Kath arrives

I slept well, but less than I do habitually, waking with the bright early sunlight. After breakfast I worked on my Sunday sermon, until John called in to collect me for an introductory meeting at the Balcon Hotel with the two wedding planners I'm doing blessing services with in May. One of them had come from Burgos, eight hours away by car, and almost as long by public transport. There's be other wedding planning meetings with them in coming weeks, with or without the happy couples. These weddings are elaborate affairs, staged scrupulously in detail. Giving an inward spiritual dimension to such outward facing events is a challenge, to say the least. 

After we parted company, I walked up to the Mercadona to do some more food shopping, then went to get the bus, not realising that the last bus before the three hour siesta gap had left an hour earlier. Serves me right for not noticing the time. I had to walk back carrying three kilos of shopping. The last thing I needed was a steep hill at the end. Taking it more slowly than usual with double the number of recovery pauses, I coped without exhausting myself

Early evening, everything was ready for Kath's arrival,  She sent me a message when the flight was about to take off, punctually. This gave me time I needed to prepare a meal for her, knowing she'd be hungry after a day's work ending in an outbound flight from Birmingham. I drove to Malaga airport via Torrox Costa. The traffic wasn't too heavy, but driving westward all the way into the setting sun kept me on the alert and careful. The sun was touching the horizon as I drove into the airport, exactly on time.

Kath's flight arrived ten minutes early, and she made her way up to the Express short stay parking zone on the Departures level, where we had arranged to meet. As I drove in, there she was, standing just inside the entrance smiling and waving. I stopped in my tracks as there was nobody on on my tail, she got in and we headed straight out benefiting from two minutes of fifteen minutes free parking! The return journey in the dark took slightly longer, but by ten o'clock I had the pasta cooking and the accompanying veggie sauce warming up. We talked until very late, happy to be together and share this special kind of togetherness in a country we both love and enjoy.

Happy arrival

After a night made restless with anticipation, I set out for Malaga airport, just as Clare was boarding her flight in Cardiff. I had enough time to drive the slow coast road that took me to La Cala de Mijas to visit Peter and Linda. I decided to trust my memory of the route, rather than rely on Google, especially for the last section of the original N340 expressway that runs close to the sea. My memory only failed me once,,, when I'd reached La Cala and took the wrong roundabout to get to their urbanizacion, but it soon came back to me. I drove straight to the house and parked outside, and then started wondering if this was the right house. 

'Casa Madreselva' I remembered, and then number nine came into my head as I got out to look, only the be greeted by Peter who'd heard me arrive. It was a happy reunion. We haven't met since I was lasr on locum in Malaga, and lots has happened since then. Linda's now wheelchair bound, having lost a leg as a result of an untreatable toe infection. Their way of life has had to adjust quickly to radical changes, and they are facing up to it with courage, determination and good humour. 

It was lovely to finish by praying together. I could have stayed a bit longer in reality, as I arrived at the airport just as Clare's 'plane landed, and it was another three quarters of an hour before we were re-united, and that means a hour's parking fee. The car park was busy, but I was fortunate to find a space easily and get out afterwards without hassle.

The traffic was slow and heavy on the return drive, so it took an hour and a half. It was quite taxing but I coped well and didn't make any mistakes. I cooked us hake cutlets with rice and veg for a meal at tea time, then once it had cooled down we went for a sunset walk on the senda litoral. It's so good to have company. It's been a lonely five weeks.

I learned from an email this morning that the wedding anniversary blessing I was due to celebrate on Saturday has been cancelled. No reason given. I put a fair amount of work into preparing for this event. I'm intrigued to know the reason, as the couple seemed so pleased with the plan for celebration I offered them, but their minds were changed since we met. Maybe a religious ceremony of this kind is perceived as a commodity like any other to be taken or left according to whim. In times past when I did wedding blessings while on locum duty, the event was arranged by a wedding planner who acted as a negotiator with hotels, restaurants, venues for celebration, and with the chaplaincy. This had 'commodity' written all over it, but we made the effort in the hope that something of the significance of the ritual and words would touch hearts and minds in a spiritual way. There was no wedding planner involved here, it was a DIY affair. I wonder if we'll find out eventually?

