A millennial Malaguenian of another time

I went out for my paseo earlier than usual today, as I had a six o'clock rendezvous with Rosella at the Museo de Patrimonio Municpal just along Paseo Reding, a modern building, number one in the street, at the road tunnel end.

A couple of new cruise ships were in port, including the Italian registered Costa Arcadia, a smaller  sister ship to the Costa Concordia which was wrecked off the Isla del Giglio off the Tuscan coast in 2012. It's still 289 metres in length and can carry over 2,000 passengers. By way of contrast, the MY Lady Sara was moored at the Palmeria de las Sorpresas, an exclusive twelve berth luxury hire, for about €275k a week all in, at summer rates. Along the coasts or inland lakes in the Western world you get a glimpse of the immense wealth invested in leisure of all kinds. Any disastrous weather event and terrible human error shows just how much loss humans are prepared to risk in order to have a good time or flaunt excess riches.

Walking through Calle Alcazabilla, I noticed that the door of the Salomon bin Gabirol interpretation centre was open, the first time I've noticed this. I went in and was surprised by what I found. Apart from a welcome desk and a couple of bookshelves with tourism pamphlets and books, plus a video facility, the story of the man was displayed in texts written on the walls.

Salomon bin Gabirol was an eleventh century Jewish resident of Malaga, a neo-Platonist philosopher and a poet. There were many Jews and Christians whose learning and moral qualities found them a place in the governance of Muslim cities around the Mediterranean and in the Middle East. Everybody knew their place, and as long as they accepted who held the power, there was a measure of tolerance and mutual respect, which made it possible even for inter-religious dialogue about God to take place.

Back in September 2012, while on Costa Azahar locum duty, I visited Sant Matieu, a historic town inland from Vinaros that has a fine 13-14th century Valencian gothic church with octagonal tower. This was where a schism in the western church was brought to an end in 1429. There's graffiti in the north transept of the church commemorating another historic meeting of regional Christian, Jewish and Muslim scholars to discuss their understandings of God. It's part of the complexity of the eight hundred year occupation of Spain by the Moors.

What was unusual about this scholar and intellectual was that his writings were in Arabic, not in Hebrew or Sephardii. His seminal work 'Fuente de la VIda' bore no reference to Hebrew texts which shaped his thought but it was translated by Franciscan scholars a couple of centuries later, who made the connection. This work was highly regarded by both Islamic and Christian scholars. An amazing post-mortem achievement. In the latter part of his life he move to Valencia where he died. Legend has it that he was buried there beneath a fig tree.

The significance of this can be found in St John's Gospel story of Nathaniel, where he's spotted 'under the fig tree'. This is apparently a Hebrew rabbinic metaphor for studying sacred scripture. It's a lovely homage to another remarkable influential Andalusian Sephardi thinker.

My evening rendezvous with Rosella was to attend a meeting convened by the Ajunatmiento's inter religious forum, to listen to a talk on La Felicidad (Happiness), given by the Tibetan Buddhist Lama Geshe Tenzing Tamding. About fifty people were present in an upper conference room of the ground floor museum. Many took photos on their smart phones throughout. I renounced taking either  my camera or a phone, so I would not be distracted from giving this speaker full attention, as he would be speaking in Spanish. I suspect he speaks several languages apart from his native Tibetan. He speaks Chinese, and English as well as Spanish!

As he wasn't a mother tongue speaker, he was clearer and more deliberate, therefore easier to follow. His message was simple and as Rosella said, quite repetitive, but that's not a bad idea when people are slow to get such ideas, and need to ponder what is said. As I was familiar with his theme and have heard similar discourses in English, I was able to follow a great deal of what he said without too much loss of concentration. Again a great opportunity for listening comprehension to end the day. Getting there slowly with Spanish, if only the variation in accents wasn't so challenging - just like English of course.
     

Surprise Sunday concert

The Chaplaincy held its AGM today, following a joint service for the St George's and Velez Malaga congregations with Doreen celebrating and me preaching. I was meant to have a confirmation class afterwards but one of the candidates was obliged to work and couldn't come, so I handed over my teaching notes which I give out at the end, and we'll have a catch-up Q&A session next week. Apart from putting everything away and helping to arrange the furniture for the meeting in church, there was no more for me to do. As a locum priest, I'm not obliged to attend such meetings as I have no part to play, so I was free to return to the apartment and cook lunch.

I went out for my late afternoon paseo around the port, and then into the Old Town where a spotted a modest poster advertising a series of concerts by a visiting Norwegian choir from Oslo in four different city centre churches, with them singing today at the Cathedral evening Mass. I'm not normally inclined to hear Mass in church other than the one I belong to, twice on the same weekend, but the thought of hearing a Missa Cantata appealed, so I went along.

The choir was a mixed adult group of two dozen, and sang from within the huge 16th century Quire in the middle of the vast vaulted building. I gathered from chatting to one of the basses afterwards that normally they sing in conventionally sized modern parish church, so this was a challenge of a different order. Their sound was soft, sweet and mellow and if they seemed to be a little on the quiet side, it's a consequence of the size of the nave in the middle of which which the Quire is located. No amplification, but beautifully clear, and quite a different sound to what might normally be regarded as a bright vigorous 'Cathedral choir' sound, in the UK or further south.

They opened with a Jubilate Deo, and curiously used the first half of 'Locus Iste' as a Gospel Acclamation. Sadly, they didn't sing a Mass setting, except the Agnus Dei during Communion, and as an Offertory, sang an English version of the Lord's Prayer. They finished off with something in Norwegian. It wasn't a Missa Cantata after all, but nevertheless an unusual occasion, and I'm glad I was there. The same priest presided as last night. I found I was a little better able to tune in to his preaching voice, though still not able to do more than get the gist of what he was saying. Much work on Spanish comprehension still to do.

In the south transept a trona had been planted bearing the statue of Nuestra Señora de la Victoria. It was beautifully decorated with flowers and lit candles, and afterwards many people visited and took photos. It wasn't set up for devotional purposes, however, just parked there. I believe that it had been brought in procession during the afternoon, as I don't recall having seen it there at last night's Mass. I understand that the diocese of Malaga and the city have Nuestra Señora de la Victoria as a patron saint as well as the Dos Martires, so this appearance might be the result of a procession earlier.

About a kilometre away from Nuestra Señora de la Victoria is the huge 17th century Minor Basilica of Nuestra Señora de la Victoria, established in the 16th century, then rebuilt, on the sight where the forces of Ferdinand and Isabella camped during the siege of the city which resulted in its liberation from the Moors. Success was attributed to 'Our Lady of Victories'. Several of the key cofradias that maintain Semana Santa observations are based at this church.

Fiestas and Tall Ships

My afternoon paseo yesterday took me out ot the cruise terminal to take a look at 'Mein Schiff 4' another in the series of huge cruise liners built in the past decade. I was lucky enough to catch sight of it leaving port an hour or so later, after a walk around town.

