Journey of discovery

Awake and up at seven on a mild sunny day. Breakfast and then a final travel baggage check before taxi called just after eight to take us to the coach station for a nine o'clock trip to Bristol Airport. Two hours extra early for our flight to Barcelona at three, to avoid risk of delay on the road imposing pressure on us we don't need, and give Clare extra time to walk using stick and handling her flight bag. 

Getting from the departure lounge to the aircraft, I carried both cabin bags, as there are too many sets of stairs to navigate. Cardiff Airport is just as bad for stairs and moving staircases are almost absent. Not good, but the physical workout was encouragingly good for me, and we boarded without incident for the two hour flight.

We landed at Terminal 2C, last visited on returning from Ibiza lockdown. Moderately busy today in contrast to that day in June 2022 when our London bound flight was one of the half dozen to leave that day. When we reached passport control we were ushered to the front of the queue much to my surprise thanks to Clare walking with a stick I think and me accompanying her wearing a clerical shirt! We both got smiles from the stewards as we passed! 

John immediately recognisable from his photo was waiting for us at the arrivals gate. Veronica was waiting in the car outside, in a blue badge parking space, as she's registered disabled now. Meeting and greeting her with a big hug was amazing, as she looks just like my sister June, her birth mother. She drove up up the A7 to their house at L'Escala in the middle of the Costa Brava, a two hour trip. It was only when we were waiting to leave Bristol that I saw flights to Girona had already restarted, three quarters of an hour from home. I was under the mistaken assumption flights there restarted in summer. What a shame I didn't dig deeper when booking. Veronica took us the extra mile down to the town centre to give us a brief preview of the town she's called home for the past forty years before reaching the house and settling us in. 

The land opposite their terrace is verdant agricultural pasture bounded by trees and bushes. The evening bird chorus had started, astonishingly rich, varied and different. After we'd eaten, talking non-stop of course, I went for a walk in the dark and listened to the chorus of tree frogs in the reed beds along water courses that descend to the sea. I managed three quarters of my daily step quota before calling it a day. Amazingly after a week of heavy rain a dry day to travel, but warnings issued of rain and thunder overnight.

Much in need of sleep after an early start with a busy day tomorrow 

Catalunya crosses the line

It was good to learn that Clare and Kath were both safely home, despite a turbulent flight, and a sleep invading electronic buzz from a loudspeaker which none of the crew seemed able to suppress. Odd that the captain should apologise for turbulence, for which heaven and air traffic control routing are responsible, but not for noises off. Never mind, all's well that ends well.

Pam and Alwyn took me out for a meal at the Imperial Italian restaurant nearby this lunchtime. It's the first proper opportunity we've had to sit and chat, as they've been pretty busy since I arrived. Such a relief for them to know their new Chaplain will be in post by the time Lent starts.

I walked for a few kilometres along the Paseo de Marina as the sun was setting. The urbanizacion's gardener has been trimming the trees this past week, and has made good progress. Two thirds of the job is done already, and he's filled a large industrial skip with prunings. Along Calle de la Mata are a succession of sculpted trees, possibly of the laurel family, with laurel shaped and coloured leaves the size of dinner plates, plus palm tree fronds. The skip is very over-full. He stands the three metre long palm fronds close together vertically along the sides of the skip, which then means he can pile leaves much higher than the edges of the skip. I'd love to see what happens when the skip is collected.

I overheard him speaking with one of the neighbours as I started my paseo. The one word I caught was "Catalunya". Today the regional Parliament voted to declare independence, and the national government has voted to dissolve the Catalan parliament and impose direct rule from Madrid. I think a long slow political train crash has just started. I just hope and pray things won't get ugly. Catalan activists have promised non-violent action. This is going to divide the loyalties of civil servants, local government officials and communities all over the region. And, play havoc with the economy. As if Europe didn't have enough to cope with already, due to brexit, and the chaos it threatens to bring, at home and abroad. How easily people can lose any sense that we are all 'members of one another' as St Paul says.

