West of centre Fuengirola revisited

I spent most of the morning after breakfast editing the draft I made of tomorrow's sermon at Saint Andrew's, then took a walk around the block with my Olympus before making lunch. For the second time in a few days I spotted a colourful butterfly browsing for nectar on a low lying hedge covered with equally bright coloured flowers. I was ready for it this time and was pleased with this photo I took.

First seen on the 2nd of the month, and I've seen bumble bees too. Surprising to see when it's been so cold, but there are flower trees and plants of one sort or another all year round in this part of the world.

Having finished the crime novel I was reading late last night, I went down to church after lunch to swop it for another, then took the train to Fuengirola town centre for a walk through the main shopping area and civic centre. Everything in the public realm looks beautifully well kept. Last time I was here the surroundings of the Iglesia Nuestra Señora del Carmen in Plaza de España, near the Ayuntamiento were a building site, with an accommodation bloc being added to the north side of the church, for what purpose I don't know. It's long been completed, the area is in pristine condition with a children's play area in a shady park. You don't have to stray far from the hotels and tourist venues to find yourself in congenial places where local citizens predominate.

On my way back to the station, I found Dunne's department store next to La Rampa Hotel. I think there's another one on the other side of the N340, but this one I recall from before, It's small and an awkwardly places remnant of an earlier era in retail accommodation. An up escalator but no down one, only stairs and a lift, and an awkwardly placed entrance. Anyway, I just wanted to check if they still sold gents clothing, which they do. I'll come back another day when I've decided what I actually need to buy.

I took the train back to Los Boliches and walked up the hill straight away to be back in time to call Clare at six, and give her a tour of the house via a WhatsApp video call. After supper, I printed off my sermon and listened to 'Cosi Fan Tutte' on Radio Three. What a sublime treat. Then a start on my new novel for a while before turning in for the night.

Return to Fuengirola

I woke up just before my phone announced that it was time to post the link for today's Morning Prayer to WhatsApp. It's dry and cloudy, the sun looks like it will break through eventually, but sadly my flight to Málaga will start at sunset.

After breakfast, just a few minor adjustments to my travel bags, and then some time to relax and reflect. In the past I've usually been too much in a last minute packing frenzy to sit quietly for a while. I admit that I am nervous, setting out on another long period of locum duty. It's in a familiar pastoral setting, but any ministry has as many unknowns as it does routine activities. The surprise element is what I enjoy. 

Thankfully, I'm well and fairly fit for my age, but still affected by that slip down the lower stairs. My ankle is OK for normal walking. It's at the end of a good long walk that it tends to play up now, but maybe that's just a symptom of old age. I'm looking forward to the coming months, not anxious about travel, but it's just hard getting started, out of the door and on my way, leaving behind set domestic routine, and above all leaving my best beloved Clare. Sadly it'll be two months before she joins me.

We went for a circuit of Thompson's Park together before I collected my bags from the house and we parted company at the end of the street. I had to walk pretty briskly to avoid missing the bus and got there with only five minutes to spare. We underestimated the time our farewell pasito would take. The coach driver in her hi-viz with blonde hair tied back had a passing resemblance to Sarah Lancashire playing Sergeant Catherine Cawood in 'Happy Valley', but with a good Welsh Valleys accent.

There were just eight of us on the coach to the airport. After the third pick-up stop in Newport, I started eating the turkey sandwiches prepared last night. I inadvertently put them in the freezer, not the fridge, and they were far from thawed! Having made haste to catch the coach, and wearing extra winter layers, I was feeling overheated, and  eating the sandwiches cooled me down nicely. The coach arrived at two twenty, and by quarter to three I was in the departure lounge with a two hour wait before me. EasyJet's flight to Malaga left on time and was completely full. A lot of those on board seem to be party guests for someone's big birthday fiesta. Much expensive in-flight booze was consumed, but everyone was quite good natured, except for an adolescent sitting next to me. 

His behaviour was bizarre and childish for a fourteen your old. I suspect he was high on some illegal substance. At first I was quite disturbed that he kept his phone on throughout the flight  taking photos or mini videos, chatting to someone far away, if not to his mate in the seat ahead of him. Then, I realised that a number of people were also on their phones throughout. It seems EasyJet now offer in-flight wi-fi and it's used for passengers to download an on-board sales and order menu. I remember some years back when Kath sent me an in-flight email, from a Norwegian airline's flight, excited about the fact that she could do this for the first time. I couldn't be bothered, and switched off until we were just about to land, and I thought I'd change the time zone.