Muelle Uno hosted an event promoting women's health, all part of Malaga's season of solidarity with women. The Calle Alcazabilla, next to the Roman amphitheatre, was busy with people setting up a variety of stalls and bars, and a performance stage for events tonight and tomorrow. This is all linked to the confederation of voluntary organisations which serves as the focus for the Women's solidarity events.

Once I'd got my Sunday sermon into shape, my afternoon paseo took me to to Plaza de la Merced, where I was surprised to discover the 48th annual Malaga Book Fair was running, containing stalls to promote about forty different publishers. Last year, this festival happened more than a month later, as I was here at the time. On this occasions, a loud rock band was performing and book presentations were taking place in the open air, in hardly the most suitable contexts,  but enthusiasm is everything I guess.

The Calle Alcazabilla was alive with crowds of people enjoying a different rock band. Overnight, the red carpet that adorned Calle Marques de Larios for the film festival had been put to use again here. No wonder, it's imprinted with the corporate logos of all co-funding organisations involved in this season of social activity.

I paused here to take photos of the statue of Salomon Ben Gabirol which stand among the trees by the patio occupied by the Bar El Pimpi, a Malaga gastronomic institution. Nearby there's a building, well actually, a sort of tower dedicated in his name. It's an interpretation centre of some kind, though I've never seen it open in all the time I've spent in Malaga this past couple of years. I know nothing of the man, except that he was an 11th century philosopher and poet.

On my way back, I saw moored alongside the Palmeria de las Sorpresas a huge five masted sailing ship, called the 'Royal Clipper'. This ship belongs to the new century, although rigged in the classic fashion of a tea Clipper, and can take over over 200 passenger. Alongside it on the quay was a smaller three masted barque 'Pogoria' from Gdynia in Poland. Co-incidentally both these sail ships have been constructed in the 21st century, for the leisure market. On the far end of the quay 'Ann Bounty' is also moored, another barque, a little older, adapted for use as an in-shore pleasure boat. How remarkable to have three sail ships parked at the same time along the same quay.

I then went into the Old Town, in time for the evening Mass at the Cathedral. I'm still struggling to memorise the responses in Spanish, and answer in English. The presiding priest speaks in soft tones, and it's difficult to understand what he says. I just trust myself to the prayer of the community, and to the fact that I have prepared a sermon using the Gospel of the day, I am the True Vine. I notice there are differences between the Revised Common Lectionary we use and the Catholic equivalent. Would that it were not so.

   

The art and mystery of seeing

After breakfast, I made my way back to Calle Cister, took the photo I needed to get right, then went to Museo Revello de Toro. To my delight, it's free entrance for los jubilados y estudiantes, €2.50 for everyone else. An simple modest sized three storey courtyard building with a dozen salas for the  exhibits, it's run by the city council. 

Currently the Museum's focus is on a dozen of the artist's portraits of present day to Spanish military leaders. These are formal works, inasmuch as each wears the dress uniform of their service rank, but what's remarkable are their faces, which radiate personality and humanity in an unexpected manner Somehow, I'd expected these to be stereotypical 'men's men' images of military leadership, but found instead a diverse collection of approachable characters inhabiting their different roles.

Almost all the rest of the paintings and drawings on display, about a hundred, were of certain women family, friends, colleagues perhaps, whom he painted or drew several times over the years, exploring the way they as subject looked out towards or even beyond the painter in different moods. Unlike Picasso, I'd never heard of this other important Malaguenian artist before, and am surprised his work hasn't been discussed in a TV documentary or culture show. 

He's a master craftsman of painterly techniques, in the way he delivers detail in an impressionistic manner. His drawings too are equally vivid and lifelike. There's nothing vague in his portraits, you feel as if you're meeting someone as you look. The paintings render well as photos but amazingly when you stand before them, it's a little like looking at a video, movement inferred in a superbly subtle way. This really is one of Malaga's must-see exhibitions.

 

Historic art corner

I went to church for the midweek Eucharist this morning, and ended up saying Morning Prayer and Ante-Communion, as nobody showed up. There was shopping to do, lunch to cook and emails to answer, then a tea-time I had another visit from Luiz whose installation of a new toilet cistern valve had not been entirely successful, as the generic valve design isn't a perfect fit, and sealing it is tricky. He worked on it for another hour and a half, then left with instructions to let the seal cure for a day before testing by filling the tank.

Then I went out for my paseo, climbing up the Gibralfaro path a little way for a good photographic glimpse of a large cruise ship, in port today. 3,750 passengers and 1,000 staff this one, called 'Mein Schiff 3'. Built in Finland, registered in Malta, run by TUI, this is a new generation vessel, one of a series with same name followed by a number. These have diesel-electric engines, where a cleaner, modern diesel generator provides electric power to the propulsion units. Good to know that the tour industry giants are responding to the environmental challenge in this way. The sea tourism market is still expanding, however, so many older ships remain in service largely unmodified, I'd guess, as on some occasions the acrid smell of ship's diesel fumes wafts over Playa La Malagueta, a kilometre from the cruise terminal.

Tucked into the quay next to the Melilla ferry terminal MSC Corinthian was moored. It's only two weeks since she last visited. Collecting or delivering passengers? I wondered, but there's no way of satisfying my idle curiosity. 

I walked then into the Old Town to Calle Cister, hoping to find Abadia de Sta Ana open, which it was. The photos I took much earlier in my stay weren't in perfect focus, and I wanted to improve on them. It's lovely to go in there because marvellous monastic plainchant is playing in the background. I was a little more successful this time, and took a picture of a large and beautiful crucifix which presides from the south transept wall over the nuns' choir stalls, which face the altar from that side, enclosed and hidden from congregational view. These days, no nuns live here, so a hidden treasure is accessible to the public. Annoyingly, my close up headshot of Nuestra Señora de la Soledad weeping tears over her dead son was still slightly out of focus, so I'll have to return tomorrow.

In another cul de sac nearby across Calle Cister is the Museo de Revello Toro, one of Spain's great contemporary portrait artists, still going strong at 91. He's designed prestigious posters for the Malaga carnival on two occasions as well. Much of his collection is exhibited permanently here, and the 17th century house was originally owned and worked in by Pedro de Mena, once of Spain's outstanding religious sculptors, who carved the wooden figures of saints adorning the Cathedral's choir stalls, just a stone's throw away. He had strong associations with Abadia de Sta Ana, and asked to be buried there. Something went wrong at the time, and it was only in 1991 that his remains were finally interred close to the threshold of the church, according to his wishes. There's a lovely bust of hin on a plinth just outside the museum entrance. I arrived there just as the doors were about to close for the day, so all I could do was say hasta manana to the custodians and head for home.