Travelling home

Having readied the apartment for the arrival of the next locum, and needing to get up at four, never an easy thing for me, I slept uneasily on the sofa in my travelling clothes. At three fifteen, I had one of those 'checking everything, something's missing' dreams, featuring this Chromebook on which I write. Mercifully, I woke up realising that I hadn't packed the charger, still connected to a bank of sockets in the study. I retrieved and packed it, thanking my digital guardian angel, and went back to sleep for another thirty five minutes.

This time around I proposed not to book a cab or hail one, but to walk over the Calle Maestraza just behind the Plaza de Toros, where I'd noticed taxis park and wait by day and night. By twenty five past four I was on my way to the airport, and joined the dozen other early birds in the check-in queue at a quarter to five, and quarter of an hour before it was due to open. One desk was already open to receive bags. 

By ten to five, three desks were open, as the influx built up behind me. There are four early Vueling foreign departures, and the queue in the first hour of opening is very long. But the system is very well organised, as I found last time when I arrived over twenty minutes late at the end of that long queue and found eight desks open. Just before official desk opening time I was on my way to security clearance, through by five past five, and starting to relax into the wait, expecting to fly at seven thirty. 

Thanks to another French air traffic controllers' strike however, we left at five past nine. I'd made a picnic breakfast to eat on the 'plane, but ate it at the departure gate. Even cheese sandwiches can be a consolation with a three and a half hour wait to board the flight. Also Vueling's phone app proved to be a consolation, as it gave flight info updates on the delay every ten minutes, and a nine thirty departure time crept forward by twenty-five minutes. Heaven knows how that was managed!

I slept for most of the flight, but returning from a visit to the toilet, a fellow passenger called me out by name. It was Fr Stephen Ryan, recently retired as Team Rector of Neath, returning home from a month's in Torremolinos, a nice way to recuperate from all those fond farewells. Arriving in Cardiff at half past eleven, I didn't have long to wait for the two buses that would get me home by a quarter past twelve, in good time for lunch.

As ever, the first job was to start the two computers that need to run a backlog of three months Windows 10 updates, so many of them requiring checks and oversights that it took the rest of the day. By way of contrast, the Chromebook, likewise tablet and phones just functioned and instantly updated, save for resetting the time zone manually. There is a possible automatic adjustment, but I'm not sure how long these devices take to identify their new location in relation to the internet time server. 

Manual resetting allows one to keep the clock in a time zone in which you're no located at that moment. I believe there's an option to display more than one time zone too, but don't know how it works. Such things are possible, and for some users necessary for easily maintaining international communications. Google Calendar offers time zone options for engagement entries, but I still haven't figured out how this is meant to work, if you're entering data for use in another time zone. All this tech savvy business about keeping your life on track only works well if you have a real clue about how it works.

The weather here is fairly warm, but will get colder with rain to come. Time to hunt out a pullover. Opening three months mail will have to wait until tomorrow.

Travel - expecting the unexpected

Clare's time with me here in Malaga has passed all too quickly. This morning, after packing her case we went for a walk, bought and then some fish for lunch before setting off for the airport. She is ever keen to allow more than enough time in getting started on a journey, so we left the apartment at two for a three thirty bag check-in rendezvous (according to her Vueling flight notification on the digital calendar she doesn't use). Normally three quarters of an hour is enough for a walk to the Metro stop on the Alameda and taking the thrice hourly service to the airport. 

Lately I found that the number three bus from the stop outside the apartment stops not only at the Alameda, but goes on to stop outside the side entrance to Estacion Maria Zambrano, very close to the second Metro stop on the airport line, more convenient, a little less challenging if you're tugging a case behind you and the same fare cost either way. Things didn't go according to plan, however.

The number three bus which arrived on time was packed to the doors. The driver let passengers off but wouldn't let anyone one. Rather than wait ten minutes for the next one, we walked over to the Paseo del Parque where there are several bus stops for service across town, including the number one, which also drops you outside the station. This deposited us at the entrance only five minutes later than planned. 

