Ham slicing fiesta

It was quite humid when I woke up at half past six. After sunrise, the sky over the sierras was clear but there was a thick cloud of mist over the sea which took hours to disperse. After breakfast, I wrote another Sunday sermon, and edited next week's Thursday biblical reflection. Andrea sent me a copy of the baptism application form late last night and I sent it off immediately to the family requesting a christening on my final Sunday. This morning the form came back completed. The baptism will happen at my last service in Sotogrande.

With the need to think ahead and plan that last service so everyone knows what's going to happen, I started to think about preparing sermons. Most of the morning and afternoon I spent drafting sermons for the rest of my time here. This will mean I have more free time when Clare is with me. Glad I thought of it.

I walked across to the Paseo de Rada as it began to cool down early evening as far as Avenida Juan Carlos. This time I noticed that the promenade was lined with fiesta type booths, equipped to sell food or drink, but these there in the early stages of getting ready for later evening opening. When I read the publicity banners at the far end, I learned that time between the fiestas of the Transfiguration and the Assumption was dedicated to a special gastronomic event showcasing Spain's remarkable range of cured ham from its different region, an event that's been running for the past 70 years. I'm not sure if it's a trade fair or a nine day gourmet orgy, but it's part of Estepona's tradition of popular cultural. events, styled as a world ham slicing contest. You can take away with you freshly sliced ham off the bone in five euro bags, or you can eat it in an artisanal baker's fresh bread roll, washed down with a local beer. How about that?

The shore was very crowded, but there were fewer people in the water, as big waves had washed up a heap of seaweed, and people had installed themselves higher up the beach behind it. The local council isn't yet on top of this problem. Malaga apparently has an influx of jellyfish at the moment.

I watched an interesting documentary programme about the partition of India in 1947, featuring people whose parents had fled with their families to Britain, returning to look for the homes they had been driven out of. It contained some touching stories. This is a part of British colonial history about which little is known, full of violence and wickedness. Did it have to happen like that? It's a story that does nobody any credit, neither religious nor political leaders, nor the colonisers,

Spotlight on Estepona's lighthouse

Another humid day with mist on sea and sierras until the middle of the day. I worked on next Sunday's sermon, and on preparing the texts for next week's audio. I had a phone call from someone promoting a new health care facility launch locally, and understood what it was all about, but when I tried to respond to the caller, I couldn't be heard, and can't figure out whether I inadvertently muted the call or not, as there's no recognisable symbol on the handset. As for instruction manual in any language, you're joking!

I laughed when I received a TV licensing email thanking me for renewing the license. This time my email address wasn't entirely written incorrectly in upper case. It was still incorrect, but with an upper case first and last letter. What on earth is the matter with their system?

To go with a portion of the lentils with aubergine dish cooked yesterday, I stewed two chicken thighs with garlic, and risotto rice, An interesting lunch time combination of mild flavour and texture. Then I worked next week's biblical reflection, dozed for a while, then in a fit of zeal took the stuff for recycling down the hill, before setting out on my walk along the shore to the port and the lighthouse. El Faro de Punta Doncella, to give its full name. I found the history board about the lighthouse and understood the Spanish text well enough not to bother with the English alongside it. This gives me a good feeling.

Apparently the light is twinned with one of equal power in the Spanish enclave of Ceuta in Morocco, 62km away as the crow flies, across the other side of the Straights of Gibraltar. It dates from 1863, but was rebuilt in 1922 to raise the height of the light from 18m to 28m above sea level. A century later on, and it's undergoing restoration to re-use ancillary buildings which once accommodated the lighthouse keeper's family as a museum.

As I was walking back, families were making their way back from the beach to their accommodation. One reluctant little boy complained at having to quit the beach early. "Ya m'aburrido" I heard him say to his mother (I'm bored already!). I'm amazed at how late young children stay out and play, on or near the beach, but maybe this compensates for not being able to stay out when the heat of the day is fiercest. It's good that the place feels safe enough for this to happen, anxiety free.

I found a couple of letters in the mailbox when I returned. Bills to pass on to the treasurer. It's the first mail that's been delivered in the three weeks I've been here.

When we talked this evening, Clare reminded me about the return flight tickets, which I haven't looked at since I booked them two and a half months ago. A quick search retried the flight confirmation email to forward to her. It seems that I booked us both hold baggage on this flight, and for Clare outbound. I didn't bother on the way out as I was keen to travel light and not risk a long baggage queues. It's been so hot that I could have brought even less clothing with me, since regular hand washing of everything is vital, and it dries so quickly. At the moment the weather forecast indicates that it will stay between 29-31C by day for the rest of August, and little rain if any, except in the sierras on a cloudy day, but definitely not mainly on the plain in this part of Spain.

The empty quarter

The sky was less hazy when I woke up and the early sun lit up the coast down towards Gibraltar, with the rocky promontory sticking out of a distinct layer of low level cloud. I uploaded today's link to Morning Prayer and after breakfast recorded next weeks Office and reflection. A fair morning's work, although the proximity of the A7, not to mention neighbours chatting in the parking lot outside, made it harder to get a clean recording than at home. Except right now, builders are working next door and noise is unavoidable eight to five. Clare says the house has been gutted as well as the back garden. Everything, doors, radiators, pipe, floorboards china has been taken out and dispatched in a couple of skips. So I'm in the right place at the right time!