A day at the keyboard

Yesterday apart from a quick visit to the Super Sol for groceries, I spent all day in the apartment, but not because of poor weather. First, in the morning, I had an email from Amanda saying that she had decided to learn photography, and had bought a Sony HX400, the same as the one Rhiannon had for her birthday, which I'd recommended for its versatility. My response to her took ages to write as I thought I could give her some useful advice about getting started, and encourage her to take on the challenge . Her physical disability may impose some limitations, requiring work-around solutions for getting the kind of photos she wants, but the lovely thing about Amanda is that she will certainly have a go. It'll be good for us as well as for her. I hear that Rhiannon loves her new camera and has been using it too, and I look forward to seeing what she produces too.

In the mail last week was a letter from Bishop June inviting me to participate in a consultation about the future mission and ministry of the diocese of Llandaff. Former St Mike's staff member Stephen Adams, now Rector of Cowbridge, is running the process, so after Clare read it out to me over the phone, I emailed Stephen and asked him to send me the documents to work on here. These arrived next day, and after lunch I started working on them. It took me the best part of six hours, as indeed it should as the subject and Bishop June's questions were interesting. I daresay there'll be scores of respondents, people more active in everyday church and parish life back home than I am, but I'd like to think that have plenty of time to think things through and present a few suggestions might be worth the effort.

This morning, I made sure to get out early and take a walk uphill before doing a circuit of the Old Town and the port. I only went half way up the Gibralfaro path, but my main aim was to get a good view of the the port. There'd been turnover of big cruise ships since the weekend, but also a visit from Club Med 2, which is a large mass cruise ship with six sail masts as well as a conventional engine, to help reduce its carbon footprint. I remember seeing this in port last year. Alongside it on a quay next to the Melilla ferry was a large three masted barque, the Maltese registered Sea Cloud II, with accommodation for 96 passengers and 63 crew, German built at the turn of this century. The third sailing vessel Ann Bonny Uno, has been in port for a couple of weeks. Unusual to see three big sail ships along the same quay together.

Patronal Sunday

Although St George's Day is tomorrow, we celebrated him as part of celebrating the Easter mysteries this morning. After the Eucharist and fellowship time, I met with two of our adult candidates for Confirmation for a session about prayer. This was, as I suspected it would be, less than easy, as their everyday life is conducted far more in Spanish than English or their mother tongue. They can speak English and participate well in services, but engaging in discussion on a new topic, is another thing altogether. I needed to keep checking that my questions had been understood. It made me realise how out of practice in teaching I am nowadays.

After a late lunch, I walked to the port alongside Playa La Malagueta, and was surprised to discover another street market, selling clothes, jewellery, trinkets etc., about fifty stalls altogether. It looks a bit more downmarket than the extensive stylish array of stalls along the port, but clearly there's going to be demand, even before the peak holiday season arrives, as the beach is full of weekenders.

Down at Muelle Uno the market stalls there were also busy, and the Artsenal was hosting a couple of DJs with a live guitarist jamming together on the open air stage, and there was hardly an empty seat around the bar or the performance area. I took the opportunity to walk through and take a look at some of the 'alternative' sculptures and paintings on display. A striking and disturbing painting of a naked woman, hands bound, wearing an anonymising face mask caught my attention. It portrays symbolically the dehumanisation of women and children trafficked, enslaved by prostitution and pornography, reflecting Malaga's current theme of community solidarity with abuse victims, which provocatively overlaps with this weekend's Festival of Spanish Film.

Later in the day, it clouded over and there was a lengthy outbreak of thunderstorms with wind and rain, as it got dark. I had a grandstand view of this, sitting in the lounge. Slowly the weather is getting decently warmer, but not without protest it seems from intermittent bouts of cold damp air, afflicting many other parts of western Europe also.

  

Malaga Festival Saturday

It's been quite warm but overcast today, mostly spent indoors, with a sermon to write and tomorrow's adult Confirmation class to prepare. Early evening I walked to Playa La Malagueta and was amazed to see huge waves breaking on the shore, as the tide was going out. There was no wind. Off shore I counted ten people in wetsuits attempting to surf the waves, a lots more on-shore watching or trying like me to take photos. They were rather far out attempting to catch a big breaker, and the light was not quite adequate for good action shots, but it was good to witness nevertheless. Almost all the sun worshippers had already left. There was, however a large oldish man lying on the foreshore, reading and eating a snack, oblivious to how close he was to being covered by incoming waves. He seemed to leave it to the last minute to move to drier ground. So strange. was he drunk, or crazy or what?

From there, I walked across the port and into the Old Town, drawn through the streets to the Plaza de la Merced by the sound of a heavy rock band in the open air. A stage was set up and several stalls had been set up around one corner of the square. One was a booking office for Firm Festival Tickets but the rest were part of an espacio solidaire de mujeres. promoting organisations concerned with protecting women and children from domestic violence and exploitation. The band was performing in support of this. I stood to take photos near the statue of Pablo Picasso seated on a bench. He was born in a house nearby. It's often surrounded by people who want photos taken featuring this lifelike work of art. For a few moments it was clear enough of people for me to get the urge to take a photo. As I was getting the camera out, a burly man stepped forward, caught hold of the statue's head and planted an affectionate kiss on its forehead. That was a surprise. Just sorry I missed a great photo opportunity.

I walked on towards the Plaza Cevantes, to find it cordoned off by the Policia Locale, attempting to control of crowd on cinema fans and celebrity watchers thronging the periphery to watch the arrivals for a gala night film performance at Teatro Cervantes. The telly people were there, projecting key scenes on to a large public screen on the forecourt above the huge red carpet leading to the entrance. No doubt it was a special moment for anyone who knew who's who, but hardly so for me. I didn't need an excuse to head for the apartment as hunger reminded me that supper time was near.

    

Battery bother

Yesterday, I arranged to visit Mike and Patricia who live outside Competa, and celebrate a Eucharist with them, as they've been unable to get to church since Palm Sunday. I was bewildered to find that the car wouldn't start, its battery was completely dead, so dead that the digital clock wouldn't display the time. I discovered that I'd left the car lights on, after driving back from Salinas two weeks ago, as it was raining when I got back into the city. The lights on warning buzzer either didn't work, or I ignored it in my rush to leave the car and get ready to go and meet Fr Geoff at the airport later.

Rosella alerted the car insurance emergency response technico, and within an hour a man arrived and quickly got the car going, so that I could get on my way and let the battery recharge itself during the 100km round trip. I drove the car around to the front of the church and get out to lock the door, switching off the engine, as car and church key were on the same ring. The car wouldn't restart. It hadn't been running long enough to accumulate even minimal charge, illustrated by the car clock, which hadn't been reset went from showing 15 minutes run time back to zero. 

I tried bump starting it with the aid of two young men who work as cemetery tour guides, and failed, as there was insufficient charge to power up the car's system electronics on which so much depends. 

