A fair night's sleep, waking up at seven thirty. If only I could start getting ready for bed earlier then maybe I could shift my wake up time earlier and make more of the morning when I'm not waking up to an alarm in time for church! Ending the day right seems as difficult as starting the day. Basically I still wake up at the same time as I would at home. Another cloudy day to start with but much less wind, but the sun came out and it was pleasantly warm. After breakfast I finished and printed my sermon for tomorrow and then worked on Ash Wednesday's sermon until it was time to cook a simple convenient lunch. Steamed veggies and a tin of sardines.
I caught the train into Málaga and found great pleasure in walking around familiar places in the Old Town, busier with local people shopping and socialising than with tourists. It was warm enough for outdoor bar and restaurant tables to be full of customers. A quarter of the Plaza de la Constitución was occupied with a stage and audience enclosure and a rock band was preparing to perform. Here and there in the streets I saw people in fancy dress costumes, and remembered that it's Carnavale time, with grand parades for adults and children alike. The city centre buzzed with life. I wasn't tempted to stay and watch into the evening, with a forty minute journey back to Fuengirola and a walk up the hill on arrival. Self preservation is my priority! It was great just to taste the atmosphere of expectation and enjoyment, and take photos of course!
On the way back to the Alameda station, I spotted a bookstore, and went in looking for a book of poetry, half hoping to find a replacement for the book of Pablo Neruda poems I've somehow lost at home. No luck, though I found a book of poems by early 20th century writer Frederico Garcia Lorca, who was murdered for his radical opinions during the Spanish Civil War 1936. Though born in Granada he spent his youthful summers in Málaga and wrote about it. He used to hang out at the Cafe de Chinitas by the Plaza de la Constitución. The cafe has his short poem written about the place inscribed high up on one of its walls.
A train was just pulling out of the station as I arrived on the platform, and was surprised I only had to wait ten minutes for another. There are six trains an hour now and this weekend they're pretty full in both directions. It was seven by the time I got back and had supper. Clare and I then talked for three quarters of an hour, then I continued reading my Spanish novel by Carlos Ruiz Zafón until it was time for bed.
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