Jen and John met me at the arrivals gate, and brought me back to Casa de Esperanza, the Chaplaincy House, already warming up to welcome me, with some food in the fridge to tide me over until I can go shopping tomorrow. The house internet has been switched exclusively to fibre broadband. There are no landline phones any longer, all is wi-fi calling using a mobile phone. There is a chaplain's phone, but I won't get that until tomorrow, as Jen forgot to bring it tonight. That will give me an WhatsApp calling circle of people in the chaplaincy orbit, and I guess F.D.s and wedding arrangers, should these be necessary. It took me a while to find the router and password on a piece of paper tucked underneath it. After weeks of non-use, it needed rebooting to work properly. It's not fast by UK standards, but it works. That's all that matters.

I had some tostado with olive oil and some fruit. All I felt I needed for tonight. Now it's time to turn in, with the sound of a cold wind blowing outside.

Rincon Fiesta

This morning I drove to Fuengirola to meet the husband and son, both called Mike, of a woman whose funeral I'll be officiating at on Saturday. Apart from finding my way up to a suitable motorway junction uphill a few kilometres from Rincon, the journey was easy, as I remembered its various stages from the time I've spent ministering in Chaplaincies along the Costa del Sol over the past five years. 

We met at the crematorium where the funeral will take place, which enabled me to show them where the service is scheduled to take place. This is their first experience of a family funeral, and they needed help to understand how a public service would unfold. I left them to choose music. They weren't familiar with hymn singing, like many others these days. They needed permission to select music to evoke memories - the soundtrack of their lives - was how I described it to them. I think they understood. 

Last time I took a service here, the crem sound system was broken, and last minute efforts to improvise with a portable CD player weren't outstanding. There was no member of staff around to enquire about the current status of their sound system, and frankly you can't trust funeral directors to possess certain knowledge of the many locations they work in. The tendency they have is to leave it to families to sort out for themselves, rather than help them, as would happen in Britain. Conscious of the risk that the same thing could happen again with playing music, I advised them to make their own arrangements for reproducing whatever music they decided they'd like to use. If I had the equipment, I'd help, but I don't.

Rather than dropping in on friends in the area, I drove straight back to Rincon and had lunch, and a siesta. The Golf estate version is a nice car to drive, more luxurious than ours at home, and a bit longer, so it did take me a little while to get used to on the open road. Driving on crowded urban motorways is more demanding than the routes I am used to driving in Spain - Nerja - Almunecar, Vinaros - Alcosebre or L'Ampolla. I am conscious of the need for adjustment, and indeed, it's more tiring now that it would have been ten years ago, so more caution, less speed is necessary. A consequence of ageing, no doubt.

In the evening, there was a big festive Mass at the Parish Church of Nuestra Senora de la Victoria, from which the commune derives its full title - Rincon de la Victoria. I walked to church at the other end of town, for Mass. The church was full, about 200 people I guess. It was a Sung Mass. I guess it might be called a Flamenco Mass, as the texts of the Ordinary were sung by a guitar playing duo in tight harmony while the congregation listened. It was a powerful and evocative sound, quite unexpected.

During the Eucharist, a band could he heard tuning up outside. After the service they processed into the square outside the church from the main street, and waited outside for the procession of dignitaries of the town's cofradia to emerge from the church, with a team of thirty men carrying Our Lady's image on a trona. It was wonderful to see how many children and young people took part in the procession. Every now and then a woman with a loud and penetrating voice would act as cheerleader, shouting out: 'Que viva Nuestra Senora de la Victoria!' To which the reply is 'Que viva!' Or 'Que viva, la patrona de nuestra paroquia!', then shouts of Guapa! Guapa! Guapa! (comely!) with rounds of applause.

From the church square, the procession moved a few hundred metres up the main road, then turned left, heading towards the beach. It passed through a crowded car park and out the other side into a street parallel to the main road, through the oldest area of housing in Rincon, the remnants of its its original fishing village. At a guess, a couple of hundred people were involved in the procession in their various roles. Hundreds more watched, locals and visitors like me, taking photographs. 

