Sad and worrying news

This morning's news announced the death of comedian Ken Dodd at ninety, perhaps the last great all round music hall entertainment star and hilariously surreal stand-up comic. The British Parliament has been told that investigations into the poisoning of a Russian ex-spy and his daughter reveal the use of a military grade nerve agent produced by the Russians at some time in the past. got. However this has got out into the wild, deliberately with authorisation or inadvertently due to poor security, it represents a disturbing turn of events with very serious consequences. 

Another walk this afternoon along the Palmeria de las Sorpresas, watching ferries and cruise ships come and go, then wandering randomly through the Old Town, just enjoying the place. Since the weekend, the first ranks of spectator seating for Semana Santa have been erected, filling two thirds of the Plaza de la Constitución. Also deliveries have been made of construction packs, either for seating or safety barriers at roundabout where the Alamada and Calle de Marquesa de Lario meet. Processions went around this roundabout when I was last here in 2014.

Things may not be quite the same this year as the right hand side of the Alameda is now enclosed by heras fencing to contain the new metro line building site. I'm fascinated by the logistics surrounding this week of processions, which calls for bus stops to be relocated, roads closed and seating for thousands constructed, and crowd safety measures put in place, while the city centre continues its business as usual. 

Shopping mission

Despite occasional rain and clouds, there's little wind now, daytime temperatures are around 18-20C, and there's the scent of orange blossom in the air, here and there. I had a lie-in and de-stressed after the craziness of yesterday's journey to Salinas. After lunch, I walked through the road tunnel to the Plaza de la Merced, aiming to see if I could trace on foot the proper route for getting out to the autovia following the rio Guadalmedina. 

I wandered briefly around the Mercado de La Merced. It's had a modern makeover, with half of it now being dedicated to specialist bars and restaurants and the other to traditional food stalls. I have yet to visit and find it bustling with activity, and I've been there at several different times. Once I'd walked in the right direction, I was able to join the dots in my mental road map. I then wandered up side streets, and discovered where some of the modern university buildings are. 

I called in a Chinese store near the much busier Mercado Atarazana to buy some replacement light bulbs, then crossed the river to reach El Corte Ingles, to see if could get a motion activated light to install above the door outside the apartment. It's terribly dark there, as the landing light has a time switch. The switches are hard to see in the dark because of their positioning, and the tell-tale light in one of them by the stairwell doesn't work. It's irritating and just a little risky, so I decided the best thing to do was find and install something suitable. Better to light a candle than curse the darkness, as the saying goes. First, I had to work out the right thing to ask for - una luz con interruptor de detección de movimiento would do the job, in the absence of a slang term or brand name to quote. Before I had a chance to ask someone, I found the shelf in a corner of the hardware basement, and instantly identified what I needed. And reasonably priced too.

From there, I went up to the computer department and bought a Devolo wi-fi network booster plug for the apartment. I meant to do this on my last visit but didn't. Given the L shaped layout, and the amount of steel in the apartment framework, it's no wonder that kitchen, hallway and side room have no signal at all.  I just hoped it would be the simple solution needed.

Setting up the booster for use later on, I didn't succeed using the router's WPS button to broadcast the access code to handshake with the plug's WPS. There are no instructions for the the route to tell how long the WPS button has to be pressed for its signal to be picked up - if it works at all. I was, however, able to use the manual setup option, and key in the passcode. I used the office Windows 7 computer to do this, as I couldn't find out how to access the setup routine using my Chromebook. In the course of trial and error obtaining a WPS signal, the router lost its internet connection. I had to switch it on and off several times before connection was re-established, and each time the reboot was slow. Never mind. It took half an hour instead of five minutes, but it makes such a difference being able to listen to Radio Four news on a phone while I cook or eat a meal in the small dining room next door to the kitchen. NOw I need to borrow a drill and install that light!

Salinas, in a roundabout way

As I set off from church for the drive to Salinas this morning, I found that the police had temporarily closed the road due to the passage of a fun run. Fortunately I'd left exceptionally early to enjoy the journey, and stop if I fancied, en route. Disconcertingly traffic cones were still blocking the route I wanted to take to get to the main route out of town, through the Alameda to get to the autovia, so I opted for another route which I'd taken before, running around the back of the old town, to a point where the road follows the rio Guadalmedina out of town, past the football stadium to the junction of the A45 autovia, running up the river gorge towards Antequera.

