Half Term journey

It made a pleasant change both yesterday at St Catherine's and today at St John's to attend midweek Eucharists, celebrated by Fr Mark, and be on the receiving end. It's something of a rarity when I spend so much time filling in gaps due to clergy shortages. Thankfully his new Team Vicar starts in two months time

Next Tuesday I've accepted to do one of two funeral he has booked, both of which follow on in close succession from the Eucharist at St Luke's. That's the kind of pressure he's been under working single handed in the past year. Not good.

After lunch we drove to Kenilworth for the weekend. It's Rhiannon's half term week, so we have arranged to take her out for a National Trust property visit out in rural Warwickshire tomorrow. It'll be an opportunity for us to take photos together with our similar cameras and compare notes. 

Dyffryn Gardens summer outing

As today's another Bank Holiday, and a sunny one too, we decided to visit Dyffryn Gardens. Not surprisingly there were double the number of cars parked outside as on a normal weekend. Even so, the estate seems able to absorb huge numbers of visitors, it rarely feels crowded. If we didn't have to queue long to get lunch, it's because a large number of visitors brought picnics with them. 

In the foyer of the house there was an exhibition of watercolours of British stately homes and gardens by Japanese artist Takumasa Ono who's lived in the UK for 17 years. His style is intriguing, as he brings to the genre a sense of perspective originating in his home culture, which not that of Europe post-Renaissance. HIs paintings resemble images taken using a fish-eye camera lens, with an element of curvature in them rather than receding parallel straight lines. He was just setting up his exhibits when we last visited at the beginning of December last year.

Also on display upstairs were some beautiful Edwardian pictures of the house and gardens by Edith Helen Adie, an eminent watercolourist of the first half of the twentieth century. High quality reproductions were on display, as originals were long ago removed from the house and are now in galleries or collections. Some of her best known paintings of Dyffryn now belong to the Royal Horticultural Society.

As it was dry underfoot much of our time was spent visiting the arboretum, a wonderful place for children to play hide and seek. A large clearing in the woods has now been developed as a children's play area, making use of huge trunks and branches of trees which needed to be felled, trimmed and sculpted into useful playground shapes. It's a marvellous addition to the estate, a hidden asset for parents with lively kids under seven.

On the journey home, we called into B&Q for a couple of plant purchases in addition to one made at Dyffryn House, including a new hanging basket for a bracket just outside the back door. I returned to poster design, on the basis of feedback from Rachel. Now it gets harder, a matter of correcting and eliminating error. I'm quite good at getting the big picture right, but proof reading is for me a nightmare. Luckily, I have eagle eyed Clare and Kath to call upon.

     

Back at the workstation

Yesterday, I celebrated the eight o'clock Eucharist at St Catherine's, and for the rest of the day we didn't do anything special, apart from a walk in the park, as the weather wasn't wonderful for most of the day. It did however start designing a poster to advertise Rachel's gig at The Apothecary on the first weekend of July when she comes over from Arizona to visit us. This involved consultations on information and photo content, back and forth on WhatsApp followed by trial and error. At first I used Libre Office, but had to give up in frustration, as there was a single feature to do with overlay and transparency I couldn't find, either because it doesn't exist or because the instruction manual is not as clear as it needs to be.

I started up my old Windows Vista workstation, which worked without hesitation. As Microsoft no longer supports this operating system, browser use is plagued by security warning bells and whistles, but nevertheless it works. I was surprised by the speed at which MS Word and Publisher started up and continued to operate. Publisher 2000 isn't as sophisticated and complex as successive versions, but I'm familiar with it, and it just works for my limited purposes. Far too many modern software packages impose on users more than they ask for, and make things more complicated than necessary. Likewise hardware. My ten year old Acer, starts and runs faster than any Windows 10 system on modern hardware, because it's not as dependent on constant interaction with internet servers and that unending procession of updates patching a fundamentally flawed system.

Admittedly the system did crash a couple of times initially and needed a hard reset, but I suspect it wouldn't have been necessary if I'd run CCleaner before starting work. Although I haven't entirely forgotten how Publisher works, it did take some concentration and recourse to help files to get what I had failed to find in Libre Office. By the end of the evening, I'd composed trial draft version and emailed it to Rachel in Phoenix for comments. The devil will certainly be in the detail.

   

Photo catchup

Clare heard that the Council's Bute Park plant nursery was having a sale, so we walked over there at the end of the morning and purchased a few more additions to her delightfully colourful flower beds and then had lunch in the small courtyard cafe which is at the public entrance to the interpretation centre and greenhouses. I was glad to have taken along my Sony Alpha 68, as the wealth of colour displayed in the array of bedding plant trays was spectacular. My photos can be seen here.

Later in the afternoon I took the bus to town, to buy a lens filter, with some birthday present money, having discovered that I have three 55mm lenses but only two filters. I also took with me my Lumix LX5, little used these days, except that for the past three years I have kept it in service to record the Central Square building redevelopment, taking advantage of its fairly wide angle lens. Last used back in February, and probably charged in January before that, I was surprised to discover that the battery still had enough power to shoot twenty odd pictures, and still only display as half full. Perhaps this is because it doesn't have GPS, NFC, Bluetooth or Wi-fi built in for sending photos to another device. It's a plain digital compact camera, robust with a touch of sophistication about it. 

The only tower crane now in the Central Square construction sites serves the HMRC building, whose steel structure has grown very rapidly during the three months I've been away. When I left, only the cores of the two lift shafts were nearing completion. The exterior structure of the new buildings on the south side of Wood Street is now finished, but the entire site is still cordoned off, as paving has to be laid and entrances completed. All that remains now if for a start to be made on the bus station, intended to occupy the remaining empty site in front of the station. These photos can be seen here

New projects in sight

Yesterday afternoon, after going through the mail and filing or dumping content, I visited the CBS office and met with Ashley, having researched and put together a complete history of events in the life of CBS and the BCRP, for briefing a consultant about the present situation of the company, a story reaching back over twelve years. We have a huge amount of documentation, perhaps because Ashley and I are rather acquisitive, but our file system is somewhat complex and of late, a little disorderly. 

When asked to produce digital versions to support the briefing, I was able to, but it took longer than anticipated. It's all there, but must be hunted for. Search routines can't easily guess file names poorly recalled, so now there's another task to be done, creating, sooner rather than later, an easy access document database tailored for our purposes. I set up an account and used Evernote satisfactorily before, but first have to find the relevant access details. I suspect it's hiding in plain sight in my record of passcodes, not properly labelled.

This morning, Father Mark asked me to celebrate the Eucharist at St John's. It was good to be reunited with nine of the regulars, and tell them a little about Semana Santa in Malaga. Afterwards, a trip to the bank, then to Stavros' next door for a haircut. That was enough really, a certain tiredness engulfed me once I began to relax on arriving home, and just from the demands of early rising and travel. It's not just a matter of adjusting to the hour's time difference either, I seem to live with a different pace and rhythm when I'm away from here. It can take a week or ten days to re-balance. Or else, I'm starting to feel my age.