All the usual evening sea front activities continued as usual - games one the beach, cyclists, joggers on the old rail path, folk dining in the many restaurants. A witness to living faith expressed in the midst of everyday life, and a marvellous expression of local community in a place that usually seems much more anonymous because local life is overshadowed by the demands and presence of visitors.

As darkness arrived, so did my realisation that I was hungry, so I missed the last hour of the procession walked back to the apartment and had supper. I found the evening quite inspirational, and impressed that a busy town can involve so many parishioners in a diverse and demanding activity on a weeknight. It's hard to imagine British communities working together in such numbers, to the glory of God.

   

All Saints

Up early this morning to celebrate the eight o'clock Eucharist at St Catherine's for just Clare and one other, then back again for the 10.30 Sung Eucharist, with around forty people, children included. I'd prepared a sermon on the All Saints' day readings as this is the one time in seven when the feast falls on Sunday and was taken aback to find the All Saints' Sunday readings had been chosen instead. It pressed me to improvise to some extent, and I enjoyed the exercise, without transgressing and making it too long - I think!

It was lovely, in between services, to have time to call at the new Pontcanna Co-op store, in the recently converted Old Dairy building to buy croissants, pain chocolat and pain au raisin for breakfast. Much concern was expressed about the impact on scarce local parking resources of having a modest sized supermarket in this location, but it seems to be working well, perhaps because it's a dense residential area, so lots of locals shop there, rather than passing trade. A good thing  indeed.

Kath spent the day in a dance workshop, at the Millennium Centre and Clare looked after Rhiannon, taking her and Anwen to play in the woods in Cathays park, across the Taff. The play park in Llandaff fields was so crowded with half term weekend children and their parents, the girls opted for the extra walk, rather than queue to use the slides and swings. After lunch, Clare and Rhiannon made a chocolate cake together in time for tea and Kath's arrival. They left as darkness fell, and had a long journey home due to congestion on the motorways, people returning home for work after their half term breaks, no doubt.

In the evening, I remembered that it was this time last year that my long locum stint in Fuengirola came to an end, before I left for seven further weeks before Christmas at the Costa Azahar chaplaincy. It was an enjoyable time, and I have fond memories of people there. So, I wrote an email to churchwarden Linda to give her a news update on us, the first for many months. Time slips by so quickly.

  

Day of Prayer and Fuengirola Fiesta

A leak in the bathroom shower tray revealed itself by producing a small hole in the ceiling and a pool of water on the floor by the window. A plumber came and diagnosed the problem on Monday, then went away to obtain a spare part, but didn't return, or ndicate when he would.

Ten of us came together at the Hammonds' house in La Cala this morning for the autumn Day of Prayer, which I led with a series of short addresses on the ministry of angels in the Bible. The reason for this was that the original date for the occasion was the feast of the Holy Guardian Angels, but later the date was changed, but not the theme.

Today is the fiesta of our Lady of the Rosary, the patroness of the municpality's parish church and a public holiday. No sign of the return of the plumber. There's a fun fair in the recinto ferial, which has taken several days to construct. It started last night, and continues for a week. The noise emanating from the site continued until four in the morning. The fair ground can't be seen from the chaplaincy house, as it's behind a hill, but sound echoed off tall apartment buildings. I'd hate to be living closer.

Our quiet day finished mid afternoon with a Eucharist, and on my return journey I drove through the town centre, to see if I could find out about the day's Flamenco Mass as I'd seen no advertisement for it anywhere. There were many women out and about clad in beautiful flamenco dresses. All were walking away from the square in front of the Ajuntamiento, which told me all I needed to know. 

I was disappointed to find that the Mass and procession were already over. For the participants in the Day of Prayer, the municipal fiesta is no longer a matter of interest, more of endurance, so the clash of dates was a matter of indifference, and I am after all, not a tourist but a sojourner here to serve their needs. 

Now it's averagely several degrees cooler along the coast, it's possible to hold an open air service in the middle of the day, rather than in the cool of evening. After the event, people all dressed up were heading for the fun fair, mothers and daughters and occasionally grandmas in their party clothes. A delightful sight. I was too tired to join them at the fair. Holding an audience and delivering five brief addresses I found more taxing than the days of quiet preparation required to create them.