After lunch, I spent the afternoon preparing for the visit of Karol and Alison, whose wedding blessing I'll be celebrating a week Saturday in Sotogrande. I found an edited text to work with in my digital archive, suitable for the occasion, but came to grief trying to print it out. The multi-function printer is a wifi device, identified by my laptop, but inaccessible as it required a security PIN number to complete the process to complete setup, and this I couldn't find.

The workaround solution was to save the file on to a SD card and transfer it to the office computer, which dates from 2010, and may be older. It's very slow running Windows ten, and needed updating, as seldom used computers in chaplaincy vacancies generally seem to do, Like me, others bring their own devices to work on. Many use phone or tablet to read text and may not need to attach their device to a printer in the first place. For me, large print on paper requires no battery to be legible. End of story. 

There was a version of MS Office 2010 on the office laptop, but it didn't work as it was considered as an unregistered app by the operating system. So I downloaded and installed Libre Office which took half an hour. My document transferred loaded fine but refused to print, despite being attached physically by USB cable to the printer. Nothing I could change in the printer's configuration menu would change its mind. The clock was ticking for Karol and Alison's arrival. As a last resort, I unplugged the USB cable and pressed print. Hey presto! The wifi link worked as designed and printed the wedding document.

I had a good briefing session about their wedding with Karol and Alison, both marrying for the second time with children old enough to take part in the ceremony. It will be a family service in a special way for all of them. I arranged with them and Patricia for a rendezvous in Sotogrande church this Sunday at two, after the Methodist service there is finished. It'll give me a chance to learn the route for the twenty mile journey from Beverley Hills, the day before my first Sunday on duty there.

After we parted company I walked along the coast road beyond the marina and into the central area of the town. There's a huge municipal construction site blocking off the road to the frustration of motorists but I turned inland trying to identify where the central business and retail district was located, but failed to find anything resembling this. I was astonished by the dearth of small shops and markets, let alone supermarkets in this central zone, Restaurants yes, no banks or other agencies visible. Was I looking in the wrong place? I found two streets of one storey modernised fishermens' cottages. No corner shops. 

I walked uphill inland several blocks and eventually came across a 'Dia' supermarket. The Mercadona branches were further out again. There may have been no more than a small fishing hamlet here until Franco's grand plan for the Costa del Viento re-branded it as the Costa del Sol. Town planning focussed on accommodation for visitors and holiday service industries not on enabling neighbourhoods to evolve, socially and commercially. This is speculation on my part. I'd love to find out more. But where to start in decoding this town planner's 'utopia' where normal life without a car must be a nightmare. Finally I spotted at town bus on the route back to Beverly Hills - almost disguised in slate grey livery. Trendy or what?

The only thing I lacked was Flora margarine, but I bought some olive oil and a couple of cheap cans of beer, one of which I drank on the way back, as I was flagging having walked nearly two hours. It wasn't too hot thankfully, but I was tired and hungry when I got back, and really enjoyed eating a simple meal of bread, olives, tomato and a tiny tin of tuna for supper, before turning in.

Destination Estepona

I was up breakfasting at five fifteen. Richard arrived at ten to six to take me to the airport. So did a taxi, whose robotic calling system I fell foul of last night. It took my address, but not my destination, and did not confirm the pick up time. If only it had, I could have spared Richard this extra early morning errand. I explained to the taxi driver what had happened and asked if he would give feedback to the company's call handlers about their robot. By half past six I was waiting in the airport for the check-in desk to open, which it did, half an hour earlier than the time printed on the boarding pass. By just after seven I settled down for the long wait until boarding was announced at five to nine. The flight took off on time and landed twenty minutes early. What a great start to the day!

My passport was stamped for this first time in decades. The stamp is illegible, but apparently serves to flag up the fact that I have entered a EU country. My passport was scanned and the electronic date stamp entered in the system, on arriving and leaving showing how many of the ninety days allowed to stay without a visa in a hundred and eighty days have elapsed. Clever, but sad. Damned brexit.

Joseph and Anne greeted me at the arrival gate and took me to the Chaplain's residence in an urbanizacion named 'Beverley Hills', apt for a hilltop cluster of houses in an area where, like America, little walking is done and most people get around by car. Patricia welcomed me and briefed me about the house. The only food lacking in well stocked cupboards was bread, fresh fruit and veg, so Patricia guided me down the A7 expressway a couple of kilometres to shop at the most convenient Mercadona. The car, a Renault Megane is modern enough to have an electronic key system, which took some getting used to, plus the fact that it's somewhat bigger than a VW Polo. All part of the adventure.

Patricia left me for a tea-time cita, then I unpacked my laptop and completed this Thursday's Morning Prayer video with a selfie taken on the bedroom balcony, overlooking Estepona Bay, with Gibraltar on the near horizon and Morocco somewhat more distant, neither of them visible with the heat haze at the moment. Then I cooked a veggie pasta supper, making enough for two days. Afterwards I went for a walk and discovered that from the bottom of the hill entrance to the urbanizacion it's only ten minutes to the coastal sendero along a sandy shore. I also followed a path alongside a dry river bed inland, up a valley at the base of the hill. It doesn't take long to get away from roads and the built up area into the countryside..

I returned to the house at dusk, had a WhatsApp call with Clare, then unpacked, finally ready to slow down and sleep.