The Metro entrance has several automatic ticket machines and a wide entrance, so rarely is there a queue. On this occasion, the reason for this was that the ticketing network node has crashed and none of the machines were working! Fortunately, there was a real human being on ticket office duty, and we didn't have to queue. A competent human being is far faster than a fiddly slow automatic machine. We then had nearly fifteen minutes to wait for a train, and eventually arrived at Departures half an hour ahead of the recommended time. The check-in queue was relatively short processing thirty odd travellers in a quarter of an hour through half a dozen counters. Impressively efficient.

After a farewell cuppa, we took our leave of each other. An info panel display warned that a French air traffic controllers' strike might cause delays, but the Vueling phone app said Clare's flight was running to time. Not true. As the actual departure time approached, a delay of seventy five minutes was posted. Being prudent, she'd made a picnic meal to take with her 'just in case'. That's my girl, prepared for every eventuality. At nine, I received a text message so say she'd landed in Cardiff, and she was back at home three quarters of an hour later. 

It's amazing to be able to travel such distances with relative ease, despite glitches or delays which can add a couple of hours to a journey time. Such a complex, yet routine operation for millions every day. We are so spoiled. It's such a shame that some travellers seem to make no allowances for things going awry, and get upset about it on social media or in the press.

At our  age, we look back to early back-pack adventures in Greece, and having to wait an extra day for a ferry between islands, as schedules were rarely published and often elastic, according to the demand on local transport. To think - we were so young, but not in a hurry, just taking things as they came, no sense of entitlement, only of the gift of freedom to be and to travel, more or less in an organised way. In those far off days B.C. (before car), we were much blessed.

     

Home run saga

Most of Monday was occupied with packing, and domestic chores, so the furthest I want was to the rubbish bins on the opposite side of the road. At the end of the afternoon. I took a final paseo along La Malagueta beach promenade, around the port and through the Old Town, feeling that I'm going to miss this place rather a lot. In the evening I settled down early to sleep, and got about four hours, before rising at half past three. I was outside the apartment waiting for the taxi ordered to take me to the airport at four. Over the next half hour I was passed by half a dozen taxis. Only one stopped and the taxista was just hunting for a fare. He wasn't the one ordered to deliver me to the airport. It was clear something had gone wrong, so I then hailed another taxi, which got me to the airport five minutes faster than I could have driven the same route, but I had to pay €25.

Half an hour later than planned, meant that 200 people were queuing to drop bags and or check in. If I'd arrived as the first desks were open, I'd have been on my way to Security in ten minutes. It took 35 minutes this time. What was impressive was the way Vueling scaled up the number of desks open from four to a dozen while I was waiting. This speeded up the queuing rate considerably. As a result, anxiety levels gradually dropped among fellow travellers. People were queuing from the tail of the queuing control zone out of the airport doors by the time my turn came. In this early morning slot there are half a dozen Vueling flights all leaving within the same hour, so that's 1,500 people and luggage to process, given that all those flights would be full at this seasonal peak demand time.

It's a long walk to the Vueling departure gates, but I had enough time to walk at a relaxed pace, but not to stop for coffee. Boarding unusually began a little earlier than expected. I settled in my seat and sarted dozing while other passengers arrived. Then a steward asked me and the couple next to me if we would be willing to move seats, to accommodate a mother and two small children. I was moved up to 1A, on the front row nearest the door, a more comfortable seat, and free upgrade!

In the early days when we took EasyJet flights to and from Geneva and there was no seat reservation policy, I always aimed for a left hand side front row seat. This meant that I could get away first when we landed, and walk at my own brisk pace to passport control, without having to weave my way past slower passengers struggling to wheel their cabin cases. It's years since I sat in that position on any aircraft. On the approach ot Cardiff Airport we crossed the Seven Estuary and circled over Steepholm giving me the best view of it I've ever had, in the clear light of the rising sun. Wales, looking green and beautiful as ever, but ten degrees colder than Malaga, very noticeable as I've been fighting a cold since Sunday.