 

 

October fiesta

Today is the feast of St Francis of Assisi and it's the Pope's name day God bless him. Such a difference his ministry has made to the Catholic Church, indeed to all Christians. I feel a sense of expectation and excitement about the prospects for the church's witness and mission, after a decade of serious setbacks. Who knows what will emerge from the dialogues now being fermented by the Vatican?

I went for a stroll before lunch, and as I passed the barrio parish church of Nuestra Senora y Sta Fe on impulse I went in to pray for/with the church on this special day. A wedding was in progress, in a mix of Spanish and English, with a women's choir accompanied by a guitarist, singing the hymns and the ordinary of the Nuptial Mass in cheerful harmony. It was a moment to cherish. I forgot to pray for the Pope as intended, however, but when you join with the church in prayer, as it cherishes the life of its faithful people, the Holy Father's name will be in there somewhere, whether you register it or not.

My stroll took me past the recinto feriale, where a huge fun-fair is in the process of construction for this week's fiesta. October 7th is the feast of Our Lady of the Rosary, a public holiday in Fuengirola, as the parish church in which the ajuntamento and other municipal buildings are located is dedicated to the Virgen del Rosario. At some time during the fiesta (I haven't seen any advertisment yet), a Flamenco Mass will be celebrated in Constitution Square. It's one of the most distinctive celebrations in this community, affirming Andalusian cultural identity in the supreme act of worship. I look forward to it.

     

River trail walk

I celebrated the feast of St Michael and All Angels belatedly at the St Andrew's midweek Eucharist, then chatted with people at the coffee morning, bought some figs, fresh and dried, each delicious in a different way, before returning for lunch. As the weather was reasonably cool, I decided to take another long walk, making my way inland to the far edge of town where the AP-7 toll motorway crosses over the A7053 road up to Alhaurin. The motorway also crosses over the rio Fuengirola at this point, and I'd set my mind on following the riverside path all the way down to the sea.

For most of the year the river inland is dry, although after last Saturday night's heavy rains, there were still large pools of water in hollows and crevices along the bank shaded by huge mature eucalyptus trees, and plenty of fine red mud covering the gravel and pebbles of the river bed. I was surprised at how quiet a walk it turned out to be. In a 5km stretch, I was passed by several joggers and a posse of off road cyclists.

Half way along the trail, the ground level dropped to a point where the water table was above the river bed, filling the river with standing water from bank to bank, hosting dragonflies, parakeets and a family of three very shy egrets that I tracked for a mile without getting close enough for the decent photograph. Down at the mouth of the river, egrets browse at the water's edge, quite indifferent to the proximity of humans ten metres away. I wonder why a change in environment makes a difference to behaviour?

The valley the rio Fuengirola runs through is wide and shallow. For much of the length of the trail, the plain on the east bank is given over to industry: cement works, storage depots, small factories. The west bank still has an extensive area of green pasture land, its subsoil must retain a great deal of water to maintain such a bright colour after a long hot summer. In the hills that are the natural boundary to the conurbation are select urbanizacions with a great view across the bay.

About half way down on the west bank, nestling into the base of the hills, the municipal Fuengirola cementario stands, having been relocated from the centre of town when building expansion took off in the eighties. Its near neighbours are a veterinary clinic and the town's sewage works. Standing as I have done twice in recent weeks, outside the cemetery chapel waiting for mourners to arrive, the odour on the breeze has been most disconcerting. What was the town planner who first thought of co-locating municipal waste disposal facilities thinking of?

Water in the river only moves when swollen by heavy rainfall. Big bursts of torrential rain are the norm here, and everything about the surface environment is constructed to take this into account. At the end of the trail, the waters are contained by a low dam, permitting overflow into a bed of wetland vegetation contained by another dam, from which water can overflow into the Parque Fluvial. 

This, I believe is designed to purify water flowing into the public recreational area. This has wide banks, furnished with amenities for open air sports, on land and water. A canoeing basketball game was being played by four people as I passed.