The technico had left, and was on his way to his next assignment. Rosella had to repeat the call out procedure, and this time it took longer. Moreover, a different technico came driving a grua (tow-truck), just in case there was an undiagnosed problem. He couldn't drive into the cemetery, as his vehicle was too big for the narrow entrance and path. It took ages for him to find a temporary legal parking place and then find his way to the car, stalled at the top of the steep slope up to the church.

Once more it started instantly. He looked at the battery specification and declared that as it was a high capacity battery, needing a lot more re-charge time to become minimally functional again, 15-30 minutes, before it could be confidently stopped and re-started. On reflection, when it had been started the first time around, of its 15 minutes running time, ten had been supplemented by the technico's mobile charging pack. The car had only run independently under its own power for five minutes. That was a fatal error. 

There was no way that I could risk driving out into traffic, just in case I stalled and couldn't re-start the car in the first crucial 15 minutes of re-charging, so I was obliged to postpone my trip to Competa, and leave the car locked with its engine running to bring it back to safe usability. I went back to the apartment, cooked and ate lunch. When I finally switched the engine off, it had run for over two hours, and re-started normally. I had someone else to check the battery later in the evening with a charge tester, just to make sure it was holding its own, and it was, thankfully.

Late afternoon, I went for my usual paseo and saw that the very large cruise ship MSC Calypso that had arrived overnight had already left, and in its place there was a Dutch registered cruise ship, plus in the port a hundred berth Spanish registered private yacht 'Clio' for hire, berthed at the Palmeria quay, half the size of the millionaire's 165 apartment floating hotel ship 'The World', which left the day before. An amazing amount of cruise ship traffic visits Malaga, although often it seems to be in fits and starts. 

Lunchtime today I had a visit from a fontanero (plumber) called Luis, who came to replace the main water valve in the older of the two toilets. He had to give up after an hour's struggle, as the forty year old cistern had seized joints, requiring a hacksaw, and other equipment he didn't have, so he'll return tomorrow morning. So, after lunch, I set off for Mike and Patricia's in Competa.

This is a lovely mountain drive, albeit challenging in places, as the width varies and there are many hairpin bends. I was pleased to have remembered my way quite well since my visit in July last year and arrived in time for tea. We chatted at length and then celebrated Mass at a table on the veranda accompanied by birdsong throughout. Such a pleasure. It's like that in St George's too, despite being right in the middle of town.

As the road is still unfamiliar, I felt cautious enough not to want to drive back in the dark or with sun in my face, so set out for Malaga after a stay of about three hours, while the light was good. Not that it was any insurance against misfortune. As I entered the mediaeval pueblo blanco of Sayalonga, which is blessed or cursed (depending on your point of view) with traffic calming measures (speed humps), I was hit from behind and propelled on to the speed hump I was slowing down for, by a small gold coloured Peugeot. It was quite a low speed collision, so I avoided whiplash. The Golf was undamaged, I don't know about the other car, whose driver pulled alongside and gesticulated, as if he was asking if I was alright, while I was still feeling bewildered trying to work out what had just happened, and then he drove off, at speed.

There were several witnesses who expressed concern for my welfare. I was somewhat lost for words, more puzzled than shocked, relieved that I hadn't made an error while trying to be cautious. So I just shrugged it off and drove on. Then, in El Palo, on the home stretch, a car swerved in my direction as it sought to avoid a vehicle in the opposite lane, causing me to make an instinctual emergency stop and stall the car. Thankfully, traffic behind wasn't close enough to me for this to have consequences, but it did overshadow the conclusion to an otherwise pleasant afternoon outing. You just never know what's going to happen next, do you?

  

Surprise comings and goings

Nobody came to share the midweek Eucharist at St George's this morning. I prayed the Ministry of the Word quietly alone, while a few tourists entered, looked around signed the visitors book and left. Sadly, it's rare for anyone to come in, sit and pray. Perhaps some do, out in the quiet corners of the churchyard. It's beautiful, and full of birdsong. The high wall flanking Avenida de Pries down the hill shields the churchyard traffic noise.

After praying, I stocked up on food at Mercadona, returned to cook lunch, as spent time working on my Sunday sermon. With St George's Day on Monday, I have to weave this extra golden thread into the Paschaltide celebration, which takes pride of place on an Eastertide Sunday, even over a Feast of Title. Having a weekday Patronal Festival celebration, however desirable isn't practicable with such a scattered congregation. I'm just hoping people will make the effort to turn out for the Confirmation on the evening of Ascension Day, other than candidates' families, both to welcome the Bishop and support new members. 

Late afternoon, on my way to stock up on bottled water, I walked to Playa Malagueta and saw over in the port one of the very large cruise ships was docked, Panama registered MSC Fantasia catering for 4,000 passengers, and a third of a kilometre long. Unfortunately, I wasn't carrying a camera. The ship's siren gave several hoots. I wondered if it had just arrived. I completed my errand, and then one more to collect a package from church, then returned to the port with a camera, only to discover that the siren had been a departure signal. The ship had departed for Valencia according to the Marine Traffic Website, and was nowhere to be seen. In a couple of hours that had passed she was already heading past Motril to the Costa Almeria. Life's like that in a busy port city, and full of surprises.

  

A day of small successes

Waking up to another bright and sunny day certainly infused me with fresh impetus to tackle a few tasks I've left undone from sheer inertia. First, I went and topped up my bus fare card in the estanco down the street. I assumed it was empty, and was surprised to find it still had enough on it for three journeys at €1.30, plus the €10 top up. So why did the card keep throwing up read a read error when I tried to use it on the bus? 

I walked to what I thought was the bus card office on the Alameda, only to learn after queuing for ten minutes that it was only the bus card top up office, and that I needed to visit another office further down the Alameda that deals with card issues. Never mind, I was pleased that I succeeded in explaining the problem and understanding the answer without recourse to a word of English, and the same in the card issue office. Here it was explained (I think) that my 20 month old card still worked and was good for 5 years, but the card issued wasn't was of a slightly different type, and not really what was best suited for city journeys of up to an hour with no change of bus to a different fare zone. Better still, the new card fare simple trip charge is €0.97 instead of €1.30! Ironically, it wasn't the Spanish that gave me problems but actually understanding how the fare structure operates with this technology. I've read it on the EMT website, understand the language but the concepts are a mystery. Never mind, cheaper fares with make up for this.

Mission accomplished, I wandered over into the shopping streets and found a substantial bookshop which would be the equivalent of a UK Waterstone's in terms of variety on offer. I fancied buying a poetry book, to practice reading and decoding an artist's text work. At home I have a book of Pablo Neruda poems, which has given me enjoyment. Up on the third storey, I found several of his works and bought a slim volume of his early love poems, which has become a classic. I also discovered the shop had an extensive section devoted to religious books and scriptural texts, a couple of dozen shelves. The bookstore we'd visited while searching for a Spanish New Testament for my birthday sent us to a specialist religious shop, as nothing of this kind they had in stock. Maybe there's some kind of ideological fault line in the bookselling world, I wondered at the time. Evidently not. It's a matter of getting to know the diversity of the market offers, here as everywhere else.