I also had time to catch up on the first two episodes of 'The Bridge' series four today, plus the first in a new Inspector Montalbano series. It wasn't possible to view any of these on catch-up while in Spain because of digital rights restrictions. Luckily, these time expired episodes were still available before tomorrow evening's third episode of The Bridge.

  

Travelling home

Having readied the apartment for the arrival of the next locum, and needing to get up at four, never an easy thing for me, I slept uneasily on the sofa in my travelling clothes. At three fifteen, I had one of those 'checking everything, something's missing' dreams, featuring this Chromebook on which I write. Mercifully, I woke up realising that I hadn't packed the charger, still connected to a bank of sockets in the study. I retrieved and packed it, thanking my digital guardian angel, and went back to sleep for another thirty five minutes.

This time around I proposed not to book a cab or hail one, but to walk over the Calle Maestraza just behind the Plaza de Toros, where I'd noticed taxis park and wait by day and night. By twenty five past four I was on my way to the airport, and joined the dozen other early birds in the check-in queue at a quarter to five, and quarter of an hour before it was due to open. One desk was already open to receive bags. 

By ten to five, three desks were open, as the influx built up behind me. There are four early Vueling foreign departures, and the queue in the first hour of opening is very long. But the system is very well organised, as I found last time when I arrived over twenty minutes late at the end of that long queue and found eight desks open. Just before official desk opening time I was on my way to security clearance, through by five past five, and starting to relax into the wait, expecting to fly at seven thirty. 

Thanks to another French air traffic controllers' strike however, we left at five past nine. I'd made a picnic breakfast to eat on the 'plane, but ate it at the departure gate. Even cheese sandwiches can be a consolation with a three and a half hour wait to board the flight. Also Vueling's phone app proved to be a consolation, as it gave flight info updates on the delay every ten minutes, and a nine thirty departure time crept forward by twenty-five minutes. Heaven knows how that was managed!

I slept for most of the flight, but returning from a visit to the toilet, a fellow passenger called me out by name. It was Fr Stephen Ryan, recently retired as Team Rector of Neath, returning home from a month's in Torremolinos, a nice way to recuperate from all those fond farewells. Arriving in Cardiff at half past eleven, I didn't have long to wait for the two buses that would get me home by a quarter past twelve, in good time for lunch.

As ever, the first job was to start the two computers that need to run a backlog of three months Windows 10 updates, so many of them requiring checks and oversights that it took the rest of the day. By way of contrast, the Chromebook, likewise tablet and phones just functioned and instantly updated, save for resetting the time zone manually. There is a possible automatic adjustment, but I'm not sure how long these devices take to identify their new location in relation to the internet time server. 

Manual resetting allows one to keep the clock in a time zone in which you're no located at that moment. I believe there's an option to display more than one time zone too, but don't know how it works. Such things are possible, and for some users necessary for easily maintaining international communications. Google Calendar offers time zone options for engagement entries, but I still haven't figured out how this is meant to work, if you're entering data for use in another time zone. All this tech savvy business about keeping your life on track only works well if you have a real clue about how it works.

The weather here is fairly warm, but will get colder with rain to come. Time to hunt out a pullover. Opening three months mail will have to wait until tomorrow.

Uprooting

More washing, floor cleaning, bed making, and some salsa cooking, to use up veggies I'd bought in excess, plus sandwich making for the journey. A big portion of salsa I consigned to the freezer, and ate the rest for supper. Once I had everything under control I went for a last walk around town, and hunted for some lavender water, requested by my sister. I remembered there being a shop that would most likely sell the stuff, right next door to the Parish Church of St John the Baptist, but at the time I got there, all was still closed for siesta. 

Then it started to rain, and I cursed my luck, having left some washing out on the balcony to dry. I took refuge in 'Dulces Dreams' a small cafe opposite Dos Martires Parish Church, a favourite with Clare and I, which serves excellent Ethiopian coffee. By the time I'd finished, the sun was out and shops were opening up for the evening. I bought the lavender water, and the proprietor packed it for me so it could go in my hold luggage. Triumphant, I headed back to the apartment, and was relieved to find that the washing was dry anyway, so maybe the few spots of rain didn't extend as far as the Plaza de Toros.

By ten, my suitcase was packed securely, a little heavier than when I came, owing to two gifts of cold pressed extra virgin olive oil from the Competa Valley, plus a pack of Mercadona's Colombiano Arabica coffee, which is one of their better offerings. Now, I must get some shuteye on the sofa. Not the best kind of sleep, but I can make up for it tomorrow.

  

Promise of the Spirit fulfilled

There was something very satisfying about celebrating the Eucharist at St George's this morning as Rosella announced the appointment of Canon Paul Wignall as Chaplain. Just perfect for Pentecost Sunday as it enable me to preach on the many ways in which the Spirit works in our lives and in that of the whole church.

There was a happy and relieved atmosphere, during the after-church fellowship. I found myself on the receiving end of appreciative remarks, for having supported the broad conviction of many in the chaplaincy that it was better to look for the priest who'd be happy to be planted and flourish in the appointed dwelling, rather than live with the anxiety of hunting for a costly alternative that fills rather more than the necessary requirements. 

Fr Paul certainly understood this and was willing to take things as he finds them, and work from there. Some thought I'd been successful in persuading him about the job and the apartment, but truth to tell, we talked the same language about mission and ministry, like kindred spirits. He was already sensing a new adventure ahead. To me, this is how the Spirit works, so often. God provides the right place, at the right time, and all else unfolds.

Afterwards, I was taken out for a farewell lunch and final chat, and chose sardinas for the second time in the past fortnight. Again disappointingly they were far too over-salted for my palate which detracted from their delicate taste. To be avoided in future for sure. I'll buy and cook them on my own terms next time. But never mind, the company was good, and the house Rioja was good.

After parting company, I returned to the apartment and started the final clean and tidy jobs, with the first of two loads of bed linen and towels. The effort made me feel quite tired so I only walked down to the port and back. In the cruise terminal, Marella Spirit, a regular visitor had arrived again early morning, also at much the same time, one of the newest cruise ships in the Med., the Seabourn Ovation, launched just nine months ago. I guess it was worth the effort, just for that. Lots more to do tomorrow to be ready to depart before dawn on Tuesday.

  

Arctic Circle visitor

Today, there were no cruise ships in port, although several expected early Sunday morning. There was just the regular ferry to Melilla, and to my great surprise a vessel belonging to the Finnish Navy called 'Uusima A' and described on its Wiki page as a Minelayer. I wonder how much mine laying it gets to perform these days? I guess its role is one of coastal security and defence, as it has Russia as a next door neighbour in the Arctic Circle. 

Judging from festive bunting hung above the deck, it's on a courtesy visit to various Mediterranean ports. Given the number of Finnish residents on the Costa del Sol, as well as visitors, there's good reason to come to Malaga and through a party for people on the consular guest list. A different sort of experience for the crew too to be operating at much higher average temperatures, and proper night times, away from the land of the midnight sun.

Across the main road in the open air auditorium there was more music this afternoon. I watched a group of eight women in flamenco dresses sing several songs in raw unison, accompanied by a flamenco guitarist, who played with great skill and speed. Others in the audience, men and women were wearing traditional Andalusian style costumes, and may have belonged to ensembles that had performed earlier. They were all certainly having a good time.