As I crossed a bridge, photographing river management features I'd not seen before, a man summoned me to his side, and pointed down into turbid waters below. I saw a turtle swimming, then another couple of turtles further away out of range.

Considering all the construction activity going on to complete the second phase of work on the Parque Fluvial, I was amazed by this. I've since found out that sea turtles inhabit Costa del Sol Coastal waters, and as this last stretch of river is open to the sea, this may be a hideaway for them, when they are due to breed.

The last stretch of my journey was along the promenade back to Los Boliches, somewhat slowly, as by now I was feeling pretty tired, having walked a good 15km. During my previous sojourns here I go to know much of the urban area by car. I'm glad to have the time to walk and discover much more about this place and how it has developed in this remarkable past half century.

Walk to Piedras de Cura

After the activity of the past few days, I was grateful for a quiet uneventful Friday, and didn't go far. This morning, however, with the weather still cool and cloudy, I decided on a good long walk. I took the promenade west, and went on beyond Castello Sohail, as far as the promenade would take me. It runs out, where the golden beach turns into a stretch of low rocky cliffs, with a footpath alongside the N340. I walked as far as the imposing landmark promontory of Piedras del Cura, before turning for home.

There's a car park lay-by adjacent to the rock, and there always seem to be visitors there whenever I drive past. Perched on top is a small statue of the Virgin on a plinth dated 1st January 2000. There are several plaques, and graffiti on flat rock faces. All seem to be of a commemorative nature, installed spontaneously, judging by posies of artificial flowers and occasional pot plant placed there. Are they for accident victims, in this vicinity? I wondered.

When I got back to Los Boliches, I had coffee and tarta de queso in Granier, and thought about Clare in Kenilworth, looking after Rhiannon this weekend. This tea shop is one of her favourites.

I reckon the round trip was about eight miles. I took many other photos, of empty beaches washed by a stormy sea, of a group of young surfers, finding the autumnal conditions to their liking, and a few more of sardinas on skewers roasting on outdoor the ubiquitous boat shaped barbequeues, which it seems every beach chirrunguito must have in its domain.

I also noticed at the end of the beach near the Castello, a neat lined up collection of a dozen such boats with the Costa del Sol logo on the side, indicating that they were municipal public barbequeues. All looking a bit forlorn on a damp grey day.

Even an urban beach empty of holidaymakers, on a damp grey day, has its moments of wildness, when the breaking sea floods across the sand and overwhelms stacks of sun-loungers for a fleeting moment, or an egret or a sanderling is glimpsed foraging among the detritus on the waterline. Quite a contrast to hot crowded summer days.

Visit to the Bull

One thing I forgot to pack when leaving Cardiff was the charger for my DSLR battery. When Clare got back to Cardiff, she found it and posted it to me. That was a week ago. Meanwhile, last Friday, after the post for the day had gone, I sent a birthday card to Amanda, and yesterday morning she sent me a text message saying it had arrived. Uh-oh? What's happened to my little parcel? How long may it take to arrive? Or, is it lost? 

Each day since Thursday last, apart from Sunday, I've made sure that I'm here in the morning to receive a delivery, knowing that the little parcel will be just too thick to pass through the letter box opening in the garden door. So far, nothing, and I've no idea how long it might actually take to convey a little package from Cardiff to Fuengirola, given that a little package is not a letter. 

The way the postal service works in any country, let alone between countries is a mystery, and it's admirable that it works at all, given the variety of regulations governing the terms and conditions for the delivery of letters and packages in different countries. But, for a newcomer like me, it's a matter of uncertainty combined with inexperience. So I stay in and wait, not knowing what else to do.

Yesterday, I didn't go out all day. This afternoon, I willed myself to go out for an afternoon paseo, as it had cooled pleasantly by a few degrees. I walked East towards Torreblanca, not on the promenade, but on a road which took me up into the urbanizacions surrounding a 70 metre high promontory that overlooks the coastal plan.

A rare instance of unmanaged wild area in the conurbation, hosts an old maritime watch tower and one of ninety examples nationwide of the iconic 1950's bull advertisement logo for Osborne's Sherry Brandy. It has become a popular symbol in Spain, appearing on flags and tee shirts, quite divorced from its origin in drinks marketing.

