Nerja and an old friend re-visited

I got to the Muelle Heredia bus station in good time for the 10.35 ALSA coach to Nerja, but it didn't arrive until 10.50, perhaps because there were enough travellers to fill two coaches. I was on the non-stop one, which reached Nerja in just an hour. Muddled myself into thinking I was meeting Judith at our usual venue on the Balcon de Europa. I walked down there, and when I failed to find her, sent her a message and discovered our rendezvous was on the Balcon de Maro. I was lucky enough to arrive at the bus station again as a bus from Velez Malaga to the Nerja Caves, via Maro was pulling in. I was its only passenger, and only half an hour late.

We spent the best part of four hours sitting in the shade, drinking beer, eating a salad lunch and catching up on a couple f year's worth of news. It seems that no sooner had she stepped down as Church Warden after an eight year stint, last Easter, than her hip joint started giving her trouble. He is awaiting further investigation and a plan of action, which will probably involve a hip replacement operation in the coming year. She's in good spirits, but hating to need a walking stick for the time being. She told me how kind and supportive her Spanish neighbours are, helping her spontaneously whenever she needs a bag carried to her door. They have really accepted her as a fellow village even though she speaks very little Spanish. It's all done with the smile, I think.

Finding a local bus timetable for the return journey to Nerja proved impossible. Nothing on the bus and nothing readily findable on the smartphone web browser, except a bus after the time my coach leaves Nerja. So, decided to walk, afternoon heat and lack of shade notwithstanding. It's only four kilometres to the coach station, and the exercise did me good, after sitting for so long. I just got a little scorched on the legs, but nothing serious. The return journey was an hour and forty minutes, as the coach went via Torrox Playa and Torre del Mar. I was back in the apartment by eight, and ready for supper. 

I didn't go out again later, as I had work to do for Ashley on a RadioNet Newsletter to make public some details of the major frequency changes successfully executed by CBS during the past year. A few weeks ago I found the church laptop version of Office 2010 includes MS Publisher 2010. I downloaded  from CBS Cloud storage the last newsletter edition I prepared ages ago, and found it loaded perfectly well in the newer program. The saved file, won't be backwards compatible with software on my home PC so reluctantly I admit it's time for an upgrade from Publisher 2000.

  

Malaga on foot III

I took the bus to Malaga today, fully intent on taking a ride on the Cercania 2 metro line, to Alora, up the Guadalhorce valley past Cartama.  As I waited at the nearest stop, first a MAPFRE branded maintenance van parked on the zig zag yellow lined exclusion zone for all but buses. No sooner than this went away an armoured cash in transit van occupied the same space, and two security personnel took several bags of money, into the Santander premises twenty metres away. It remained until five minutes after the bus arrived.

The bus had to park at an angle in the remainder of the space, and this was fine for the two dozen passengers getting on, except one. A woman with crutches and a small mobility scooter, of a size that could be taken on the bus if it had not been parked away from the kerb. The driver was patient and understanding. She honked the horn and only after several minutes more did the cash men emerge and depart, so that the bus could reposition itself for the lady to get on. Nobody on board seemed bothered by the delay. Kindness prevails thankfully.

Incidents like this can be an everyday occurrence wherever wheel chairs and mobility scooters are used. Urban bus stops are planned with access for disabled people in mind. It simply isn't fair that gun toting civilians with bags of cash, in armoured vans are not required to think twice before obstructing a stop. There is no reason why everyday secure route planning for deliveries shouldn't take this into account, rather than disrupt other people's travel, and make it difficult for a disabled traveller to be accommodated without causing needless embarrassment. No cash truck should ever be allowed to presume the privileges that all would naturally accord to an emergency services vehicle. But money influences how everyone behaves one way or another.

I went from the last bus stop in town to Maria Zambrano station, checked the Cercania timetable and realised I had forty minutes to wait. I walked over to the Larios shopping centre. It's huge and on three storeys with every posh designer brand imaginable selling their wares. I saw a demonstrator at a stall carefully flying a toy sized drone quadrocopter, making an effort to do so safely at a junction of the thoroughfare. Concentration immobilised her face in a stare. Her movements, such as they were, made her look robotic, drained of natural liveliness. Why are we doing these things to ourselves? I wondered.