I received a text message while waiting for my case, to say that the taxista had gone to Calle Reding , a back street behind the main road, instead of Paseo Reding. Spanish postcodes don't have the same pinpoint accuracy as British ones, though there is a numbered bus stop outside the apartment, where I waited. This snippet of information would have forestalled the near disaster.

Anyway, by half past nine Clare and I were breakfasting together, and the rest of the day unfolded with usual post travel chores - looking at mail, updating the house Windows computers. They can't be relied on to do this without supervision. After two months off-line there are selected updates to complete, and this is done at a different pace on machines with different hardware. Sometimes they get stuck and need a nudge. There's also the latest edition of Libre Office 5.4 to download and install. It's always a pleasure to do this on any device that can take it, as the updating works so well.

Relieved to be home again unscathed. Only one glitch, however. I forgot to leave behind my spare set of apartment keys. They aren't the only ones available, but I'll need to send them back soon.

     

Final duty assignment, and winding up

Saturday was, as ever, a day for finishing a sermon, while coping with heat and humidity. At the end of the afternoon I walked into the Old Town, and saw many smartly dressed people on their way to or returning from a baptism or a wedding in one of other of the parish churches. The marvellous 'Genesis' photo exhibition by Sebastian Salgado has now gone from Plaza de la Constitucion. It now seems so empty and spacious in contrast.

When the Cathedral bells rang, I walked over and joined in the Sunday Vigil Mass. An elderly priest was assisted by an elderly server, and two much younger Sisters, who led the singing, and assisted with proceedings. A couple of hundred people were present, but didn't join in the singing. I made an effort, as well as I could, having still not memorised the Spanish Ordinary of the Mass. It wasn't as easy to follow on this occasion, as the priest's accent made it difficult for me, even though earlier I had rehearsed the same readings in my sermon preparation.  I still have a long way to go, moving beyond guesswork with the spoken language.

This morning, I drove to Velez Malaga to celebrate their 10.30 Eucharist. There were two dozen of us present, and there was Pat and Peter's 60th wedding anniversary with food and drink after the service. They came up last for Communion, and stayed behind so I could give a special anniversary blessing. I had a prayer in mind, on my tablet, and stupidly forgot to take it with me, so I had to pray ad extempore instead, which was probably better, in the joy and serenity of the moment. Somehow, the Spirit compensates for all we lack.

After a delicious lunch, I drove back and impulsively started gathering in my things from around the apartment and packing them. When I'd done as much as I could, I tackled the church computer, removing my working files from it, leaving it ready for the next locum. Then, I finished my end of stay report, and had supper. Tomorrow, apart from cleaning up, there's not much to do apart from wait for my 04.00am airport taxi. I hate have to leave so early. I'd rather be able to go by public transport,  but it doesn't leave early enough for me to check in without time pressure. 

If I come here again, I'll aim to take cabin baggage, so I don't have to queue half an hour for Bag Drop, and so can take the earliest RENFE Cercania train to the airport, clear security and walk straight through to the departure gate in good time, eliminating all my present worries over missing the flight. The older I get, the easier I want to passage from one country to another to be. 

Homeward bound

Monday was devoted to cleaning the apartment and packing, but I did manage my usual evening paseo before supper, then going to bed by nine. This was the only way to take the edge off a four thirty start from Rincon by taxi to get to the airport check-in by five. I didn't sleep well, and in the end, got up just after three, and pottered about until it was time to leave. At four exactly. Rosella gave me an alarm call - just in case. She'd been up watching the Clinton-Trump debate on TV. The  taxista she engaged to collect me was punctual, and amazingly cheerful for such an early hour. We chatted in Spanish throughout the twenty five minute ride, and I felt immensely pleased with myself for being able to function at all at this hour of the morning, and make myself understood, without possibility of falling back into English.