Then, heading back for the apartment, I stopped at a religious supplies store in an alley near the Cathedral, to get Amanda the rosary she recently asked me to buy for her. The shop had one made from Jerusalem olive wood, which I thought she'd appreciate. Encouraged by today's absence of setbacks, I decided it was time to pluck up my courage and mount the motion sensing light over the apartment doorway. It was somewhat tricky, as the landing lights are on time switches, and I had to stand on a chair and use a screwdriver up over my head, in order to secure it. It's not all that bright, and maybe it could be in a better position, but at least it illuminates the double key hole in the door. 

So now I don't have to walk across the landing in the dark and switch on the light, then return to lock the door - menos mal - as they say. I understand that the antiquated lifts are soon to be replaced, and hopefully with that the apartment block will get motion sensing lights through the stairwell. Present glumness certainly detracts from the attractiveness and value of these prime location properties.

After supper, I walked to the port as the sun was setting. The millionares' residential cruise ship was getting ready for a departure just before midnight. In the sky above, the new moon was descending towards the city skyline with one other brightly shining object nearby. Venus? Or the International Space Station maybe? Amazing either way. 

Gibralfaro discovery

The third warm and sunny day in a row. This cheers me up considerably. I climbed the steps to take the pedestrian tunnel under the Alcazaba on my way into town for my afternoon paseo today, and on a whim, decided to walk up a road closed to cars which climbs up behind the barrio on the west side of the hill, to see where it leads. I've often seen pedestrians joggers and cyclists, even Segway riding tourists going up there, but not had time to explore.

The road winds up the hillside through a forest of Mediterranean pine and eucalyptus trees, which exude a delightful aroma, warmed by Spring sunshine. Along the ridge above, there are occasional glimpses of the outer fortified walls of the Castillo de Gibralfaro. The road ends at a junction near the entrance to the Parador, with a mirador overlooking the coast below - a climb of about 110 metres from the Plaza de Toros. It's a nature reserve, with a notice saying  the area is habitat for cameleons. I didn't see any, but I had a good view of a hoopoe on the wing as I descended. What a marvellous stretch of parkland, right in the heart of the city!

I continued walking through the old town, and watched a waste disposal team operating in a narrow part of Calle Granada, lifting a two metre tall rubbish receptacle from its hole in the ground using its built-in crane, and emptying it into the enclosed container on the back of the lorry. All this happened without preventing passers by from walking through on the side which wasn't cordoned off to get the job done. These lorries come late at night or early in the morning along the Paseo de Reding, when traffic disruption is minimal. It's not so easy in a busy pedestrian zone, and admirable that it just gets done without incident, day in day out.

Malaga's Festival of Spanish Films is taking place at the moment. The Calle Marques de Lario is decked out with promotional red carpet with dozens of large portrait panels lining the edge of the carpet containing black and white photos of cinematic events and personajes. Nicely done, brilliantly understated.

Then, on my way to the port, rather than wait for the Alameda pedestrian lights, I took what I thought was an underpass, which led into a huge underground parking area. It was, however, possible to walk through safely to the other side. What surprised me was a large circular fountain located in a central position underground, but emerging the surface above. Such a clever way to help air to circulate and reduce pollution to some extent. I've never seen anything like this before.

Tree trimming and an Eastertide procession

As I surfaced from sleep this morning, the street outside, normally quiet on a Sunday morning was full of the sounds of warning beepers and slow moving vehicles. I wondered what on earth could be happening. The carriageway on the bullring side was closed to traffic again, as last Sunday, several mobile platforms were positioned alongside and above the tree canopy, each with a worker armed with a fearsome looking chainsaw. Tree trimming time.

They worked through until lunchtime and did the entire section of trees lining the west face of the Plaza de Toros, about two thirds of the total length of trees to be trimmed. A start on this job was made early last Sunday at the far end it seems, although it didn't last long, and left a certain amount of foliage in the street, which took a couple of days to get clear away. I wonder if they'd arrived but then had to abandon the task last week because not all the crews or equipment turned up? This week they certainly seem to have got it right.

Adult Confirmation class scheduling meant that Doreen and I were both at St George's this morning, so she presided and I preached, as happened with Gilly on Easter Day. Doreen has done classes over the past two weeks, and the next two week, I'll be doing. She's been working with a couple of young lads whom Gilly has been preparing for Confirmation, teaching them to be acolytes, and eventually serve at the altar as well. Also she's press-ganged a couple of adults into acting as book bearer or crucifer, without them having wear robes, as there aren't any. Until lately adults have only taken part in lesson reading and interceding, so it's good that participation is slowly and gently increasing.

Michael, who's been caretaking and acting as sacristan at St George's for several years is leaving for Nigeria to see his family this week. There's a certain urgency about encouraging others to take on sacristy duties in his absence. This too is good for participation levels. Michael was reticent about coming up to the altar for a blessing to send him on his way, so we met him at the door where he often stands, giving out books, and blessed him there informally instead. Apart from regular British and Nigerian church members, there were worshippers from the USA, New Zealand and Germany in church this morning. All part of normality here in Malaga. I love it.

After lunch and a siesta, I did my usual walk around the port and the Old Town, taking care to end up in the vicinity of Dos Martires Parish Church by seven, as I discovered earlier in the week that the Cofradia de Nuestra Señora del Amor Doloroso, one of the several that are based here, would be holding an evening procession. The crowd wasn't large, in comparison with Semana Santa, so much so that the cafe opposite was operating normally with tables out in the street occupied by customers. It wasn't obliged to close as happened a month ago. There was, nevertheless, a full length procession with a fine band, which according to the church notice board, had come from Seville to play. There's such a lot I don't know about the history and organisation of these processional guilds, and how they integrate into city life. It's hard to know where to start finding out.

  

How the other half lives

It promised to stop raining at the end of the morning, yesterday and slowed to a drizzle, so I went out wearing a raincoat for the first time since I've been here. I went to the local shops, then walked around the Old Town, but it continued drizzling for as long as I was out. I got soaked, and needed a change of clothes. At least I got my daily exercise, though I hate walking in the rain in any climate. 

Then the toilet cistern came out in sympathy, as the valve that controls containment and release of water stuck in the open position. It's not for the first time this has happened to me in Spain as the water deposits large amounts of calcium in kettles, tanks and waterpipes. It's necessary to keep a supply of white vinegar and/or agua fuerte - dilute hydrocholoric acid I believe, and make tank descaling part of one's home maintenance routine. A build-up of limescale causes lightweight modern plastic valve mechanisms to stop working, as on this unlucky day. Still there's a second toilet in the bathroom so I've nothing to complain about. 