The shopping centre is so big that I became disoriented and exited on the opposite side of the building. Then I had lost sight of the railway station, and by the time I had discovered where I was, there was not enough time to catch the train. Ah well, another couple of hours on foot in Malaga finding new places would do instead.

I walked back to the old town's Atarazanas market, busy with stall holders and others chatting animatedly, eating and drinking after the majority had ceased trading for the day. A marvellous buzz of conviviality around the bars and eateries open. I settled for a tuna and tomato empanadilla from a stall I've bought from before. Delicious.

From there, I wove me way through a collection of narrow streets with shops at the base of five storey buildings in a rich mix of decorative styles. I discovered a Parish Church dedicated to St John Baptist dating from the 1487 reconquista of Malaga, but rebuilt after the 17th century earthquake. It has a tall brick tower, and it's such a surprise to round a street corner and see a few hundred yards away down a winding narrow street this tall edifice illuminated by the afternoon sun.

A curious feature of this church is to be seen on the west wall of the church adjacent to the porch. Five differently coloured hemispheres, each about the size of a cannon ball arranged in a cruciform pattern. No single explanation for this has gained currency, but the symbol is found in Aztec and in far Eastern cultures. There's an interesting article about it here.

A few blocks away, I found another large brick built church in a narrow street. A walk around the block revealed this to be part of a large school complex behind the shops and apartments, a religious community foundation no doubt at least once upon a time, but how old it's hard to tell. Neither church was open during siesta. The Cathedral can be visited 10.00 till 20.00 (€5.00) and a nearby church is open for perpetual adoration of the Blessed Sacrament. Others open for morning and evening Masses for the most part. A really good church crawl would rely on being out and about early or late, rather than during the day. Maybe another time.

Another good city walkabout, then back on the bus to Rincon by five, to purchase some frozen fish to see me through the weekend and my last few evening meals before heading back home to Cardiff.

   

Malaga centre on foot - again

There was nothing to impede a visit to Malaga today, so I caught the 160 bus at a stop nearby on the main street for the half hour journey along the coast road. I was impressed by how quickly the bus filled with passengers, also on the return trip, mid afternoon. The round trip cost €2.14, so it's no wonder buses are well used throughout the coastal urban area.

The bus stops opposite the giant ferris wheel by the port, that offers tourists a view of the city from on high. It goes on from there to the bus station, next to estación Maria Zambrano for rail travel, which is very convenient for getting out of town. The ferris wheel stop gives quick access to the Alameda Principal, the old town and the prestigious retail street, Molina Lario. 

Along this street, crowded with Saturday shoppers as well as tourists, there were several living statue performers, imaginatively presented and well kitted out of their role. Some has an element of eye catching gravity defying illusion about them, but the one that caught my eye was a man dressed as a miner, totally black, wielding a pickaxe, standing on what looked like a mound of coal. The contrast with the bright sunlit colours of the shops behind him was vivid. As I passed, a lady said to her companion in a distinctive Welsh Valleys accent, "Coal is for good luck, see."

I had no specific aim in wandering about, other than photographing things old and new that caught my eye. I also wanted to see how well I could remember the town layout and navigate my way around, although it is only ten weeks since I was last here. My curiosity about the city's cofradias is as strong as ever, and whichever way I went, there were new cofradia buildings to take in. I crossed the river and went to El Corte Ingles to look around. There's a stylish gourmet restaurant and expensive delicatessen on the top floor, with great cityscape views from its rooftop terrace. Always worth a visit, if only to look.

At the river end of the Alameda one of the twin bridges across the river - it's a wide dual carriageway beyond, is being demolished. Construction site notices all over the area either side of the river announce the coming of new metro lines, so I can only assume the loss of a bridge has something to do with this. 

Even so, with views from one side of the remaining bridge obscured by heras fencing and opaque reinforced plastic to shield pedestrians from work below, the length of the bridge on the opposite side was richly decorated with baskets of flowers. Such a nice malagueño touch of cheer.

I returned to the old town, by way of the Atarazana covered market, alive with colour, almost every stall open for trade, people standing at the several bars drinking and eating freshly cooked tapas, buzzing with conviviality. I wanted a spinach and cheese empañada, but could see none on display n any of the pastelerias, perhaps a little too late in the day. Never mind, next time. Then I walked over to the Cathedral and around its exterior, and on to Alcazaba. By this time, having walked two and a half hours in the heat, I thought it was time to find the return stop for a 160 bus. There was one waiting to leave from just outside the ferris wheel, and after half an hour's air conditioned ride, I was back in Rincon, eating a late lunch.