Along the footpath beside the Avenida del Parque I counted 48 white painted wooden stalls, over a 200m stretch of path. These were occupied by an assortment of voluntary community groups from barrios all over the city. Some were arts and crafts oriented, some humanitarian, social or political, and all these activities were being undertaken and promoted by people of retirement age. This was a part of the Semana del Mayor, along with all the performances on the open air stage, and running from Wednesday to Sunday this week. I noticed the construction work getting the stalls ready about a month ago, and at that stage had no idea what purpose they'd be put to. As this has been an annual event for local people over the past 24 years, locals would know what was going to happen, I guess. Anyway, another impressive feat of social organisation by those who run the city, and make it good for inhabitants and visitors alike to make the most of life.

   

Busy port and an Elders' fiesta

When I went out yesterday afternoon, I was surprised to see a film crew setting up outside the Parish Church of St Gabriel, at the bottom of Calle Cervantes. I've no idea what for, but several equipment vans, cordoned areas and lighting columns suggested this wasn't a new crew at work, as these days they tend to travel light. 

Down in the open space at Muelle Uno, last weekend's art installation had gone, and in its place a basketball area with seating on two sides for a hundred people was being constructed, to host a tournament sponsored by Movistar Telecoms. 

Before the wooden retail huts were installed for the month of April, there was a Google Marketing roadshow there, and another four events have been staged there since then. And so it continues. The city makes good use of its open air spaces for nine months of the year. It must all help to pay the bills. There were two cruise ships in the terminal area, Silver Spirit and Silver Muse, sister ships of the Silversea cruise line, with about 500 passengers each. After just a week away at sea, exclusive super luxury cruise ship Star Breeze was back again, moored at the Palmeria de las Sorpresas quay. 

The Jacaranda trees in Plaza de la Merced and other corners of the city have come into full blossom this past week, bringing a delightful dark blue colour to the townscape. The Calle Alcazabilla is hosting an interesting outdoor photo exhibition this week, promoting historic site tourism in the Aragón region of northern Spain. There's always something new and colourful to catch the eye here.

This morning I drove to the care home where Ruth lives in Macharaviyaya to give her Communion. On the return trip down the Paseo Maritime, I noticed three large cruise ships out at the terminal, which hadn't been there yesterday. Several days can pass when there are no big ships and then comes a rapid turnover of ships within days of each other. Mein Schiff 5 has 2,790 passengers and 1030 crew and was in for just the day. 

Later, I walked up to the Gibralfaro to get photos of the cruise terminal from above, then walked down the road on other side and into the Old Town, before heading for the port. At six I watched Mein Schill 5 leave port, an exercise which would have brought other marine traffic to a halt for a quarter of an hour, at least. At nearly 300m long, manouvering in port must be a tricky job.

I could hear music coming from across the road behind the quay at the open air auditorium on the Paseo del Parque, and went to investigate. There was an event going on there which celebrated the role and cultural activities of  older people in Malaguenian society. A stylishly dressed women's choir lined up for a photo opportunity. The Alcalde de Málaga (the Mayor) was on stage giving a thankyou speech. This is the 24th Semana del Mayor annual event. After the speeches a group of seven women danced a rumba on stage, and were clearly having a lot of fun before an appreciative audience of mostly Malagueños, rather than visitors.

This is not done for the tourists, but, like many other events, it's part of normal of life in an open air culture, for people who don't need to quarantine their community life from the constant presence of large numbers of strangers.

In the evening, I completed my last Sunday sermon, and my end of stay report for the diocese. It's not easy to summarise eleven memorable weeks in one side of A4, but if anyone wanted more detail there's plenty to be found here, and in my photos. Stories I love to tell.

    

Laguna Fuente de PIedra revisited

Two older married couples came to St George's this morning for the midweek Eucharist. The wives were sisters, descendants of William Mark the British Consul whose patient efforts over decades led to the establishment of Malaga's English cemetery. Although a layman, he can also be thought of as the founding father of St George's Chaplaincy, given that his duties as H.M. Consul in this region included reading Morning and Evening Prayer with a sermon from the Book of Homilies on Sunday at the Consular residence, for anyone who cared to attend. It was decades before occasional visits from a priest to celebrate Holy Communion were possible, let alone the appointment of a regular Chaplain. I was delighted to be in a position to tell the couples about Chaplaincy life today, with a new Chaplain's appointment about to be announced, and the Confirmation service last week.

After we parted company, I drove up the A45 autovia for a final meeting with Doreen to discuss the time we spent working together. Our rendezvous was a restaurant called Caserio San Benito, west of Antequera, in a beautiful restored eighteenth century rural manor house set among wheat fields and olive groves. This is a highly rated traditional gastronomic venue, but we only stopped there for a drink before continuing on our journey. On the land next to this is an unusual building which houses the Museo de Usos y Costumbres de San Benito.

Unusual, in that it looks, to all intents and purposes, like a renaissance style church, made redundant, adapted to serve as a museum, but it's not. It was constructed in the 1990s, using parts and materials collected from the ruins of abandoned rural 16th and 17th century manor houses in the Antequera region. It was constructed to house assorted private collections of domestic artefacts, gathered by the owner Antonio Galindo, including cameras and radios It's a pastiche of an ancient building, a folly of sorts. Collection showcases are set into niches in the walls covered by iron grilles, rather than encased in glass. It's a simple but effective design. The central 'nave area is kept free of fixtures so it can be used for events - including weddings, presumably of a civil nature, as it's not a church. It's an interesting and original idea, to say the least.

We drove on from there past fields of growing grain with huge blood red swathes of poppies and blue flowers, which I think were wild flax. It was movingly beautiful to behold. Our next brief stop was at a 17th century manor house turned into a posh restaurant and hotel further along the Roman road whose dueño was a highwayman.

Then we turned south and headed for Fuente de Piedra lake for a couple of hours of bird-watching while we talked, in one of Spain's top habitats for flamingos, with tens, if not hundreds of thousands staying there most of the time, unless rainfall shortage dries out the lake. After a wet winter and spring, there's plenty of water with guaranteed high salinity to ensure that micro-organisms on which flamingos feed flourish in abundance. The last time I was here was on by birthday three years ago, five weeks earlier, when it was much hotter. It's been quite cool for May this year.

I was very pleased with the photos produced by my Sony HX300, and even more pleased that I took my HX50 along as well, as half way through the battery of the former gave out, drained by much zooming back and forth. The latter I had recharged only yesterday, and as the batteries are identical, was able to swap them over, and have optimum benefit from the 50 times zoom of the HX300. The photos can be seen here.

It was good to have a relaxed discussion about our ministries, close to the end of my stay here as a locum pastor, and to share our common interests in ornithology and environmental issues. Doreen is a professional bird-watching tour guide, with eyes far sharper than mine, more attuned to the local landscape. She set up her telescope on a terrace overlooking the lake, while I went exploring several lagunillas at close range.