Earlier, Clare had bought some white vinegar. I used once I'd got the tank to stop emptying, and the filled it with vinegar and hot water. No result. I tried again with the remains of a bottle of agua fuerte found under the sink. Again no result. So Rosella has been alerted, and the cistern water supply turned off. It's an old toilet, and the mechanism I can't get at to inspect may be broken, so a visit from an expert fontanero is needed after the weekend.

This morning, I awoke to blue skies and a mild fresh breeze. Under the trees on the other side of the Paseo de Reding the monthly Bio-Mercado stall holders were setting up. It seems to me there were more stalls than last time, and more stalls than last summer too. The organic growers' association that organises these Saturday events, takes it to different locations around the greater Malaga area in the intervening weeks. Malaga is notable for the number of shops that sell organic food products, herbal remedies, cosmetics and other health products. I don't think it's simply a reflection of the diversity demand in this cosmopolitan city, but rather a continuing regional tradition of cultivating healing herbs and using traditional 'organic' agricultural methods which have retained as well as gained in market share.

It was such a pleasure to walk out without a jacket or pullover. Just in the course of twenty four hours, there's been a turn around of both cruise ships at the terminals one and two, and at the quay on the Palmeria de las Sorpresas. And talk about surprises, yesterday's MV Corinthian 100 passenger elite luxury vessel was replaced by MV The World. Twice as tall, overshadowing the quayside. This accommodates between a hundred and two hundred permanent residents, I later discovered. Instead of a millionaire having their own exclusive yacht, this ship is a floating village for high net worth residents who enjoy a life on the move, making the World in both senses their home. 

I wonder what kind of millionaires they are, what nationalities they are, whether they are retired, doing no more than oversee the market value of their assets, and what deters them from settling in any given place? I remember reading an article about a wealthy elderly widow with no family who had sold up and vowed to spent her last years cruising the world. 

She reckoned it was the most cost effective way of coping with age and infirmity, as cruise ships alway have plenty of staff, and cater well for people with mobility issues. Plus, there's always company, entertainment, never any worry about meals, and the continuing stimulus of the different ports of call, balanced by the contemplative tranquility of life at sea. Was this her kind of ship? Or would this be possible on a vessel that wasn't quite so opulent? How the other half lives. Intriguing questions.

   

Walking after the rain

As later in the day more rain was forecasted, I went out early to get the duct tape I spotted yesterday in the Chinese supermarket to use for hymnbook repair. In a shop nearby I found and bought one of those metal veggie steamer baskets which open out like flower petals to accommodate variable size loads and fit inside a pan. Being economical on hob space as well as gas, it makes cooking easier to manage and more efficient, if I'm organised. We use a steamer all the time at home, but so far I've seen few of any design in the shops.

Sure enough, it rained most of the afternoon, and I did some more work on my sermon for Sunday, but then it cleared up, and the sky in the hours before sunset was on times dramatic and spectacular. I went out again and walked to the port, the pavements still glistening wet and strewn with puddles. Few people were out for their evening paseo and the beach was almost deserted. I spotted just one mum with her toddler, walking along the sea shore, and the chirungitos were all closed. Large grey and black clouds still rolled around across the bay, and I spotted a small chink in the clouds near the horizon where there was a near circular patch of rainbow colours. Sadly it didn't photograph well.

Down in the port, at the quay near the lighthouse, where the three ocean going tugs regularly dock, the naval coast patrol vessel stationed here was in port. As I passed by, a petty officer and a rating we standing on deck awaiting the order to begin the customary Retreat flag lowering ceremony that ends the ship's day.

The last time a saw this was on board the minesweeper HMS Monmouth on her visit to Cardiff when, as local Vicar I was United Services Mess Chaplain, and an invited guest. That was much more formal, with a band too, but it's a recognisable navy ritual that transcends nationality.

Docked at the Palmeria de las Sorpresas quay tonight is the MV Corinthian, a hundred berth cruise ship which not only travels the Mediterranean, but also itineraires around the British Isles, Arctic Circle and Great Lakes, and even some river cruises on different occasions.

As I walked back to the apartment through the Old Town, the restaurants and bars were starting to fill up with evening visitors. As it was cool after the rain, however, the atmosphere was subdued. More rain to come tomorrow, alas. Even so, I hope cruise goers will disembark for a look around and not just get taken up to Granada or Ronda for an outing. If it rains down here, it's more than likely to be raining even more inland, and the won't know what they've missed.

  

Unusual birthday

Cloudy skies, wind and rain, and nothing much of note going on since Sunday. Today's my birthday, and still nothing much going on, except for calls and ecards from friends and family. I celebrated the Eucharist this morning. Only Rosella attended, but out in the churchyard a large party of exuberant school children were doing the cemetery history trail and having fun. There have been gusty winds through the day, but calmer this evening. At least there's been blue skies littered with fully cloud and sunshine making it a bit more like proper April day.

After a visit to the bank and to Mercadona for supplies, I cooked a chicken curry lunch for one, and drank most of a bottle of Cariñena Riserva 2014, inexpensive but agreeable, and followed this with a siesta on the couch. It was gone six when I went out for my daily paseo along the quay and around the Old Town. Today I was a man with a mission, charged with finding a supply of suitable tape with which to bind the spines of broken hymn books, an interesting Spanish vocabulary challenge. I was unsuccessful at an art material shop, which didn't carry anything suitable, but found just what I know works, industrial duct tape, in the Chinese supermarket behind Mercado Atarazanas. Amazing what you can find there if you hunt in the right place, with or without the vocabulary..

Also a fresh supply of Communion wafers was needed. There are two shops at either end of Calle Carretera. The first was out of stock, following Easter demand, I guess, but the other delivered all I wanted. I enjoy making myself understood easily in Spanish, even if my comprehension of what is said to me can be a little hit or miss on time. But being old, I can pretend I'm a bit deaf, and repeat the question.

In the evening I chatted with Kath and Anto, also Owain on WhatsApp. Rachel sent me a song she'd written, as she did on my birthday last year. No many Dads can be that lucky!

  

Travel triumph and embarrassment

I arrived at St George's this morning in time to greet some of the regulars and have a quick chat with Rev Doreen about the adult Confirmation group, before taking the car and heading off to Salinas. As ever Sunday morning, traffic cones restricted flow on the Paseo de Reding. As it was unclear what this would mean for my planned exit route, and to avoid the confusion I experienced this time last month, I turned down on to the coast road, and wound my way around the streets in order to take the Avenida de Andalucia route out to the autovia. It's not as direct and takes a little more time and distance to reach the A45 junction turn for Granada this way, but it's straightforward, with less room for surprise deviations.