Then, after a brief supermarket visit for water and beer, supper and a slow paseo before bed. Now I feel I've properly arrived.

 

Benagalbón

The day I arrived, we missed the promised delivery of a reserve gas bottle by just a few minutes. another delivery attempt was supposed to happen today so I stayed in, to be sure not to miss it, rather than go for a walk. But, nobody came. Time was fully occupied however with a full morning's remote work on CBS affairs. For the moment this can on times be frustrating as my Blackberry refuses to share its internet connection with other devices when roaming, despite us having specifically requested this service. What was achievable two and a half years ago when I was in Fuengirola, is now frustratingly out of reach. But never mind, with patience there are always workarounds.

After lunch and siesta, I walked along the old Velez Road to Benagalbón, then back along the ex-railway track coast path. La Torre de Benagalbón was a settlement that took its name from its maritime watch tower, predating Rincon. The nineteenth century development of Rincon was so great that it overwhelmed La Torre and local government relocated to Rincon. Only a fifth on the population of the municipality now lives in La Torre de Benagalbón, and its coastal resort aspect is less well developed, a change noticeable at the arroyo acting as the boundary between the two. The townscape tells its own story.

On the way back to the apartment, I topped up the bus discount fare card provided, and checked the timetable. There's a coach into Malaga from the bottom of the street every 20 minutes from early till late. Now that I'm properly established here, I'm ready to start exploring Malaga on public transport and on foot.
  

On the move again

Slowly during the morning, as it was humid, I finished packing, cleaning up, taking out the rubbish, re-making the bed, making sure I left church house the way I found it. Then lunch and a final look around conscious that there's not much likelihood of returning here for the foreseeable future. Then I walked to the bus station tugging the case behind me, wearing a rucksack, damp with sweat, no escape from this kind of heat.

The entire bus waiting area, a hundred metres long, shielded by a stylish canopy, was crowded with travellers. I wondered how long I'd have to wait, but the ticket clerk said I's be on the next but to arrive in fifteen minutes. Two buses arrived, both for Malaga, and I headed for the front one, as it had arrived empty, unlike the other one. That turned out to be a good decision. Instead of taking an hour an forty minutes, stopping several times on the way, mind stopped once at Torre del Mar and then again at the estacion de buses in Malaga, to let passengers off. In one hour hive minute.

My reservation email from Booking.com offered directions to reach Hotel Don Paco, and as I followed the snail trail on the little map, it gave jerky updates of my position. The hotel was a lot nearer than I'd imagined. The corner of the building is in direct sight of the railway station main entrance, about 200 metres away, or 300, if you use the crossings safely. Perfect for my morning getaway! I checked in to a twin bedded room with bathroom, air-con and wi-fi, in the quiet back corner of the building's first floor, which has only a window to an internal stairwell, attractively tiled in Andalusian style with tiling icons of Jesus Cautivo and Nuestra Senora de Anguista on one wall. Simple, clean, quiet, inexpensive at €59 for a city centre room. Very pleasing indeed.

I visited a nearby local supermarket to buy a box of cherries, a bottle of water and some cerveza sin alcohol. It's just right in this heat. Bread, cheese and chorizo I brought with me for the journey, although the cheese was awful, the slices congealing together. Not a sensible purchase, unless you make it up into sandwiches first - which I hadn't done. I decided not to go out again after I'd eaten, but to relax quietly and catch up on unfolding events back in Britain. 

I'm not surprised that Boris Johnston decided not to present his candidacy for Prime Minister. Some people, it seems were visibly shocked. They evidently hadn't been listening to his critics, nor noticed the tide of public resentment against him for the quality of the Brexit campaign. I wasn't at all surprised. With Cameron still at the helm, he could have buzzed around the political process like the gadfly he is, making things worse under the guise of being 'helpful', but with the success of his campaign triggering such instability and uncertainty, and everyone looking at Boris, he may indeed have been wondering - What have I done? 

