Corpus Christi in Nerja

Another dull humid start to the day. though later in the morning the sky cleared and the temperature rose to the low twenties, but it was still humid. I arrived early at church. A group of local parishioners were busy setting up an altar of welcome under the trees in the Plaza de Andalucia in front of the church, ready for this evening when the Corpus Christi procession arrives from Iglesia San Salvador. Once the church was clear of worshippers, I went in and stated preparing for the service I was about to take. I didn't find it easy to preach this morning as the church doors were kept open throughout our service, as is the custom. The background chatter of people working hard to create an outdoor sanctuary was mildly distracting, and I wondered if the same was true for the nineteen of us inside trying to listen.

After a non-alcoholic beer at Bar Atalaya, I headed back to Church House and cooked the last remaining fillet of panga from the freezer, with steamed veg for lunch. Fortunately as it's so slim, it doesn't take as long to defrost as denser fish or meat would. I had some report writing to do, and that get myself back to Nerja for the evening Mass and Corpus Christi procession at six. I parked in the 'dust bowl', and on my way to Plaza San Salvador called in the open all hours Chinese tech' gadget shop and bought a USB flash drive to use to archive the content of the chaplaincy laptop in a form anyone can access if they bring with them a faster laptop than the one available.

The church bells rang at half past five as I was arriving there. A group was rehearsing the music for Mass and practicing with the accompanying slide show of hymns and liturgical texts displayed on TV screens attached to the pillars of the nave. No more hymn books! I can't say I was enamoured by the music or simple chorussy songs chosen. Not much content, and musically dull. By the time the service started the place was about half full and filled up completely by the time the Gospel was read. 

The three parish clergy concelebrated the Eucharist, and lay people did the rest. An appeal was made for Caritas, the Catholic social service organisation and a collection taken. A couple of dozen youngsters made their first Communions, the boys in sailor suits, the girls in white dresses. Altogether, there was a congregation of about four hundred. The town band played for the procession with the Sacrament after Mass, making a station for Benediction opposite the church at a spot overlooking Playa Calahonda, then made its way through the streets to Iglesia San Miguel, for another Mass to close the fiesta. Tiredness began to overtake me, so I didn't follow the procession all the way, and returned to Church House for supper, and a walk up the hill as the sun was setting and it was slightly cooler. Definitely feeling my age at the moment, so another attempt at an early night beckons.

View from above

I benefited from getting to bed a bit earlier last night and was up in time to prepare a leisurely breakfast, and ready to leave for church by a quarter to eleven. I found a parking place just around the corner from San Miguel church, and as the Parish Mass hadn't yet finished, sat outside in the shade of the trees in front of the church, where Kath and I chatted with a few other early arrivals for our service. There were twenty one of altogether, plus a couple with a small child who came in late, stayed for a while and then left.

Among this morning's worshippers was a retired priest and his wife of my era who'd done his final year at St Michael's Llandaff. He'd served in St Asaph diocese, and has known Bishop Mary and Fr Andrew for many years. There were several more Welsh people in the congregation as well, including the organist!

We chatted in Bar Atalaya afterwards, then returned to church house and cooked tuna steaks for lunch with nice Rioja to go with it. Both of us succumbed to a siesta after eating, and then walked up the hill, above and beyond the apartments, houses and huge block of apartments under construction to where the metalled road turned into a track. 

We kept on walking upwards even further and the view of the Mar Alboran, with Nerja to the east and Torrox to the west became even more spectacular. Just as amazing was the variety and colour of the wild flowers and grasses alongside the track. Twice we were overtaken by a mountain biking cyclist pedaling uphill, who then returned at breakneck speed downhill. I'm fairly sure it was the same cyclist, and this was his part of his training regime, to develop nerves of steel as well as muscles.

On return we had a drink and a snack, then walked down to the Playa Vilches and back. The sun was setting out of sight, somewhere beyond Torrox, but its glow as it reached the horizon cause a few white fluffy clouds in the bay to turn pink and produce a pink reflection of the cloud in the sea. 

The photos I took with my phone camera identified the place as the Mar de Alborán, the name given to this narrowing region of the western Mediterranean leading to the Straights of Gibraltar. Alborán is a small island half way between Morocco and Spain's Almeria Province I learned later - its name means 'The Storm'. Both of us were quiet tired when we returned, and after uploading photos, early bed again!