Stop, look, listen

As I was settling down to sleep last night I heard the whine of a mosquito nearby. Both Clare and I have been bitten, but neither seen or heard evidence of the offender(s). This time the insect was inside the lamp shade on the bedside, unable to find its way out, or maybe too tire or sick to fly up or down and escape. It was easy prey, retribution for all the itching misery we've both endured. I'm unrepentant of taking its life!

I woke up at seven with the sun's early light dimmed by high level cloud turning into haze again and it was humid. A morning to endure patiently, put finishing touches to my end of stay report and Sunday sermon. I go over things time and time again looking for better ways to express what I want to be heard.

At half past one, Adrian called to give me a lift to the Chinese restaurant where John and Judy took me on my first evening here. We were joined by Judith, another church council member for a meal to say thank you for my ministry to them. How kind of them! I had Tai Chicken salad for a starter - small slices of meat on a bed of lettuce made soggy by an overdose of salad dressing which was like mayonnaise thinned out with a little lemon juice. Nothing to suggest South East Asia about it. 

I followed this with something called 'Fuzhi' I think, a mixture of pork, beef, fish and chunks of king prawn with a few bean sprouts and other unrecognisable leaves on a bed of rice. This was served in a savoury brown sauce in an oven hot cast iron pot. Chinese hotpot I guess. It contained more protein than starch, went down comfortably and stayed down. Not a dish I would choose to eat again. Nevertheless, the company was enjoyable and conversation interesting. I was surprised that the house wine was labelled almost entirely in Chinese, apart from one tiny corner which read 'Rioja'. Quite a good one too,

It was four by the time we parted company. I returned to Church House on foot to be sure of getting most of my daily exercise quota, and get my digestion working. Walking alongside the N340 I noticed for the first time the avocado bushes in the orchards either side of the road starting to bear fruit, albeit numerous and still tiny. I'd love to be here long enough to learn how the bushes are managed by the fruit farmers. They had multiple headed flower stems early on when I was here. Where the fruiting is really prodigious, branches must get very heavy. I wonder if some of the fruit fail to develop if packed close together, or if some fruit are harvested early and sold. In the shops they often come in a variety of sizes. Spending time in a place where small scale commercial horticulture is part of everyday life arouses curiosity. There's so much I'd like to know.

The slopes of hills and valleys all along this coast from shore to summit are covered with dry stone wall terraces. Some of the lower ones are given over to cultivating avocado, if not aubergine, carob, citrus or almond. But there are many more higher terraces which are empty, overgrown, abandoned. I wondered if these were the relic of some sort of water catchment scheme to supply the lower levels, or stabilise the ground. 

Then I came across a simpler explanation, in an article about coast path walking trails in this area. Vineyards. Large scale vine cultivation from the 18th century onwards. But no longer it seems, although the terrain is harsh enough to suit many varieties. Was it phylloxera that killed off the industry in the l9th century? Or the economics of transporting the finished product to market? Or not profitable enough to sustain commercially in an impoverished region? I'd love to find out why.

Oh dear, here I go again. Fascination with the environment in places where I sojourn, leading me to look for the relics of past industry. In Mojacar it was minerals transported by rail from the sierras to the sea. Same in Watchet Somerset too. When first in Nerja, discovering relics of the sugar cane industry. Then in Rincon de la Victoria and in Malaga the coastal railway (now a walking path), which transported cane sugar to port. How a landscape and its ecosystems tell you a story, if you stop, look and listen.

When I was eleven years old, one of my birthday presents was an autograph book. My Dad wrote inside the front cover those three words 'Stop, look, listen' - his lifetime advice to me. It took me half a lifetime to realise these words can be found on panels alongside railway tracks, especially at junctions. His job in the coal mine was running the underground transport system, and ensuring its safety. 'Stop, look and listen' was what he made sure everyone did in order to stay alive in a dangerous environment. My life and context are utterly different from his, but his words of advice apply to me equally six decades later.

After a generous lunch I didn't feel much like an evening meal. I settled for a couple of ripe peaches and a handful of black olives with a glass of white wine. Then a walk up the hill and back, and then bed.