As the days go on, legal experts are starting to say that brexit may be unattainable by legal means because there are so many constitutional ramifications under treaty legislation. The idea of triggering a quick secession from the EU was ill informed, a politician's undertaking with no substance. In a correctly followed process, it could take decades, because of the complexity of international relationships and governance, and thus it might be quite unworkable in practise. In the end the referendum remains advisory, and Parliament is the only legal body that is charged with deciding and planning what to do on the basis of the advice. 

Space travel and organ transplantation are a complex enough procedures, and it's taken decades of research and development to make them routine. There's no precedent for a mutually beneficial divorce between nations.  

And so to bed.

   

Malaga outing, and the man on the bus

I took the coach into Malaga this morning to go and book by train for Friday. I could have booked on the internet, but with euros to spare, it was a good excuse for an outing to the city. The return fare was €8.18. Bus travel in Spain is cheap and pretty punctual. The main bus station is opposite Maria Zambrano station, and the booking hall a short walk a way. I was pleased with myself for being able to buy my ticket entirely in Spanish.

Not far from the station is the barrio Mercado del Carmen, and I found my way there for a visit to the wonderful market bar, which does an impressive range of fresh cooked fish tapas. There were cockles on the counter, alive and moving. That's how fresh they were. I chose a racion of baby merluza to have with a glass of Alhambra beer, and they were cooked while I drank. So fresh, hot and crispy with the lightest of coatings of olive oil and flour. This alone was worth the journey.

I walked around for an hour or so, along the road next to the harbour, as far as the Alameda, then did a brief inspection of El Corte Ingles technology department, always a favourite, then return to the station to take the metro out to the airport, to see if I could change my flight bookings face to face, rather than struggle with finding out how to on-line. Again I was successful doing it all in Spanish. All I have to do now is acquire a new boarding pass on line. I hope it's worked!

I had to queue for ages to change my open ticket to catch the five o'clock coach back to Nerja. At one of the two places at the counter a young woman was arguing loudly and aggressively with the booking clerk. So much so I wondered when the long arm of the law would turn up. The coach on which I was booked was destined for Almeria, another 250km from Malaga, and it had come from Algeceiras, down west beyond Gibraltar.

I sat next to a man of my age destined for Almuñécar. He asked if I was German, and when I said British he laughed and chanted "Shall I stay or shall I go?", saying how crazy he thought the brexit vote had been, dividing the country like that. I could only agree and say that 48% of us didn't vote Leave. Well, if the man on the bus thinks that, what are the politicians and bankers of Europe thinking? I would like Mr Cameron to have been in my set instead of peddling ridiculous optimism in front of a divided House of Commons consuming itself with in-fighting.

Protest, political change and redevelopment in Nerja

After a night of less sleep than I felt I needed, a brisk walk to the Church shop put me right for the time being. There were only five of us for the Eucharist as several regulars are away. After coffee and a chat, I went to the nearby health food shops in search of things Clare had asked me to look for to save her carrying extra weight, then headed back to the house on my ususal route. 

In the avenida de Pescia near the Iranzo supermarket is a large school in its own grounds the C.E.I.P. Narixa (this was its arabic place name in the days of  Al-Andaluz). It's a primary school with an international dimension, with English as a second language.  On my way down around nine the road crossing is controlled by a Guardia Civil officer to ensure the safety of parents and children at rush hour. The cop's whistle is still much used. It's going to be quieter when term ands and routine traffic duties change.

Normally I walk up the sunny side of the street, but today took the shady side, where the school is. The hundred metres or so of its external walls were covered with handwritten messages in Spanish on sheets of paper, some large, some small, some in a child's hand, all protesting about a  budget cut to staffing imposed by the Generalitat of Andalusia. This concerned the loss of a monitor, which I looked up later and found to be a coach or instructor. Later I returned with my camera, re-read the posters, and gathered the protest is concerned with learning support staff to help students with disabilities or learning difficulties.

Some of the posters quoted the Bill of Human Rights on Education and children. I was pleased at how much I could read and understand. Considering the number of contributions to the writing on the wall, it represents a substantial well organised local protest. How civilised! No graffiti, no vandalism, no mess on the pavement.

I looked on-line, but found no local news report on this in English so far. But I did discover there was a change of power in Nerja's town council last weekend. Rosa Arabal of the PSOE has forged a working coalition with all the other minority parties to act as Alcalde (Mayor). The PP Mayor of 20 years standing, José Alberto Armijo was just a couple of votes short of retaining office. So, there are echoes in Nerja of the shift away from centre-right government nationally.