When faced with removal under revised planning regulations, some bull advertisements were locally adopted, retained by popular acclaim as an unofficial Spanish identity symbol. The present bull of Torreblanca appears to be the third on this site, to judge by the discarded and rusting remains of foundations at previous locations on the hilltop.

When I arrived, half a dozen teenagers speaking a Scandinavian language were gathered around the bull, taking photos and climbing, where they could, girls posing for photos swinging from the bull's cojones, which I observed has been graffiti'd over several times, making them less visible that the usual matt back which makes for such a distinctive distant profile. Scope for philosophization without limit here, which I shall renounce. The views from up there across the sea plain and along the coast in both directions are well worth the climb. Surprising really that it's not considered worthy of a few tourism signs to direct visitors there.

Up up and away

This morning I was up at six, out of the house by half past, walked down Romilly Road, intercepted an 18 bus just picking up passengers at the stop on Cowbridge Road. It dropped me outside the bus station in perfect time to get the airport shuttle before the one I was walking to catch! Cardiff Airport was at that time very quiet so this time I passed quickly through bag drop and security check, and had an hour to spare. The flight left on time and arrived twenty minutes early, and I arrived in an overcast Malaga, at about the same temperature as the Cardiff I'd left. Bill picked me up, as he did last time I arrived, and drove me to Fuengirola, showed me the apartment, and then took me to lunch at an excellent restaurant, a few blocks from where I'll be living for the next couple of months until the new Chaplain's residence is ready to occupy.

The apartment is on the first floor above a row of shops and restaurants on the beach promenade. The living space and balcony faces the street behind and has two bedrooms, lounge and kitchen, well equipped for a comfortable stay with a full range of European satellite TV channels. It doesn't enjoy a great deal of natural light, but that matters less when the great outdoors is very congenial, except in the worst of weathers. Once I'd unpacked and done a food shopping trip El Corte Inglez supermarket by Los Boliches RENFE station, I collected the Chaplain's phone from the church office, and registered my new laptop on the wi-fi to check my messages and call home, and write a sermon. Unfortunately I couldn't print it off, as the main computer's access password had been changed since November. It was ten o'clock by the time I'd cooked my first meal back in the apartment, and then crawled into bed quite tired, but not aching from the unusual exertions of office moving yesterday, thankfully.

    

High road to Marbella

I drove inland up to Coin for this morning's Eucharist, hoping that I'd remember exactly where to turn when I got to the outskirts of the town, as last time I came I didn't drive there, making it less easy to remember. I got there without error however and arrived first. Four people came for the service, and as there was no organist we had a said service. As it was the fiftieth anniversary of President Kennedy's assassination, we shared our experiences of where we were when we heard the news. Only one of us was too young to  remember! 

Afterwards we went into the town and found a bar where we chatted and drank coffee for half an hour. I was encouraged to return by the long route over the mountains and down to Marbella, and back along the N340 to Fuengirola. The road was excellent and very quiet, and the visibility perfect. Above the thousand metre mark, the pine forests were enlivened by splashes of dark red and bright yellow deciduous trees, now at last losing their paler green. 

A brown tourism sign pointing to the Refugio de Juanar caught my attention. Out of curiosity, I turned off the main road and followed a narrow winding metalled road five kilometres up into the Sierra Blanca de Ojen.

High up in a secluded valley at the end of this road there's a modest sized hotel restaurant, styling itself as a 'Parador'. I parked nearby and walked for a kilometre through the forest, following signs to a 'mirador' on a rocky promontory overlooking Marbella, a good 1,200m below and 10km away. In fact there's a signed footpath right down to the shore, and another along the crests which on of one of Spain's network euro-signed GR hiking paths. A great place on a bright sunny day. Not so when winter sets in, I suspect.

Getting back from there was swift and easy. I went to the office and worked there a while, skyped Clare, and bought some food supplies before attending the monthly ministry team meeting, attended by wardens, readers and worship leaders. It was good to sit in on the conversation and share the plans being made, and not to be chairing the meeting! After preliminary discussions and consulting with Clare, I confirmed my willingness to return in January and serve as locum Chaplain until Easter. Being part of a team again is an experience I value, and have missed over the past six years, since the Archbishop decided to dismember the Benefice of Central Cardiff. Now I have the luxury of participation without the buck stopping at my door. Ah, the pleasures of retirement - feeling useful without responsibilities to worry over!