When I returned, I discovered that she'd been chatting with other visitors to the terrace, and offering them a much closer view of birds along the shore line 2-300 metres away below. She'd spotted among the crowds a pair of lesser flamingos, smaller birds, much brighter pink than the big birds. I looked and got a glimpse of them, but by the time I had my camera out and trained on the area, the flock started moving, and it's hard to tell where they are in the pictures I took.

We went hunting in the nearby village of Laguna de Piedra for a place to get a drank and some tapas but by the time we got around to thinking about food, bars and restaurants had stopped serving all but drinks, so we concluded our business and parted company, both of us with an hour's journey in different directions. It's a huge area the chaplaincy serves, and delightfully varied, with forested mountains and rolling hills patterned with olive groves and fruit orchards, coastal and high plains, given to cereal plantations, if not solar panels. As well as the ancient city of Málaga, there's equally ancient Velez Málaga and Antequera, with Granada also in range. The whole region now occupies a special place in my heart, and a host of spectacular vistas imprinted in my memory. Such a privilege to work here, even temporarily.

A struggle to put community at the heart of regeneration

Owain was up bright and early this morning, getting ready to leave, and by eight fifteen we were at the bus stop outside waiting for the number three to estacion Maria Zambrano. I accompanied him as far as there, and we parted company at the metro entrance gates. I walked back to the apartment and collected a copy of the free '20 minutos' newspaper on the Alameda. 

It's the same simple tabloid format as the equivalent distributed in Switzerland, albeit with different language and local content. Designed for consumers whose average reading age is below the level required for 'quality' news reading, grammar constructions are somewhat simpler. That means I can now read the Spanish version with almost as much ease as the French, although I needed to look up half a dozen recurrent words I didn't recognise, mostly with dramatic or violent connotation, which goes with attention grabbing bad news items.

There were the usual domestic tasks and some shopping to occupy the morning, including clearing the detritus of the pigeon's nest from the air conditioner enclosure on the balcony, a job I've been putting off since this year's offspring flew the net over a month ago. Pigeons are still roosting in the canopy above the balcony, which isn't totally closed, its mechanism needs overhaul, so the sound of billing and cooing continues, as does the occasion deposit of nest twigs and droppings, but that job is a bit beyond me. But at least it looks pretty clean now.

I spent much of the rest of the day writing, including preparing a farewell sermon for next Sunday. The evening's paseo revealed no new cruise ships in port, and the Old Town wasn't as crowded, but Monday tends to be a quiet day anyway, with some establishments having a closed day. Talking of which, a visit to La Casa Invisible over the weekend revealed that the bar and kitchen are currently closed, the Ajuntamiento having withdrawn its license, though it's still open as a meeting place, and you're invited to bring your own food and drink with you for the time being. 

As a counter cultural community arts and action centre it's been fighting for its life, with protest rallies and a publicity campaign for the past few years, as regeneration plans for the barrio propose other things for this site and its buildings. The latest news is that community organisers are trying to raise €150,000 from crowdfunding to pursue their own alternative regeneration plan, which I believe is a compromise aiming to solve the problems of a pretty decrepit building which in many ways isn't fit for purpose, although it carries a vigorous programme of events despite this. 

It reminds me of my early involvement with starting the St Paul's Area Community Association, as it took over redundant school and church buildings on the former St Barnabas Parish Church Bristol site in the early 1980s. It's great to find such collaborative ventures still persist, outside the range of established politics and institutions. Living communities cannot really be themselves and develop in pursuit of their best interests without tensions with the established order whose primary aim is preservation of the status quo. Dialogue between the establishment and its critics is never easy, and usually seems to require some kind of confrontation before constructive listening occurs. Let's hope there's a successful outcome in this case. 

Ascension up-country and an Artsenal concert

On his last visit, Owain accompanied me to the service in Salinas, and we continued afterward to spend the night and following day in Grenada. This time, he was content to have a lie-in and then go for a swim, so I set out for church at ten thirty, spent a while chatting with people arriving for the service at St George's, then set off for Salinas. using the back street route through La Meced to get to El Molinillo to follow the east bank main road along the rio Guadalmedina to reach the A45. Once again, this itinerary led to a set back, as a street linking the barrios was blocked by a cement pouring vehicle with no diversion signs in place. I had no option but to double back and take the longer route out to the autovia via the Avenida Andalucia. How frustrating!

Apart from that, the journey was uneventful, and unlike my other two Salinas trips, there was no rain just bright sunshine all the way. Much of the large parking area opposite the chapel was occupied by a big tent. It's the weekend of the San Isidro Laborador fiesta as well as Ascension Sunday. Inside the chapel entrance was a processional trona with the image of San Isidro from the side altar at the back mounted on it, ready for action, some time later in the day, I guess. A few families were setting up tents or canopies among the olive trees adjacent to the building for their festive picnics.

Today only half a dozen worshippers turned up, a third of the usual congregation. The entire choir and its leader was absent. Instead of the church being open at midday for choir practice, it remained locked until twenty past, which made me wish I'd gone to the toilet at the service station en route, where I stopped for petrol. A couple of visitors from Alicante turned up, and learned they were over an hour late for the Catholic Mass of the day. I was pleased to have an opportunity to speak Spanish with then, but they didn't stay for our service.

It was only after our Eucharist had begun that I realised that the reading which had been prepared and printed were for Ascension Day and not for Ascension Sunday, which I'd prepared for, and this meant I had to improvise around what I'd prepared to preach, not satisfactorily, from my perspective. This caught me off guard unfortunately. Singing everything unaccompanied was something I'm more used to thankfully. Afterwards, all the worshippers made for their cars, and there was no suggestion of retiring to Manolo's bar. I guess it might have been much busier than usual too, on account of the fiesta. It meant I could return immediately to Málaga to re-join Owain for lunch, however, an hour earlier than expected, and this compensated somewhat for the mishaps.

Later, we walked over to Artsenal at Muelle Uno to hear a live performance from a digital music artist from Madrid called 'Looping Greice' (aka Gracia Texidor). She relies on minimal percussion voice and occasional guitar to construct a live digitally recorded backing track against which she sings. It's a remarkable technique, which she's polished to create a sustained consistent performance. Here's an example from YouTube, and there are others! The sound system at Artsenal is very good, although an outdoor venue with people casually coming and going is less than favourable to a solo performer. Yet, she managed to hold an appreciative, if dispersed audience for an hour and a half, with nothing more than a bottle of water for sustenance. I'd like to see her perform in a club venue in her home setting, where the energy she emits would be less dissipated.

We then returned to La Malagueta and finished the day with a drink and tapas at Restaurant Flor across the road from the apartment, and talked over a bottle of once until midnight yet again. Not a good idea when you have an early start, but at least, when he gets back to Bristol Owain will have the rest of the day to recover as he doesn't work on Mondays. We both wish he could have stayed longer, even if neither of us could sustain the weekend's pace of stimulus for much longer.

A Wine and Culture Day

We made a late start yesterday morning, with Owain needing to relax, and feeling the tiredness of a week's work plus Thursday's late evening arrival. It was gone midday when too the number 3 bus to the Alameda and set out to find the Museo de Vino, which we agreed would be less demanding of energy on travel to reach the bodega Hidalgo in Álora. I knew roughly where it was, having found the place on my exploratory wanderings early on in my stay this time, but couldn't quite recall the exact location, so we had to resort to Google Maps for the last two hundred metres.