Also in local news I saw publication of the plans to redevelop the Playa de Calahonda, and re-instate footpath access to neighbouring beaches, destroyed by cliff erosion. The Papagayo beach restaurant, which has been looking tatty for ages, and closed for a couple of years, is now to be demolished. A new chirunguito will be built at the base of the cliff, with a terrace and sunbed area in front, enlarging and enhancing the beach. There have been protests about the changes, doubtless relating to the beach becoming a building site for a while, but would work start mid-high season anyway? 

The end result will certainly benefit more sun-seekers in due course, and do good business for the town, which will in future own the beach hospitality business. It's all part of the continued drive to improve the quality of the holiday offer the town makes. In the past couple of weeks the pavement area next to the ALSA bus stop booking office has been cordoned off and some large angled metal pillars installed along its length. These aren't new lamp posts, but supports for a canopy to shelter travellers waiting for  buses that stop there. It's not a full bus station, but from now on, the added street furnishings will proclaim elequently that this is the place to wait. 

Talking of which, I wonder what Cardiff's city centre will get by way of a new bus station in the outcome of the redevelopment of  Central Square?
   

Another Velez visit

This morning I walked into town to take a photo of the old market hall. Then on the spur of the moment, I took the bus to Velez-Malaga, as I'd promised myself that I'd take a look at the old town, going by bus rather than car to avoid navigation and parking hassles. The one way trip cost me €2.20, for an hour's journey along the coast road to Torre del Mar, then up to the Comarcal Hospital along the defunct tram route, and on to Velez bus station, next to the town's wholesale food market, part of which has been converted into a bus waiting room and ticket office. It doesn't yet seem to be functioning however. Four of the six advertising panels by the various bus shelters seemed not to be in use, and there wasn't a single bus timetable posted anywhere, even though there are a dozen buses an hour stopping there to pick up or deposit passengers. Work in progress, I guess.

In the same vicinity is the Plaza de Andalusia, a four hundred metre long avenue flanked with shady trees and benches, with both ends marked by massive baobob trees. You have to walk up the Plaza to enter the main street where the Ajuntamiento is found, and the casco antico stretches uphill behind it. To the left as you climb is the way up through ancient streets to the ramparts of the 11th century moorish citadel I visited last time I was here. Straight ahead and to your right are more old streets that date from the expansion of the town after the reconquista, with several old churches and convents.

Keep going and you come to the base of a hill. On the top, in the middle of a broad flat paved area, is the sanctuary of Nuestra Señora de los Remedios. 

The views in every direction, like those from the Castello are spectacular. The entire hill has been remodelled as a park with gardens and paths, one is wide enough to be a pilgrims' processional way. There's a tall statue of the Sacred Heart image of Jesus, with a fountain at its base that overflows into a channel that runs beside the processional way down the hill into another fountain at the park gate. 

It's such a simple and effective piece of religious symbolism fashioned into the built environment.

The largest church in the old town is dedicated to St John the Baptist, and is on the site of what was originally the main mosque, which was remodelled for Christian worship, and then extended in the nineteenth century to give it a more conventional shape. 

As I approached the church, descending from the hill, I saw three birds of prey circulating around and above the bell tower and calling out to each other. Occasionally they'd be mobbed by swallows or swifts, but they mantained their patrol regardless. Possibly they nest in the belfry, peregrines or hobbies I think, but the photos I took don't show up their true colours, as the contrast against a bright sky is too great.

After walking for several hours I had a very cheap beer and tapas lunch in a bar that wasn't on the tourist trails, then headed for the bus station, getting quite lost before finally ending up where I intended. I had a long wait for the bus. Although they are at half hour frequency morning and evening during the afternoon there is a long gap, so I waited an hour and three quarters in a bus shelter that was fortunately in the shade, exposed to a cooling breeze. It was just as well, because after a good three hours walking in Velez I was feeling fairly tired, and content to wait. 

Walking home from the bus at the other end was a bit of an effort. By this time I was ready for a full meal. I'd prepared two pieces of swordfish to cook for lunch, and ate them with new potatoes and green beans, followed by a Victoria Plum cooked in fruit juice with cinnamon and ginger. Just right, after an energetic outing to a most interesting town.