The weather was overcast, and as I climbed up the valley that brings the rio Guadalmedina down to the sea, started to rain and continued until I reached Salinas. There were ten in the congregation, somewhat less than usual, with several choir members absent. We sang the ordinary of the Mass to good old Merbecke, with the Peruvian Gloria, and used the Taize version of 'Nada te turbe', which touched me greatly, reminding me of inspirational visits there over decades past, both from Britain and from Geneva. Must return there one of these days, it's fifty three years since our first visit. Even so, it makes me feel young in spirit, just thinking about it.

After a drink and a good chat in Manolo's bar afterwards, I drove back to Malaga, and found my way through the back streets past Plaza de la Merced the most direct way to La Magueta and St George's.

Having lingered a little, I was glad that I'd prepared a pot of stew for a late lunch, as I needed to be out of the house and on my way to the airport to meet my old friend Geoff for an hour, before he left for his flight back to East Midlands airport. He was here overnight, and then taking a service in St Andrews Los Boliches before presiding over the chaplaincy AGM. It was good to catch up with him face to face, and see him looking well, despite his challenging role as 'Voluntary Archdeacon', over the past four years, two of these in retirement.

On the way there, my bus card malfunctioned, not for the first time lately, so I had to pay cash. Later I visited the Malaga public transport website to find help in troubleshooting the problem, and had a rather embarrassing surprise. The malfunction was due to the card running out of money. I thought I had more than enough to cover my journeys, but evidently not. When I bought the card to use during my first visit here eighteen months ago the single fare rate for an hour's trip was €1.07. The website told me that it had gone up to €1.30 in January this year, probably increasing from some rate in between last year. 

So in effect, I'd not been putting enough money on the card, and had run it down faster than I realised. What an idiot! Malaga public transport information services are excellent, but there's nothing on the rolling information panels, or on the bus stop printed schedules to indicate the essential far rate, and you have to dig for it on the website. I suppose a rate increase would be all over the local news, and so most regular users would know. In fact, while I was trying to get the card to work and fumbling for my wallet once the bus driver demanded a fare in cash, a kindly fellow traveller aware of my plight pressed €1.30 into my hand to pay. But as I had cash on me, I thanked him and pressed it back into his hand. Ah los Malaguenos!

Travel - expecting the unexpected

Clare's time with me here in Malaga has passed all too quickly. This morning, after packing her case we went for a walk, bought and then some fish for lunch before setting off for the airport. She is ever keen to allow more than enough time in getting started on a journey, so we left the apartment at two for a three thirty bag check-in rendezvous (according to her Vueling flight notification on the digital calendar she doesn't use). Normally three quarters of an hour is enough for a walk to the Metro stop on the Alameda and taking the thrice hourly service to the airport. 

Lately I found that the number three bus from the stop outside the apartment stops not only at the Alameda, but goes on to stop outside the side entrance to Estacion Maria Zambrano, very close to the second Metro stop on the airport line, more convenient, a little less challenging if you're tugging a case behind you and the same fare cost either way. Things didn't go according to plan, however.

The number three bus which arrived on time was packed to the doors. The driver let passengers off but wouldn't let anyone one. Rather than wait ten minutes for the next one, we walked over to the Paseo del Parque where there are several bus stops for service across town, including the number one, which also drops you outside the station. This deposited us at the entrance only five minutes later than planned. 

The Metro entrance has several automatic ticket machines and a wide entrance, so rarely is there a queue. On this occasion, the reason for this was that the ticketing network node has crashed and none of the machines were working! Fortunately, there was a real human being on ticket office duty, and we didn't have to queue. A competent human being is far faster than a fiddly slow automatic machine. We then had nearly fifteen minutes to wait for a train, and eventually arrived at Departures half an hour ahead of the recommended time. The check-in queue was relatively short processing thirty odd travellers in a quarter of an hour through half a dozen counters. Impressively efficient.

After a farewell cuppa, we took our leave of each other. An info panel display warned that a French air traffic controllers' strike might cause delays, but the Vueling phone app said Clare's flight was running to time. Not true. As the actual departure time approached, a delay of seventy five minutes was posted. Being prudent, she'd made a picnic meal to take with her 'just in case'. That's my girl, prepared for every eventuality. At nine, I received a text message so say she'd landed in Cardiff, and she was back at home three quarters of an hour later. 

It's amazing to be able to travel such distances with relative ease, despite glitches or delays which can add a couple of hours to a journey time. Such a complex, yet routine operation for millions every day. We are so spoiled. It's such a shame that some travellers seem to make no allowances for things going awry, and get upset about it on social media or in the press.

At our  age, we look back to early back-pack adventures in Greece, and having to wait an extra day for a ferry between islands, as schedules were rarely published and often elastic, according to the demand on local transport. To think - we were so young, but not in a hurry, just taking things as they came, no sense of entitlement, only of the gift of freedom to be and to travel, more or less in an organised way. In those far off days B.C. (before car), we were much blessed.

     

The art of dialogue

Our last day together before Clare returns home. Yesterday's excursion left us both in need of extra sleep, but eventually we surfaced, did some shopping, cooked and ate a delicious fish lunch, then late afternoon, walked into the Old Town to the Museo Carmen Thyssen, to see a current exhibition, rather than the collection of Old Masters on permanent display there. That's for another time. We had to pass through the Plaza de la Constititucion to get there. It's now been cleared entirely of all the scaffolding and seats that converted it into a VIP tribune for the processions, and it has resumed its normal function, adding breathing space to the centre of the city.

The exhibition we went to see 'Mediterranean, an Arcadia re-invented' assembles a collection of late nineteenth and early twentieth century works from contemporary painters attracted to the beautiful environment of the Spanish and French Mediterranean coast, along with the accompanying lifestyle. It was a period in which some avant garde artists, tiring of the accent on developing new techniques by the impressionist movement explored the coastal landscape and its people.

Some, following the lead of Picasso revisited classic mythological images and sought new ways to evoke them. About a quarter of the exhibition featured a selection of Picasso's exquisite pen and ink drawings on ancient themes. Most of the Spanish artists represented were new to me. There's a lot here I must discover more of! It's marvellous to see a familiar world through a different pair of eyes in a work of art.

As we were about to leave, a youth choir started rehearsing for an evening concert in the courtyard of the former nobleman's house, transformed and extended into an art gallery. This building is next to an unusual round church, whose extensive ancillary buildings have been re-purposed as another cultural centre, for the liberal arts, with space for thought provoking exhibitions and public debates. It's called the Athenaeum, and it's definitely not a gentleman's exclusive London club, rather the antithesis in this context. If you venture beyond the many convivial domains that extend hospitality to all and sundry with their amazing Andalusian and international cuisine, there's another world of conversation and reflection to be discovered, which are part of Malaga's uniqueness as a place to visit and a place to live in.

