Ministry in Roquetas del Mar

This morning, Alwyn and I drove south on the A7 autovia a hundred miles to the seaside resort of Roquetas del Mar, the far side of Almeria, to celebrate the Eucharist for the small group that has met there for many years. The service wasn't in a church, but in Burti's Bar, a place frequented by expats, run by an Englishwoman. When the chaplaincy was well established, there were many more worshippers here, all retired people. Over the years people have died, or returned to the UK, and have not been replaced by other British expats. The focus on desirable places to settle has shifted elsewhere since then.

Roquetas, like Almeria sprawls across the coastal plain beneath the mountains, a very built up area. Seaside land is dominated by some stylish colourful high rise hotels and apartment blocks. Further inland are zones of commercial and industrial buildings. What strikes the eye however, is the vast acreage of poly-tunnel greenhouses, filling in every patch of open space remaining. Fields of white plastic sheets begin to appear, filling plains and valley floors a good 20km to the north of Almeria, and further south as well. This is one of Spain's main regions for growing and exporting vegetables on an industrial scale thanks to technologies developed and refined over the past thirty years.

The A7 autovia winds through the sierras and by-passes Almeria to the west, straight through the foothills, rather than around them. Apparently, it's now open all the way to Malaga, cutting journey times significantly. The terrain through which it passes is semi-arid with pale sandy soil, low bushes, with trees a rarity. It's easy to see why spaghetti Western movies were shot on location around here. The sedimentary bed rock is geologically young and crumbly, so excavating cuttings straight through is less difficult, and makes for a road with fewer and longer curves. Cross-sections of rock in these cuttings are varied and colourful, with pale yellow, pale grey orange and pink hues, all of which made the journey most interesting for me.

There were half a dozen of us for the service. I think there'll be more attending next month's Remembrance-tide service. The last time I recall leading worship in a bar was over 30 years ago. A Harvest Festival sing-song in a pub at the edge of Bristol's St Paul's area. It wasn't an abiding custom however. The pub itself closed and was demolished not long after. 

On the way back, we stopped at a large DIY store where Alwyn purchased two long folding tables, such as are used to prepare wallpaper for hanging. These will have a different life as stalls for the forthcoming Christmas Fayre.

We didn't stop for lunch, as I was apprehensive about being sleepy while driving after a meal. It was gone four when I eventually sat down to eat. I'd like to return and take a good look at Almeria itself, but would prefer to go by bus, and not have the hassle of car parking and one way systems in a big strange city. I'll need to do some research first. I haven't get found out where Mojacar's bus station is.

  

Llanos Harvest Festival and Sunday Lunch

Having gone to bed late, it was well after sunrise when I woke up, so there was no time to take a look outdoors or eat breakfast at a leisurely pace, but I was in the car and on my way to rendezvous with Alwyn and Pam at a commercial centre close to the autovia, about 15km from the apartment, so that we could travel together to the church at Llanos del Peral, where I was to celebrate at preach at eleven.

I took a wrong turning in Garrucha, the next town north along the coast, and went south west instead of north west. I realised the further I travelled that landmarks I'd noticed close to the road during last night's journey were not appearing, so I stopped and called Alwyn and was re-directed to the autovia, several junctions further south from where they were waiting for me. I made it to the agreed place only ten minutes late, and we proceeded to Llanos and arrived when we'd planned to.

It was a Harvest Festival celebration, and there were sixty people present, forty nine of whom received communion. The place was beautifully decorated, and all the foodbank offerings were arranged in a pleasing display before the altar. We even had a traditional wheatsheaf shaped Harvest Loaf, and some purple grapes on the altar. I just remembered my Jamaican bus driving non-stipendiary curate back in St Paul's Bristol using the very biblical descriptive word 'shewbread' in this context. 

The church building is a simple functional twentieth century 'mission church' design, with several rooms, used for educational and social purposes, with a kitchen and toilet, all behind a worship area accommodating sixty. There's a large patio on the south side, where tables and large umbrellas had been arranged for 'bring and share' lunch following the service. 

Llanos del Peral is a spread out rural village in rolling uplands with the sierras behind. It's grown in recent years as Brits have settled there, away from the coast, converting old farmhouses or building anew in the Andalusian arichtectural style. It's an area of orchards and horticulture. The dark green of the fruit trees contrasts with the pale yellow, if not white or grey sandy soils of the region. Ranks of mountains several hundred metres high seem to erupt from vast plains at intervals, not close enough to each other to form what may be considered valleys. I'm finding it difficult to estimate the scale of distances, as happens when travelling in the plains of East Anglia. It'll take a while to get the measure of this region, classed by low rainfall as 'semi-arid', and for that reason ecologically interesting.

I received such a warm welcome, and it's clear there's a lively sense of community spirit and pleasure at being a congregation among its members. Former Chaplain, Pauline Williams, ex-Llandaff diocese, was asked to create an opportunity for worship in this area two years ago, and once a gathering place had been found, people gathered in good numbers and the community has continued to grow in the twenty one months since they began. The time and place were clearly right, and it's to Pauline's credit for realising this. Needless to say, she is much missed.

It was gone two by the time we headed back towards the coast. After collecting the car on the road into Garrucha, I spotted a small 'open all hours' convenience store that was open, and was able to buy fruit and veg for an evening meal. This isn't a region where the supermarkets feel the need to stay open on Sundays, outside holiday high season. Once back at the apartment, a siesta had to be my priority after a long drink of water, then a walk into Mojacar and back, to learn about the neighbourhood.

The beach is a 50-100m deep. In some places there are houses along the edge, and in others there's an open area with a few restaurants, children's play parks and several beach sport recreational areas. The coast road runs along behind, and then, further back behind lawns, are hotels and holiday apartment blocks, but nothing higher than four storeys and mostly in the Andalusian architectural style. I guess that Mojacar developed later than other coastal resorts, and in a way where there's been more planning than in those areas where builders and landowners once competed to exploit lucrative space, producing tall, sometimes ugly urban sprawl right next to the beach promenade. Mojacar Playa has certainly grown a townscape that's more pleasing to the eye than most.

I began to walk up the road toward the old pueblo blanco, as the sun was setting behind the mountain that cradles the ancient hill village, and took some photos, but then turned back. I'd been walking for an hour. It was twilight by the time I reached the apartment, but the exercise did me good, and helped to make me feel grounded in my new abode, as did cooking supper in an excellent spacious kitchen, in a lovely house, in a quiet street. A good place to return to, given the distances needing to be travelled. I understand the pastoral area is roughly the size of Wales!