On our way there, passing through Calle Pozos Dulces, we found open to visit the imposing chapel of the casa cofradia del Hermandad de la Santa Caridad de Nuestro Señor Jesucristo y Nuestra Señora de la Peña, built in 2008. It's in a quiet area slowly undergoing a mixture of restoration and redevelopment of its residential properties. This is the first and only time it's been open when I've passed by. The long title is a product of the adoption of a title belonging to an older but now defunct cofradia of Christ and a newer one of Nuestra Señora de la Peña, established in 1938. What makes this building special is the remarkable ceiling frescos, completed in 2014 by the Malagueño painter Raúl Berzosa Fernández.

And here's the rest of the chapel, dedicated to Our Lady, Queen and Mother.

The cofradia has 1200 members, and it's hard to estimate the investment of energy and finance into creating this traditional yet contemporary place of worship. Looking around the city, however, it's apparent that many of the casas cofradias are kept in good order, and others have also been built or rebuilt in recent decades. The church in Spain generally may have suffered decline as has occurred in many part of Western Europe, but there's still a vital core which not only meets religious need but also social need in local communities.

The small Plaza de los Viñeros we were looking for, is in La Goleta barrio, on the river bank side of via Carretera. The Plaza contains the casa cofradia de los Viñeros, dating back to 1605, the home of the Hermandad Sacramental de Viñeros. Not only is this one of the early Malagueño confraternities, but it was one founded by the producers of Malaga's world renowned and widely used communion wine. The museum opposite is housed in a building whose purpose was the regulation of standards for wine production. Whether this is still the case today I don't know.

We had just enough time to complete the tour before it closed for lunch at two, consisting of an exhibition of wine label art, and well designed information panels describing all aspects of wine production and the unique history and role of the diverse terrains in producing the array of sweet white through to dry red wines of Málaga Province, from the sierras to the coastal plain.

At the end of the tour there's the inevitable tourist shop, with a huge collection of the region's wines. Included in the ticket price are a couple of 'try before you buy' taster glasses. We came away with a red from the Sierras de Malága DOC region, around Ronda made of the Shyra grape (aka elsewhere Shiraz, Sirah). On our walk back to the apartment, we stopped at a bar in the Mercado Atarazanas for a beer and tapa of freshly cooked Boquerones a la Victoriana,  anchovies fried with a covering of

flour, like whitebait back home, but twice the size. I remember being introduced to this tasty snack when staying in Rincon de la Victoria eighteen months ago. It's the Victorianos local way of cooking what's caught there off-shore.

When we got back to the apartment, I had a siesta while Owain went for a swim. Then, early in the evening we walked to Chirunguito Tropicana at the edge of La Malagueta beach for a fish supper. This time we shared two espetos of fish barbecueued over a wood fire, Sardinas, and Jurelas, a name which translates into English as Horse Mackerel. They are slightly fatter and larger than sardinas, and look nothing like a baby mackerel, and taste much the same to me, smoky and over salted. I've had better, but Owain was happy enough, as this was an experience from last time that he wanted to repeat.

After dark, we headed out again into the Old Town, having been alerted to an event called La Noche Blanca 2018, when all the city's museums and art galleries remain open until the small hours, and an assortment of events happen on the street as well. There was a white painted, rather tinny sounding baby grand piano in the Plaza del Obispo in front of the Cathedral, being played by succession of people, but not exactly in concert performance. How players were selected wasn't evident, and most of what we heard over ten minutes was musical pastiche, but at least it was open air night music for an audience of passers-by, at a time when the city was particularly busy with hunters after free culture. 

We were both tired, too tired really to be out at midnight. Owain had hoped to hear more  free music performed, but we didn't track any down. Some venues had queues outside waiting to get in, with people clutching free tickets acquired from goodness knows where, perhaps the tourist office or its website. We walked the streets for a while and enjoyed the night life, and as we headed back, we discovered there was no queue outside the Museo Revello de Toro, and we were able to talk straight in. It was busy in comparison to the day I last visited, but I was glad of the opportunity to introduce Owain to the work of another remarkable Malagueño artist who is not Picasso.

Another late night to bed, but thankfully a late Sunday start with a trip to Salinas for the Eucharist at midday.

   

A day of food and art

Needless to say, we rose and breakfasted late, after getting to bed at two thirty in the morning on Ascension night. Owain went for his first swim of the day, while I said Morning Prayer, and tidied up after breakfast. Then, we walked along the Paseo Maritime into the port to get to the Old Town, and made our way to Mercado Atarazanas where Owain was keen to stock up on olives stuffed with garlic, pickled sweet garlic and early season cherries, nibbles he loves.

Laden with bags of our special purchases, we crossed the road to 'La Martina Gastrotienda', a place whose website I found while looking for a local supplier of a red wine called 'Vega del Geva' from Álora, a town at the head of the Guadalhorce Valley to the west of Malaga. We discussed going to the bodega is there, not far from the terminus of the C2 metro. Reviewers have given this Sierras de Malaga DOC product the status of a Spanish 'Superwine', presumably ticking all the boxes on a sommelier's checklist, so it's something we were both determined to find and try.

Step one, identify the wine label on the Gastrotienda shelf, and check the price (€14). Step two, take a look in an assortment of small delis across town to see if they stock it. Step three, compare prices. There were two shops at the top end of Calle Granada which had it in the window at about €10, and at Crespillo Innova deli in nearby Calle Cervantes €11 where eventually for convenience we bought a bottle. Apparently it's €9 in the Álora Mercadona.

Even so, La Martina Gastrotienda is an Aladdin's cave of cold meats, pates and local cheeses, and it offers each weekday a different gourmet sample and a beer for €5, so we stopped here and ate cold roast pork, thinly sliced, to sustain us before heading for the Museo Carmen Thyssen, to see both the permanent collection and temporary 'Mediterraneo' exhibitions, which Clare and I saw last month.

The permanent collection is two floors of mainly Spanish 17-19th century paintings in different styles, plus a small collection of sacred art from 14-18th century, and a temporary exhibition of the engravings of Gustav Doré. Just as Doré's Spanish engravings are documentary in character, so the paintings exhibited give an accurate and vivid account of Andalusian life and culture in that era. It took us a couple of hours to see everything, and we were grateful for a coffee in the café afterwards, before heading back to the apartment for Owain to take his second swim of the day, followed by a bowl of the cazuelo I'd prepared earlier. 

Hearing the sound of fiesta music somewhere in the barrio, we ventured out again at half past ten and found that the local casa cofradia del Descendimiento was open for a social event in the same way that the casa cofradia de los Estudiantes was partying last weekend. The crowd of revellers was not as big, but the same mix of ages, with a bar set up in the place where the trona Clare and I saw carried on Good Friday is stored.

We then walked down to the port, bought an ice cream, and went to Muello Uno. There was nothing happening there, as Artsenal was closed. Not surprisingly, as it's still quite cool at night which tends to drive people indoors earlier, and then most of the beach restaurants close.