I checked Google Maps, and this gave me a second longer alternative route out through Limonar, for no reason I could understand. I tried to follow it, but soon ran out of motorway signs, and got totally lost in narrow winding hilly back roads and one way streets, in which I became disoriented trying to extricate myself. I found a main road uphill, with almost no signposts. The took me up and over a bridge that crossed the autovia, but offered no side roads to follow and reach a junction. 

There was one signpost only. I said 'Colmenar', which I knew was somewhere up the Guadalmedina Valley, so should be the right direction. Google Maps was again unhelpful, and I need to see the landscape a map refers to, rather than be subject to a barrage of verbal instructions I am reluctant to trust in case they are not up to date, or don't make sense of what I can see. So, I drove on. The next sign I saw said 'Montes de Malaga Parque Natural', and 30km to Colmenar. 

The road climbed 300m from autovia level before dropping down into Colmenar. It ascends and descends in following the ancient ridge road. The views are spectacular, but with a noon deadline, I had no idea how long this detour would add to my journey and if I'd be there before the service started. Also a number of Sunday motorists were out driving at a leisurely pace, as they sought a hostelry for Sunday lunch, plus cyclists, slowing down the park crossing.

I stopped and asked directions to the autovia in Colmenar and was directed to Casabermeja about 15km away. Then there was another half hours journey in haste, plagued by bursts of heavy rain. But, I made it to Salinas by noon. The choir was singing, but they were still rehearsing, strange I thought, why haven't they started the service? 

Then I realised my rush and panic was all in vain, as the service actually starts at 12.30. The journey is only fifty five kilometers by the correct route. I'd done at least seventy by failing to find it. I always allow two hours for a 45 minute trip, just in case there are motorway delays and diversions, but this morning's disorientation was both in time and direction.

There was a congregation of eighteen. The choir sang beautifully, and afterwards most people went to Manolo's to eat and drink. Doreen arrived from Velez Malaga at the end of the service, and after half an hour of socialising, we went into the restaurant for a working lunch, which was nearly as busy as the bar. As it was cold and pouring with rain, the veranda tables outside weren't in use, the reason why it was so crowded inside. It was good for the two of us to catch up, though there wasn't enough time to start planning our post Easter adult confirmation sessions. That'll have to wait until next Sunday when we meet for lunch after our respective celebrations in Malaga and Velez.

The return journey was much more straightforward, following the rio Guadalmedina down to the edge of the old town, then realising why I'd been misled when leaving this morning. What I needed to do was circumnavigate the Plaza de la Merced to get myself in the right direction through the back streets to the road along the river. I know now. I'll have to practice this route at leisure, and not wait until next time I have to travel again up-country.

A suprise visitor

I drove to Velez Malaga's La Esperanza Funerarias Tanatorios this morning for an eleven o'clock start. It's an old municipal cemetery with a smallish traditionally ornate Catholic chapel, not much used these days, as a modern funeral complex has been built next it, with a downstairs chapel that can hold more than a hundred, and viewing rooms. At ground level, there's a spacious reception area a cafe bar, toilets of offices. We were assigned an hour slot, with large funerals before and after, and crowds of people coming, going, lingering, the space immediately outside the entrance doors think with smokers. Not the best planned arrangements to cater for all needs, but a tastefully furnished and well maintained semi-public space.

I arrived ahead of time, as did the widow and her sons and daughters in law. The coffin had already been installed, and several people wanted to view the deceased. By ten past eleven, grandchildren, neighbours and friends entered, so the service could then begin. I was asked to read the widow's tribute to her husband, five grandchildren between them read a farewell poem, and one daughter in law bravely read the scriptures she'd chosen the night before, her voice cracking at the final verse of Roman's eight 'Nothing can separate us from the love of God'. I persuaded the family to let me lead unaccompanied singing, which went well for two of the three hymns, but the final one turned out to be less familiar to more people than anticipated, so it wasn't so lustily sung, despite my best efforts. 