  

Tales of wine

Another drive to Albox-Aljambra this morning to celebrate the Eucharist in honour of Saints Simon and Jude. There was a excellent shared lunch afterwards in church, and an opportunity to talk with people I'd not spoken with before. I had a small glass of an interesting Alto Almanzora Valley wine, named Este from a vineyard west of Albox. The label said it was a blend of 47% Monastrell, 23% Tempranillo, 12% Syrah, 6% Garnacha, 6% Merlot, and 6% Cabernet Sauvignon. Remarkable.

Using six varieties of grape is fairly unusual these days. One or two is more normal, although I've come across Valencian wines which use more. Some regions still have estates where traditional wine making recipes have persisted, or been revived and refined with modern brewing technologies. Using whatever kind of grapes can be grown rather than being so selective, in fermenting is the ancient way of doing it. With mixed results though, not to everyone's taste.

After the meal and clearing up, Lay Reader Duncan took me a cafe in Albox, much frequented by English speaking people, to meet a couple whose baby I'll be Christening at Aljambra in a fortnight's time. Their little eight week old daughter was born with a full head of chestnut coloured hair, and it hasn't fallen out yet. It's lovely to behold.

I stopped at Lidl's in Garrucha on the way back for some food shopping. In the wine aisle I overheard this remark from a Spanish couple: "Si ese vino es de Catalunya, no debemos comprarlo." Mojácar is about five hours drive from the Catalan border, but it seems people all over Spain are unhappy about the events unfolding there. The company has over 500 stores in Spain but seems to be run from Barcelona. It'll be interesting to see what economic impact separatism has on this significant trader in the Euro-supermarket field.

    

Remembrance Sunday

I started to have second thoughts about my Sunday sermon on Saturday morning, realising that it would be better to shorten what I would preach at Vinaròs in the light of having the Act of Remembrance and traditional (lengthy) hymns expected for such a solemn occasion. As ever, shortening it took as much time again as writing the original, and it was late afternoon before got outdoors for a walk along the coastal path towards the town and back.  As I walked back up to the main road alongside the barranco I heard the sound of guitars being played. At first I thought it was coming from a garden where some children were playing. Then I saw two young men practising intensely on a park bench, sounding really good. A couple of touring bicycles laden with their baggage stood nearby. They must have kept their instruments in backpack cases while riding. An interesting take on musical adventures. 

Kath and Anto were performing 'Once in a Blue Moon' with their dance company in Newport today, so Rhiannon has been with Grandma. The weekend has been clouded for them by news that Anto's sister Viv's partner Paul has had a stroke and a heart attack, and is not expected to survive. I was glad of the opportunity to speak to them all on Skype in the evening as they stayed the night before returning home.

There were sixteen of us at the Vinaròs service. I was on my way to Alcocebre by 11.05 and arrived at 11.45, and so had just enough time to sort myself out and start the Act of Remembrance in sync with the UK ceremony at the national cenotaph in Whitehall, London. Although not quite enough time to get used to the liturgical space, as I knocked over a large pot plant, placed in front of the processional cross. I seem to remember doing the same thing when I was last here two years ago. 

There were fifty people present, although less than half took Communion, a sign of the times, I guess. Some had travelled from Peñíscola to join us, as no ceremony of Remembrance was held there this year. We'd prepared for twice as many communicants as we got, so consuming the left-overs had to be delayed until after the service. A couple of dozen people stayed a short while for a drink and a chat on the terrace outside the church afterwards. I was home cooking lunch just after half past two.

This is a significant day for Catalunya as the day of an opinion poll is taking place on the subject of independence from Spain, and the need for a referendum on this issue. Prime Minister Rajoy declared the referendum call illegal on the advice of the constitutional court, but can't prevent the opinion poll. This is a long standing contentious issue in Spain, but the recent referendum on Scottish independence, may encourage more people to say 'Why not?' 

To mark the occasion, at the end of the afternoon I went north on the coastal path, as far as Sol de Riu, and the barranco that marks the border between the Generalitats of Valencia and Catalunya. Hardly anyone about as the sun was setting just a few people out sea fishing from low cliffs or beach rocks. It's a two hour walk there and back. I was certainly dragging my feet, that last kilometre in the twilight.