The space on the quay occupied with retail stalls in wooden huts for six weeks from Easter was cleared the week before last, to make room for a succession of one off events. Tonight it hosts a quite mysterious installation, consisting of a long scaffolding framework holding a rainbow array of veils, forming a long pleasingly colourful corridor, either to walk through or look at. It's unclear.

A work in progress tonight, for sure, and it's associated with the media hashtag #ladamadeaciero - the Lady of Steel (not quite the Iron Lady), but quite why this is so, it's impossible to say. Maybe tomorrow we'll find out.

Ascension Day Good News and a late arrival

It was a beautifully warm and sunny day to celebrate our Lord's Ascension, yesterday, with no commitments until the evening, apart from getting things ready for Owain's late night arrival. My Tuesday visitors sent a message to ask if they could come by this afternoon and make some measurements, a sign that meetings yesterday and today led to an appointment being made at last.

It'll be made public here and back in their home parish on Pentecost Sunday, that's my last day of duty here. I am so happy for the Chaplaincy, and delighted about the choice of a priest who has plenty of the right kind of experience for this place, plus the willingness to pursue a fresh adventure in ministry when many would be happy just to retire and settle into domestic obscurity.

Out of the 120+ weeks of interregnum, I'll have spent 23 weeks here on locum duty here. It's been a wonderful experience, getting to know the three church congregations, and work with Doreen as her ordained ministry has continued to develop, regardless of being deprived of supervision in ministry since she was ordained. Her previous experience as a religious, church missioner and social worker certainly sustained her, and we've had some good conversations about ministry, in hours spent on the phone and fairly occasional meetings in her busy schedule. A bit like being back at St Mike's for me. But, as my time draws to a close, I realise how much I've come to love the life of this city, its people and their cultures. I'm going to miss this place.

By the time I got to St George's at six, Doreen had everything organised and prepared for the evening's Confirmation Eucharist, with seating for half a dozen robed clergy to cater for, and last minute preparation with the three adults and four children to complete along with Gilly. There was a good turnout from the Velez congregation, supporting their one adult candidate. The rest were of Nigerian origin, two mothers, and four children. One of the mothers has a young baby, looked after by others at the back of church during the service. A couple of times she slipped out of her seat and took care of the child's need, then returned. It was all so natural and easy going.

At six thirty, Bishop David arrived, and I was able to meet him briefly, for the first time in the eight years since I've been doing locum work in the diocese  Then I joined the choir to rehearse the anthem for the service, before joining the Bishop, clergy and choir for the entrance procession. That was all I had to do. It was pleasantly relaxing, as Doreen's preparation bore fruit and everything went as well as it could do. It's the first Confirmation service here in nine years, and one which everyone present is bound to remember well.

Bishop David surprised us all, in the way he administered the Confirmation rite, speaking personally to each candidate about the meaning of the personal name which he would use when he laid hands on each of them. Nearly all of them were biblical, but he spoke of 'name' as a gift which carried with it characteristics that could be applied in the life of faith. I'd never heard of any Bishop doing this before. Not only surprising but personally encouraging, and inspiring to everyone present.

Afterwards, I stayed around to socialise only for a while, as I had to rendezvous at the airport with Owain. I used bus and metro to arrive there but before eleven. His flight was fifteen minutes early, and we were re-united at half past. Delayed by a long passport queue, we missed the 23.24 train and had half an hour to wait for the next. We picked up a bus from near the station within minutes. It was one of the circular night buses, but not the one I thought it was. Instead of getting off at the Paseo del Parque, expecting it to go down Paseo de Reding we stayed on, and it took us down the tunnel to  a stop on Calle Victoria. This meant we had to walk back through the tunnel, so it was nearly half past midnight when we arrived at the apartment. And then, we ate, drank and talked ....

Flowery crosses and talk of piracy

It's all very hush-hush, but yesterday I was visited by a prospective candidate for the Chaplain's job here coming to look at the apartment as a preliminary to discussing the job with the church officers.
We did something I'd never done before, and visited the flat rooftop which contains clotheslines and afford an almost complete view of the bull-ring interior. Just the place to get a free view of any big summer spectacular concerts held in the arena. After an hour and a half of Q and A, we went for lunch at La Farola restaurant across the road. Then we walked around the Old Town, my first attempt at a comprehensive walking guided tour. We packed a lot in.

When we looked into the renowned Bodega El Pimpi, I noticed that a Cruz de las Flores had been erected on a wall of the internal courtyard. The bodega at the end of Paseo Reding has one also at the moment. This is a local custom every May, which I first came across in Nerja two years ago. Barrios, some public buildings and shops display a large cross decorated with flowers throughout the month which usually contains Ascension and Pentecost. Apparently there are competitions in some places to celebrate the most imaginative and artistic effort.

It was so good to have someone other than Clare or Owain, who have both stayed here, to share the pleasures of the place with. In Owain arrives on a late flight on the evening of Ascension Day for another 'chill-out weekend' as he calls it.  Sun, sand and sleep, punctuated by good food and drink in his case. A pleasure for me.

Nobody came for the midweek Eucharist again this morning. As I sat there praying the Ministry of the Word, yet another class of teenaged school kids were on the Cemetery discovery trail outside, and the exuberant bubble of their voices percolated the peace of the sanctuary, together with the sound of resident blackbirds. Talking of which, I woke up very early yesterday, and heard the song of a blackbird coming into the apartment from afar. The sound wasn't coming from the alley outside, but probably from the rooftop above. The building's apartments enclose a central well to introduce a circulation of air and light to the interior. On this occasion, the sweet sound of daybreak was audible unexpectedly too.

There was just one newly arrived cruise ship in port to see on my evening paseo and it was moored at the Palmeria de las Sorpresas quay. It's a ship I recall seeing and photographing when I was here last July. The Bahamas registered 'Star Breeze' built in 1989, is another of those luxury super cruise ships, like the 'Seabourn Odessy' which I watched leaving port on Monday, although this one was two thirds the length at 130 metres, and with only 250 passengers instead of 450. Interestingly enough it was owned by the Seabourn Cruise company until three years ago when it was sold to Windstar Cruises.

I discovered that under its previous name 'Seabourn Spirit', it repelled an attack by armed pirates off the coast of Somalia in 2005, sustaining minor damage. Imagine coming home from an expensive romantic cruise with such a tale to dine out on! Nobody would believe you, if it hadn't been seen on the TV news earlier on. All part of the bizarre age we now live in, I suppose.

Ships taking leave and the tale of the rio Segura

Another quiet Monday of routine tasks. With lots of time on my hands, getting going on preparing my next Sunday sermon seems to have become part of this. I haven't needed to contribute anything to preparing the Ascension Day Confirmation service this week, as others have taken charge of it. I can just be there, relax and enjoy the experience, a pleasant change.

My afternoon paseo revealed a 200 metre long super luxury cruise ship moored alongside Palmeria de las Sorpresas, the Bahamas registered Seabourn Odessy launched in 2009. It takes 450 passengers and 350 crew. with the largest spa on board of any cruise ship in the world. The high ratio of crew to passengers seems indicative of its elite status, whether it's a big ship or a relatively small one.