I joined the mourners for a drink and a generous supply of tapas after the service before returning to Malaga. This meant I didn't have to prepare lunch, which I was glad about, as the funeral had left me feeling somewhat drained, and needed a siesta on the sofa. In the past 24 hours I've driven over two hundred kilometres, that's as far as going to Kenilworth. In fact, the last time I drove a car was to make the trip there for Rhiannon's birthday three weeks ago. I don't mind driving, but only do so if I can't use public transport. It's one of the few ways I can reduce my carbon footprint.

In the evening I had a surprise social visit from a visiting priest and his wife were spending the weekend in Malaga, someone whose name I knew but hadn't met. We've both done locum duties in the same Spanish chaplaincies since retirement. It was delightful to have someone to compare notes with. It's rare that locums get to meet or contact one another. It would be good if the diocese put on a conference for locum pastors. There's a largeish group that may do several weeks a year, but I find there are others like me, pleased to occupy several months a year offering this ministry in different contexts. The diocese now has a trained group of interim chaplains, intended for long spells of duty, one to two years, managing a period of change. It's a great move, but doesn't involve the itinerants, who could help inform an interim chaplain's mission. Well, maybe that'll come as well eventually. It certainly was a pleasure to spend an evening chatting with a kindred spirit.

  

Digital discovery

Yesterday I had a call from Doreen about a bereavement in Nerja and a funeral in Velez Malaga on Saturday, which Fr Nigel couldn't do, due to his existing commitments. I agreed to do this, which meant a journey there by car this morning to meet the family.

I was given an address, for which Google Maps provided me with a one location when in fact there were two, answering to the same search key word, within half a kilometre of each other in different urbanizaciones in different hilly locations. Consequently, I went to the wrong one first. As I sought to extricate myself from a complex internal one way system, the car signalled that it was running out of petrol, and although it may have had enough fuel, I couldn't take the risk of the engine conking out somewhere on a steep gradient, so I had to divert and get petrol first, making me even later than planned. Not that this was of concern to those waiting for me, as time seems to stand still when you have just lost someone unexpectedly.

Anyway, eventually I arrived. It was already four days since the sudden death. The funeral director had been engaged, but finding an English speaking priest had taken longer than usual. This is one of the unforeseen hazards of expat life, until it happens close to you. It turned out that one of the three daughter-in-laws works as a church administrator back in Britain, used to preparing funeral orders of service. This proved to be very helpful in these circumstances, and she was keen to offer her services in honour of her father-in-law.

As I was in Nerja, I went to Maro and had a pub lunch with Judith, formerly churchwarden of Nerja, who'd seen the chaplaincy there through a demanding two year interregnum, and then after stepping down at the end of an eight year term of office, needed a hip replacement operation, from which she is now recovering well, and in good spirits. Over the course of the Nerja interregnum, I was locum chaplain there for several months in a couple of stints. Judith is one of those people who have a gift for making friends, a memorable church welcomer with a reputation far and wide. It was good to see her face free from lines of pain caused by coping with a deteriorating hip joint. It won't be that long before she's walking again without a stick.

After my return to Malaga, I was sent the agreed draft funeral service order for final scrutiny. Then, half an hour after approving this, a panic call to say that due to a lack of ink, printing was proving impossible. The chaplaincy office printer wasn't up to the job, but it occurred to me that further down the same block in the street is a digital print shop. I went out to check opening hours, and it was still open.

Under instruction from the shop assistant who dealt with me, I emailed the print ready file from my phone to the print shop address, and returned to the apartment ten minutes later with the forty copies requested. The ease and simplicity of this astounded me, as I am prone to getting into a mess when working on rendering a document file into a booklet. It's been possible to achieve this degree of accuracy and simplicity where documents are concerned for the past decade at least, where there are compatible systems. But, with the advent of new mobile technologies, what matters most is that files can be reproduced accurately on any system. Add to this the potential of mobile phones and tablets to work in exactly as desktop computers have done for much longer and you have the latest kind of revolution. I don't need a printer in my workspace for sophisticated tasks any more. I just need a suitably equipped print shop near to where I live or work.
 

A striking difference

A mild day, with clouds and sunshine, good for walking, and after a housekeeping morning, I did a circuit of the port and the Old Town, and simply enjoyed being back in this wonderful city, with so much happening to notice.