    

Cordoba re-visited

Yesterday's highlight was a bus trip to Estacion Ferrocarril Maria Zambrano, to obtain a tarjeta dorada 40% OAP discount fare card for Clare and to book tickets for today's outing to Cordoba. We made sure to get to bed early last night to be sure of enough sleep before an early start for a day trip to Cordoba. A number three bus from outside the apartment just after eight took us directly to the station, so we were half an hour early for the high speed stopping train journey of 158km, taking just 65 minutes.

We walked from the station down to the Old Town to visit first the Mezquita/Catedral, which I first visited two years ago. This time, the ticket office and entrance queues were much shorter, although the entrance price has done up from €8 to €10. We spent an hour in there, walking right around the vast interior four times before leaving to hunt for a coffee and slice of Millehoja pastel. 

The day had started quite chilly in Cordoba, but the temperate rose in the afternoon to a pleasant 29C, warmer than Malaga in fact. We wandered around the streets in the vicinity of the Mezquita in search of the Jewish quarter. Sadly, the historic mediaeval synagogue is closed for repairs at the moment, but the Sephardi Jewish house across the narrow street from it, was still open to visitors. But first, where to have lunch in this barrio, with such a choice of cuisine available?

We settled for nearby Casa Mazal, specialising in Sephardi dishes. It's set in a quiet courtyard off the street, and offered an unusual range of kosher recipes, using nuts and dried fruit, couscous, fish, meat or vegetarian. We weren't disappointed, rather delighted with our chance discovery.

The Casa Sepharad is a showcase of Jewish culture and history. Sephardi were the original Spanish Jews  from ancient times with their own hybrid language, like Yiddish among the Ashkenazi Jews. Persecution from early on led to them settling all around the Mediterreanean, but in Spain under Arab rule they flourished and played a key part in intellectual life, especially in the origins of Renaissance thought in Spain.

The museum explains all this with engaging clarity, and also tells the stories of the part played by Muslims in protecting Jews from nazi persecution in the 20th century. I found this place during my previous visit to Cordoba, but had no time to do justice to what it presented. I was very glad to have been able to keep this particular promise to myself.

We walked the streets some more, crossed the first century Roman bridge over the rio Guadalquivir to see the Old Town from a different perspective, then slowly headed back towards the train station for the journey home, as tiredness set in from so much walking. By half past eight we were back at the apartment again, having supper and thinking about early bed-time yet again. So glad to have had the opportunity to share with Clare this remarkable unique city, once the capital of El Andalus, and now a World Heritage Site magnet for global tourism. You can see my photos here.

  

La Cala hospitality

There were six of us for the midweek Eucharist this morning. Afterwards, Clare and I drove by car to La Cala de Mijas to have lunch with Peter and Linda Hammond. It was great to see Linda looking so much better, having had her hip replacement repair operation and made a good recovery. Now she is waiting for a knee replacement operation, having taken a very long time to persuade specialists to assess a need she had before her hip started giving trouble. This didn't hinder her from giving us an excellent lunch out on their sun terrace overlooking a pine forest alive with bird song.

Costa del Sol East, where I spent eight months on locum duty over a two year period four years ago is again without a priest, and the search for another is about to start all over again. This time Linda isn't a church warden, and needs to watch while newcomers to the role get to grips with the complex task of running church affairs without a priest. Having that knee repair done must take precedent for her. I wonder if I'll be called upon to serve as locum pastor this time around? The answer has to be wait and see. Between Montreux and Malaga I'm away from Cardiff already for half of this year.

   

Not a holiday for everyone

Easter Monday isn't a Bank Holiday in Andalucia, although it is is some other parts of Spain, so after the Maundy Thursday and Good Friday public holidays, it was business more or less as usual today. We decided to walk up the Gibralfaro to the Parador for lunch. With time to spare on the way, we visited the fortress and enjoyed its gardens until it was time to go and eat. 

As we climbed, we caught sight of one of the weekend's big cruise ships sailing away. Two more cruise ships are in port, which weren't there over the weekend, so this continues to be a busy period for the city, with several thousand visitors extra each day on top of those who've driven here, making a long weekend of the Easter festival.

There weren't many people in the restaurant, although we were among the first to arrive. Our meal was of typical local dishes, including salt cod and a stew containing several flavours of sausage and a big variety of alubia beans. 

The air was clear and bright, though not warm enough to sit out on the terrace to eat. Nevertheless, we had a superb, almost haze free view of the city and the harbour. After the return walk, we both felt unexpectedly tired rather than invigorated, so took a siesta and whiled away the afternoon. Later on we walked into the Old Town. I was interested to see what progress had been made on removing the spectator seating on the processional routes.

The large mobile seating stands had gone, and work had begun on dismantling  the rest. All of the thousands of wooden chairs had been collected and shipped out, so that Calle Marques de Lario was clear for the crowds of shoppers to roam at will. A start had been made on the tribune in the Plaza de la Constitucion, and given its size and the time it took to erect, it'll take several days to remove. A lot of overtime has been worked this weeked to restore a semblance of normality I reckon.

    

The Feast of Feasts

We were blessed with a warm, sunny Easter morning, and nearly eighty people at St George's. Gilly, one of the chaplaincy's retired priests with PTO joined me in leading the celebration of the Eucharist at which I presided and preached, and she read the Gospel, interceded and administered the chalice. It's one of the rare occasions in locum ministry when I've been able to share ministry with a priestly colleague - most enjoyable. 

A larger than usual choir sang a special Alleluia acclamation before and after the Gospel, plus an anthem later, both of which had been rehearsed in two Saturday afternoon rehearsals, last week and this. I joined in and sang bass, Clare joined the altos. It's very rare for both of us to sing in the same choir at the same time, possibly not since Geneva days twenty years ago.

After the service I met a couple who recently returned to live in Malaga after twenty years in the UK, a Malagueno, born in the Old Town Sagrario Parish, and his English wife. He's a guitar maker who had to go and train as a luthier in Britain, as in Spain the circle of craftsmen is rather closed to newcomers who don't belong to that domestic or social circle. Nice to think British craftsmanship in the realm of musical instrument making is open to welcome new recruits and able to produce world class standards.

After lunch we walked around the port, enjoying the extended craft market busy with Easter visitors from other parts of Spain, and from two cruise ships docked at the terminal nearby. The Artsenal community arts centre was hosting a disco and street dance event for teenagers. Our afternood ended with a promenade paseo and drink in a beach chirungito.

One Easter procession was scheduled for the morning while we were still in church, which was that of a Resurrection cofradia about which not much information was available.  Somehow I'd expected there to be more on the streets, rather than in the churches. But, as this is a holiday weekend, making extensive support arrangements to cover more than one procession on a civil holiday weekend Sunday morning would perhaps be impracticable after such a demanding week. The sudden descent into everyday secular banality after such a week of powerful experiences, made Easter Sunday seem just a little anti-climactic to me.