  

Blue sky Guy Fawkes

I went down to the church office this morning at ten thirty to skype Clare as she was starting her day. I spent the remainder of daylight hours machine minding while the Chaplain's slow XP machine updated, with a new anti-virus package, and two dozen Windows updates. In between times, I visited Jim and Della, made a few phone calls, met the man running the twice weekly Bridge tournament in the hall. 

I also had a look around the barrio, taking in the Parish Church of Our Lady of Carmen and St Faith, the market and the long golden beach with pristine well-managed sand, and hardly anyone on it in the bright midday sun. The temperature was more than congenial for sunbathing, with a light breeze for perfection, but no takers on this archetypal winter herald day in UK. I bought something for supper but forgot to eat lunch, so I popped out to the little Finnish cafe next to the church for a cafe solo and a pancake around tea time.

At last I was in a position to upload photos taken so far and label them properly. You can find them here.

  

Return to Costa del Sol

I got up at half past six, and was out of the house with my luggage heading to the bus station by ten to seven. Half way there a 61 bus conveniently appeared and I took it the rest of the way there, and had plenty of time to get the seven twenty five Cardiff airport bus. Still, I believe, not enough promotion of this excellent half hour shuttle service is being done. There were only three others on board.

The airport seemed very quiet when I arrived to check in. I stopped immediately to drink the coffee I'd missed at breakfast time, and headed for the security bag check at ten past eight, only to find that there were over fifty people queuing, and only one of the three available bag scanners staffed and operational. The boarding call for the Vueling flight to Málaga was made just as I was cleared. That's thirty five minutes compared to ten in Bristol. The number of staff and scanners in Bristol is higher, matching the higher volume of traffic, but Cardiff's security portal is running at one third capacity. Staff are excellent, but being worked too hard for their own good. The new airport management has some catching up to do in order make the place attractive to customers and new airlines.

I sat next to a lady from Llanmaes going to stay in Nerja for a spell. It turned out she was Anglican, and parishioner of Llanmaes into the Llantwit Major Rectorial Benefice, not far from the airport. We talked intensely throughout the flight, as she has a long standing dedication to working internationally  with the Church's mission among Jewish people. Apart from the few occasions when I've fallen asleep on take off and awakened on landing, this is one of the only occasions where I had not a moment to enjoy the ride, staring out of the window. A fascinating conversation however.

Churchwarden Bill met me, as arranged, outside the main Arrival entrance door, and drove me to Fuengirola, where I met Val, the church secretary. We had lunch together, then went down to St Andrews church in the district of Los Boliches to pick up a Citroen C3 for me to drive for the day until the outgoing Chaplain's diesel C4 car is returned after his departure tomorrow. We had a brief look around the church, then Val escorted me to the apartment where I'll be staying, a couple of miles inland. 

I'm in this ground floor one bedroomed apartment. Here's a section of the Residence El Albañil, looking from the road below. My apartment is at garden level behind the hedge third from left.

And here's the view from the study window. More a place to contemplate than to work! Thankfully there is also a well equipped church office in town, about 3 miles away.

 After unpacking, I drove down to the nearest Mercadonna supermarket and stocked up with food. Later, I went back to St Andrew's Church in Los Boliches church, one the communes of Fuengirola, for an All Souls prayer service, led by lay Reader Linda and her husband Peter. I arrived early and went for a wander around the area, found another supermarket and bought a couple of essentials I'd forgotten first time around - onions and lemons.

It was dark by the time the service was over, and I missed my turning inland going back to the apartment, but eventually backtracked until I spotted a familiar portal I couldn't spot in the dark first time around at the street junction I needed. Only at this moment did it dawn on me that I hadn't properly memorised the address, and there was no map in the car, so I was relying entirely on landmarks registered in the two trips I'd made and nothing looks the same at night.

   

Anyway, I returned safely, and cooked a vegetable sauce with white beans to eat with pasta, before hunting down BBC Four wrongly marked on the Astra satellite menu, and watching Inspector Montalbano before heading to bed, tired but happy to be here, just hoping that my sermon prepared yesterday would be relevant in this new context.