The sun was bright when I woke up after sunrise. A light breeze pushed the humid air inland making it a little cooler, and I dozed off again, and didn't get up until nine. Ten hours in bed, eight hours twenty in various stages of sleep, according to my Fitbit. I notice that I'm more physically tired as the days go on, although I'm fitter and I think lighter than when I arrived. Walking most days several kilometres uphill is demanding. I need the extra rest. Old age is catching up with me.
Most of the morning and afternoon I spent pottering around the house, preparing and printing a set of instructions on how to use the office computer to print pew sheets, then printing off tomorrow's and my sermon. I made copies of a list of useful phone numbers from a local magazine and put them in strategic places to consult in an emergency. I tidied, emptied bins, then cooked lunch. In Boy Scout hiking and camping days we were instructed to leave a campsite the way we'd like to find it. It's something that I always remember in the final days of locum duty service. I even succeeded in putting a few things into my cabin bag. With stuff spread around the house, it's necessary to start rounding up my possessions sooner rather than last minute.
Finally, I took the rubbish and recycling to the bins on my way to the Line 3 bus. I made a brief round trip into town to buy a pot of special honey to take home for Clare. The bus changes from Line 1 to Line 3 at parada Monica. A small group of young Americans were at the back of the bus, and evidently didn't know they they had to pay another euro to continue on the second route. The driver told them they had to get off, or he wouldn't start the bus, but they didn't understand. I'm not sure if they wanted to stay on or not, but they were puzzled.
I explained the bus arrangements to them, but it still didn't make sense, so they got off anyway. Did they have a destination in mind? Or were they riding around in the way you would on a dedicated tourist bus. The trouble is, the Verano Azul town bus service is not adequately publicised. It's a constant source of bewilderment to visitors. The municipal marketing manager needs waking from his siesta. Confused tourists aren't happy tourists.
The old man with stiff limbs who lives in the decrepit gatekeeper's lodge by the Hotel Marinas de Nerja had great difficulty getting on the return bus with his shopping trolley. He sat facing me at a distance. I nodded to him, and after a moment his eyes lit up as he looked at me. I wondered if he recognised me as the hombre who'd rescued the euro he dropped when he paid his fare on a previous journey. I saluted him through the window as I got of the bus at Ladera del Mar, just in case.
Supper, a chat with Clare, and a short spell in the fresh air going up the hill as the sun was setting, before attempting an early night once again. On the way back I caught sight of the tiny sliver of a new moon about the western horizon. Enchantment at twilight!
I'm looking forward to getting home and relaxing in a familiar place, but I know I'll miss this verdant environment with its different birds and flowers and history still to discover. It's unlikely I'll have reason to return here again in future. Strange to think that Owain and I made a flying visit here on our way back from a trip to Granada when he stayed with me on locum duty in Malaga, That was an unexpected return, just as this spell of locum duty was after nine years. We never know what the future holds for us.
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