Next to it on the quay, and somewhat overshadowed by it, at 73 metres, was a Guardia Civil coastal patrol vessel, the Rio Segura, named after a river, which rises in the sierras in Jaen Province, flows across Murcia Province and reaches the sea in Alicante Province. At the turn of the century, the rio Segura was one of the most polluted in Spain. Public outcry about this evoked a response from the government of Murcia, which led to better water management and cleaned up the river, to the extent that the biosphere along its length now flourishes healthily once more. Regenerated, just like the river Taff back home, over the past twenty years.

Learning about this later took me back to my first visit to Murcia province last autumn and being shown the Sierra Espuña Parque Regional, reforested and transformed during a lifetime of labour by a 19th century by Ricardo Cordoniu 'El Apostol del Arbol'.

Anyway, I noticed the ship's passenger bridge to the cruise terminal centre weren't attached, as if it was making ready to depart, so I hung around for twenty minutes to watch.  At six, the ship's siren hooted three times, and vehicles belonging to port security officials and workers appeared on the quay, and one by one the half a dozen or so cables attaching ship to land were quietly loosened and hauled in by noiseless machines on board. The series of propellers embedded in the port side of the ship's full powered up and churned the water briefly, as the vessel moved away sideways, until it had sufficient clearance for the bows to take the lead. In fifteen minutes she was on her way out of port to Barcelona.

A man my age standing next to me asked if I spoke French, I don't know why, except that seemed to want to share his pleasure at this brief moment. We chatted for a while and he told me he was Swiss, from the Canton of Vaud, but his real passion was sailing ships. He said that the ships's docking, he'd seen earlier in the day, was assisted by a tug, perhaps for safety sake, perhaps to ensure avoiding a collisions with the smaller, lower profile Sio Segura moored further up the quay. i can't remember when I last saw so big a ship cast off and leave part. I thought of standing, watching with my father, on the quay in Cardiff Docks back in the fifties, and thought how much he'd enjoy seeing this.
    

Car crisis Sunday and a church discovery

Uh-oh! The car didn't start. As I thought, the battery is beyond rescue, its ability to retain charge is  terminally reduced. Whether this is a matter of age, or a deficiency in alternator charging, needs to be determined. In case, this happened I'd arranged to call Ged at nine to confirm I was on my way, or call for help. The most effective solution was to take a taxi to their place, and collect a spare car of theirs to drive to Velez Malaga. I walked back to Calle Maestraza, by the bullring, where there's taxi rank, and took a ride to their place, in the hills nearby above the autovia.

It's the first time I'd driven a Honda Accord, and would be happy to do so again, as it didn't give me a second's anxiety. I just fitted into it and didn't didn't need to worry its controls. In the event I got to the church in Velez Malaga at the time I would have wanted to be there, half an hour beforehand. It was something of the surprise to those who'd been warned that there was a risk of my being last due to the latest car crisis.

By the time I returned to St George's, Doreen and Gilly had met with Confirmation candidates and briefed them about the Ascension Day service. Then they briefed me about the service, in which I have little to do, for a change. That's a lovely situation to find myself in, at the end of an unusual morning, to say the least.

Just as I was finishing lunch, Doreen called to say that her car had broken down on the autovia on her way home. She was waiting for the grua to turn up at the time. What an odd turn of affairs that both clergy cars on which normal services rely should break down on the same day.

Late in the afternoon, I took my Sony HX300 camera with me on my paseo and re-traced the route to the barrio El Molinillo and St Philip Neri Parish Church, hoping to get the photo I wanted of the west facade with a slightly wider angle lens. Even so, I couldn't capture the complete facade, just a bit more of it. Ah well, never mind. The Museo George Rando wasn't open, so I wasn't able to make another visit, so I turned back on Calle Ollerias, to make my way back to the port, to check out the cruise ship arrivals of the  day. Here I made quite an unexpected discovery.

There was a notice board beside an open archway on the street, announcing the 'Iglesia Evangélica Española del Redentor'. There was a simple courtyard at the heart of a three storey building at the end of the short passage from the street. Attached to this, a largish salon, presumably a chapel, which was closed, then corridor leading out into another brightly decorated courtyard flanked on two sides by small apartments. After a few minutes of pondering, the custos, a tall burly man, came to check me out, and we conversed for a while in Spanish. 

I learned that the church houses 70 odd refugees and asylum seekers, mainly from Central America and Africa. It's impressive for a minority church, founded in 1869. The 'Iglesia Evangélica Española' (IEE) denomination of which it's part, belongs to the World Alliance of Reformed Churches and the World Council of Churches, and comes out of part of Calvinist, rather than Lutheran reformation history. 

Spain didn't experience the upheavals of the sixteenth century reformation which produced a huge culture shift and political divisions in northern Europe, but protestant missionaries came to Spain in the late 18th, early 19th century. Lutheran and Reformed and other evangelical churches developed as a result. Later on the scene, when the Irish CofE was disestablished in 1880, it started missionary work in the the Iberian Peninsula, and established indigenous branches of the Communion in both Spain (IERE) and Portugal. These initiatives were never without their problems and persecutions for the established church, but thankfully today peace, harmony and partnership in witness prevails.

Heavens above, I just realised that this is the two thousandth blog post I've made in the eight years I have been writing 'Edge of the Centre'. Well more actually, come to think of it, I forked the blog under the title 'Spanish Sojourn' (88 posts) for my first Costa Azahar locum in 2012, then again under the title 'Sicilian December' (46) in 2013. Both were special first time experiences, but now, I rather wish I'd kept them all under one blog title

Cofradia fiesta

I was surprised to hear from my sister June this morning that a large sized  envelope of art post cards from the Museo de Revello de Toro, sent on Wednesday, had arrived already. As it happens, there's a smaller envelope of cards from yesterday's visit the Museo Jorge Rando, so I'll send it to her today. The barrio post office is only a couple of hundred metres across the road from the apartment. This is such a convenient place to live. It'll be interesting to see if the second letter takes that much longer over a weekend.

This afternoon, there was a choir rehearsal for an anthem to be sung at the Ascension Day service, at which Bishop David will confirm eight new members. Before and after, there were other jobs to be done, preparing for a 'Book and Marmalade Sale' with outside tables after church tomorrow. An essential income generator for ex-pat congregations, which I recall from Geneva days, is a regular second hand book bookstall, plus home made marmalade, cooked with bitter Seville oranges to UK recipe standards.

It may sound daft, but even the best, most expensive shop bought comestible doesn't come anywhere near the British home cooked product, beloved of ex-pats. In Spain, the value added element in Spain is the range of marmalades (not to mention chutneys and pickles) cooked from whatever citrous fruit, or blend is available to the cook, from their own finca or that of a neighbour or friend, who often cannot be bothered to benefit from this natural abundance. I'm working my way through my third jar of home made marmalade since my arrival.