The quayside Palmeria de Sorpresas seems strangely empty now last summer's exhibition of thirty odd life size bronze sculptures by Elena Laverón under the banner Caminantes en el Puerto has moved on. They attracted a great deal of positive attention from passers-by who now can only walk, and pause less often to take pictures with the life sized oeuvres. Back last summer, I walked that route several times a week. Their absence has given me a far better idea of both the social impact and the value of good public art. How will the cultural commissars of the Ajuntamiento de Málaga follow on from this, I wonder?

International Women's Day is being celebrated today, I don't know about elsewhere, but here it's accompanied by advocating a 'Huelga Feminista' - women on strike, refusing to go shopping, and conform to the common stereotype.

It made me smile, then laugh out loud. Listening to the early news, we were reminded of the many outstanding achievements of women in our time, and how far from genuinely equal opportunity we still are, but, as ever in the mass media, it was all talk within the media bubble about the educated privileged elites of society.

Women worldwide still take most responsibility for obtaining everyday food provisions, and home making. Shopping in all its forms, whether for basic essentials or for rare luxuries is part of a woman's daily routine. The notion of a shopping strike is quixotic, whimsically comic, but makes the point about something all too easily taken for granted, a systemic part of existing inequality. Thank heavens for a little anarchic provocation! But can we think of what a world would look like where all women and men have, make use of equal opportunities, while at the same time valuing the different approaches and priorities women and men have in life? This isn't impossible, but essential to my mind. In every generations, women and men have so much to learn from each other about how to address the issues threatening our very existence today.

In at the deep end

There were eight of us for this morning's midweek celebrations of Communion, and all stayed for a lively bible study on last Sunday's Gospel. Four of those present come out regularly from Britain and stay a good while. Unfortunately they'll be leaving this coming week, so the regular group will be smaller next time.

I stayed chatting afterwards for rather too long, and didn't leave myself quite enough time to cook a meal, and then drive at a leisurely pace to Velez Málaga by three for the bible study session there in the Capilla de San Juan. Even so, I was only a couple of minutes late, but taken aback to find the place locked, and nobody else waiting. Had I come to the wrong place? No, Doreen told me when I rang. I was half an hour early. That meant I could go for a walk up the main street in the direction of the old town. It's a town that sprawls down the plain from the ancient settlement below the moorish castle, probably half an hour's walk, and I only had twenty five minutes available. It wasn't all that interesting a street either, but at least I got some brisk exercise.

One noteworthy feature was a couple of buildings belonging to the Guardia Civil, and a roundabout in the middle of the dual carriageway with a bronze statue of a uniformed Guardia officer. It's an armed military police agency, a member of the European Gendarmerie Force, with public protection and criminal investigative powers exercised in rural areas, on the coast and off-shore. It even plays a part in some international peace keeping operations. It provides accommodation for its members and their families. Britain doesn't have an equivalent civil institution.

Outside the Guardia station stands a memorial to officers killed in the line of duty in the form of a simple stone pillar surmounted by a bronze effigy of the characteristic tricornio ceremonial headgear, the equivalent of a British bobby's helmet. It's a curiosity to passing foreigners who know nothing of this aspect of the culture. In fact, there's a lot that's different about policing and public protection in different European countries for any Brit to get their head around, as I am often reminded when I watch Euro-crimmies on TV.

There were eight of us for the bible study group at three thirty. I enjoyed doing this second one, as it was made up entirely of regular congregation members I'd met before, and the conversations were quite different. I'm looking forward to Sunday worship with them again, a week on Sunday.

On the journey back I stopped at the Carrefour hypermarket and shopping centre beside the MA24 motorway linking the A7 Mediterraneo with the N340 coastal highway. I've passed by many times on my previous stays in Malaga, but this was the first time to negotiate the access roads and take a look inside. I just wanted a simple colander for draining veg. I needed light bulbs as well since both the bedroom ceiling fan light have died. I haven't yet been able to remove the cover and check the type of bulb required, but now I can navigate my way to the 'household goods' aisle to find them without losing track of why I'm visiting. So easy to do that in such a vast cathedral of consumerism.

If I'm passing that way it's as easy to call in as it is to walk into the Old Town and hunt for a shop which has the right kind of bulb. There are many more worthwhile distractions to enjoy there than in any shopping mall. That's the trouble.