To prepare for the set up of Book and Marmalade stalls outside the church, I needed to move the car. Eight days since I last used it, and a fortnight after the last battery crisis, once more it wouldn't start. Fortunately Rosella had a set of jump leads in her car. With some difficulty, considering how long it is since I last had to do this, (nobody else present had ever done more than call out the grua on their home start car insurance), we got the car to start, and I left it running, hopefully recharging, while we rehearsed, and on into the evening. Fall-back arrangements were made for me to get to Velez Malaga for the service there, just in case it fails tomorrow. This way I can sleep without anxiety about deadlines.

The port had no visiting cruise ships, when I made my evening paseo. The sun was setting when I went up the seventy odd steps and through the tunnel to the Old Town, wondering which streets to wander through. It's my exercise route, good for strengthening the knees, more interesting than any gym apparatus, as it has views, flowers, people being normal, not straining themselves for health. I love the views from above of town and port.

As I descended the slope to Calle Victoria the other side of the pedestrian tunnel, I heard open air party noises emanating from Calle Alcazabilla again. Different music. More lightweight Spanish pop disco stuff. In the vicinity of the casa cofradia de Estudiantes, opposite the entrance to the Alcazaba, there was a large crowd, of all ages, not just students.

It was a different set up from the previous couple of fiesta days in Calle Alcazabilla. Hundreds of people crammed together, talking, dancing, threading their ways through the crowd carrying drinks to a place at one of the round tables laid out on the patio before the opened doors of the casa cofradia. The tronas used for the procession of Christ's burial and of Our Lady of Sorrows were revealed, and the party flowed around them. Sacred and secular aren't quarantined here. It's quite natural. Something I love.

The atmosphere was relaxed and convivial. Passing through the crowd took time and patience, as so many were evidently comfortable and safe about being crammed into a limited space with close, but always respectful, physical contact. I had this experience first in Semana Santa spectator crowds. It's in stark contrast to being in any crowd back home, where I always feel nervous. It's part of what makes Spain special to me. No shortage of individuality, but also no shortage of togetherness.

In two more weeks, my face will be set for home, and an entirely different set of familiar urban and domestic experiences. How, I wonder, will I have changed when I encounter them?

A walk to El Molinillo

This afternoon, I walked to the barrio of El Molinillo, a part of the Old Town I visited once before, but reached it from a different direction. This time I went up Calle Ollerias, found the Parish Church of Santa Cruz & St Philip Neri, wrapped around by some narrow streets. I stopped to take a photo of the west facade, and had a sense of deja-vu. No matter where I stood in the little plaza in front of the church, I was too close to capture the whole. Then I remember having had the same problem when I was here last summer. When I checked my photo archive, the reason was obvious. I'd used the same camera! If I'd taken my Sony HX300 with me I'd have got a different result, as this has a wider angle lens. So, I'll have to try again another day.

A few hundred metres away from the church is the Convento de la Merced, dating from the late 19th century. The Hermanas Mercedarias de la Caridad, an institute for the religious life was founded in Malaga in 1878, its ministry is 'works of mercy'. The exterior of the church has acquired a striking coat of dark red paint. It wasn't open to visit but seems to be still in use. The ancilliary buildings of the convent have been taken over by the Ajuntamiento and converted into an art gallery with its own built in workshop cum studio for painters. It's dedicated to the eminient Malaguenian expressionista Jorge Rando, born in 1941 and still at work. He recently partnered with a German artist to mount a special art-work to commemorate the 500th anniversary of the Lutheran Reformation, in Hamburg.

Expressionist artists are few and far between in Spain. Expressionism is a movement of modern art, which explores through form and colour the inner experience of big picture concepts, like suffering, conflict, hope, solidarity, nature, cosmos, to name but a few. Imagery used is suggestive, and mostly abstract, making use of colour to convey feeling. His work was very well presented in various rooms and around a cloister area, with quotations from the artist and commentators relating to the works. It was most intriguing. I'd like to return and spend a longer, more reflective time there.

Walking on a few hundred metres further, I came to the Mercado de Salamanca. It's a food market hemmed in by drab apartment blocks and a through road. It looks like it could do with a coat of paint or at least a good wash. Nevertheless, it is an extraordinary edifice, a single space hall, built in the Moorish Mudejar style, in red, green and white, decorated with patterned friezes of tiles. It is situated quite near the banks of the rio Guadalmedina, and La Rosaleda, Malaga's football stadium. It was about a kilometre's walk from there back to the Alameda, and the way back to La Malagueta via the port.

Just where two grand classical columns announce the main entrance to the port's administrative hub and passenger entrance to the various ferry terminals, I found the third of Elena Laverón's sculptures loaned to the city, following last year's exhibition in the Palmeria de las Sorpresas. Unlike the others which are bronzes, this one is cast or moulded from particles of crushed stone, by what process, I do not know. I'm not sure it's concrete of some kind, unless it's been highly polished to give it a smooth surface. This was how I knew it was one of hers, as I remembered its texture, plus the fact that it was one of very few sculptures which were not in bronze. My photo album of last summer confirmed it.

The writing on the wall

Another Wednesday morning, again nobody turned up at St George's to share in the Eucharist with me so I prayed the Ministry of the Word on my own. As I was about to leave, I met a couple of men on the steps outside, a father and son. Their accent told me they were South Walians like me, from Porthcawl. I soon learned. They were visiting from Benalmadena, where Dad lives, and had come to St George's to place flowers in the columbarium niche in the church nave south wall, where the old man's wife's cremated remains were laid to rest. Soon, he's moving back to Porthcawl for the rest of his days, after decades spent here. It's become too lonely for him. Glad I was there to wish him well on his return home. 

On my afternoon paseo, I returned to Calle Alcazabilla to get a photo of the tower like Ben Gabirol interpretation centre, which I'd omitted to take on Monday. On the wall of the patio opposite, in the lattl area still know by its mediaeval name La Juderia, a commemorative plaque had recently been fixed.

There's more of a story to tell than a summary that speaks of her as a holocaust survivor and witness against anti-semitism. Born in Romanian Transylvania, deported to this extermination camp at 14, she lost most of her family, but survived. After the war she lived in Canada and Venezuela, before moving to Spain in 1965. In 1985 she took legal action for defamation against an ex Waffen SS officer, who was published holocaust denier. She eventually won, the matter ending up in Spain's Constitutional Court.

The ensuing judgement in 1991 set a precedent for the reform of Spain's Penal Code on matters of anti-semitism and holocaust denial. It was an admirable achievement with far reaching impact in these troubling times when we're witnessing a global resurgence of anti-semitism. The truth will out, sooner or later, but needs steadfast support to prevent it being suppressed or forgotten. 'If the echo of their voices fades away, we will perish', as it says in the writing on the wall. 

I found that luxury superyacht Sea Dream was back in port, picking up its select small complement of passengers again, and nearby was berthed Madeira registered 'Ocean Majesty', which is a larger high end of market cruise ship, with up to 620 passengers and 250 crew. In the cruise terminal was berthed another of the modern hybrid sale/diesel electric cruise ships, like the Club Med series but with one less mast, Bahamas registered 'Wind Star', which gave its name to an exclusive cruise line. This caterer for just 148 passengers. Curious that there should be a collection of different sized high end luxury cruise ships in port at the same time. Is there a reason, or is it a coincidence, I wonder?