He dropped me off outside the main entrance. The Vueling check-in had just opened, and already a hundred or so people were queuing in one long straggly line impeding the travellers hunting for their respective desk. Within minutes, the cordoning system for compressing a queue into smaller area had been opened and was full to capacity. By that time, the queue was starting to move surprisingly fast. No fewer than seven Vueling desks were now open, and availability displayed on a screen which issued a distinctive odd sound every time a new desk number was called. It's the system I'd seen in use at Barcelona El Prat, when checking in for my return journey back at the end of July. Impressive.

A ten minute wait, twenty seconds dropping off my case, then the walk to the security clearance zone, hardly any waiting, despite scores of people being processed. Within twenty five minutes of being dropped off, I was in the departure shopping area, with an hour to wait before boarding. With hardly any shops open to browse in should I be so inclined, which I'm not. I preferred a leisurely stroll to the gate area where I was pretty certain our flight was docked. By the time I reached passport checkout, the gate had been confirmed, then there was only half an hour to wait before boarding, and enough time to sit and eat the picnic breakfast I brought with me.

We were bussed out to the aircraft. Passengers in the narrower seats at the rear were boarded first, but there were delays boarding the front group, perhaps because we were out on the tarmac, not docked. So we were twenty minutes late setting out. Despite the discomfort, I'd already dozed off before we started taxiing, and dozed for much of the flight. When the sun rose, just after eight, the terrain was obscured by intermittent cloud which grew thicker as we flew north. Only as we flew below a hundred metres into Rhoose from the West did land become visible again, so there wasn't much to stay awake for.

The benefit of such an early flight was arriving home just after ten, and having the whole day ahead of me to read mail, update computers, unpack, and catch up with Clare. In the afternoon I accompanied her to an appointment with her eye consultant at the UHW  Opthalmology department for an expert briefing before her next operation, three days after I return to Spain for my next tour of duty. It's unfortunate that we knew nothing of this prospect when my arrangements were made. Thankfully Owain is able to come over and support her

Noche de San Juan on the move

Voting day in the UK's EU referendum, but not a concern for us as we voted postally before we left. We've heard of people here having problems with getting their postal votes mailed back to the UK, because some Spanish post office workers do not recognise or know about the international Freepost convention and signage, as it's in English and French, not in their official postal language. I don't know how true or widespread this is, but its a complication no voter wants.

I had a meeting at the Balcon Hotel with a couple whose wedding I'm due to bless next Wednesday in Frigiliana. Then, after lunch I drove Clare to Malaga airport for her flight back to Cardiff. There were huge queues at the baggage check-in. Not just because of summer holidaymakers, however. There are several Vueling outbound flights within an hour or so of each other, notably one to Amsterdam. The conjunction happens when these two cohorts of passengers are boarding early morning flights as well, as I recall from previous experience.

I left Clare in the queue and went over to the RENFE station to find out if I could purchase a new Tarjeta Dorada train discount card there. No luck. Purchase of this kind are only possible at Maria Zambrano Station in the city, or Torremolinos, or Fuengirola. Knowing how easily I could achieve this in Fuengirola, I went back to check-in, said goodbye to Clare and drove west, to a town that is still familiar and fresh in my memory, from having spent the best part of eight months there the year before last. Mission accomplished I tried to book at ticket for my long distance journey in eight days time. Not possible except at the main station, or on-line. Ah well, another trip into Malaga, this time by bus in coming days I think.

Rather than go straight back home, I drove on to La Cala de Mijas, and visited Peter and Linda in their lovely Casa Madreselva house. Linda was in the pool, doing her physio exercises, following last years joint replacement op. It was great to meet up with them again and catch up. It's a year since I was last there for their joint 145th birthday celebration.

I got home in time for the start of the referendum count, but then at half past eleven headed down to Burriana beach for the Noche de San Juan festivities, there being nothing to glue me to the telly until the results began to flow. It'll be a long night for all the pundits and politicos.

Keeping busy

Clare's last day yesterday was quiet and uneventful. The usual swim, lunch at La Salina, our nearest restaurant down the road from here, siesta, walk along the beach and promenade to Torreblanca, and tea/coffee and cake at Granier, before turning in early, her Vueling flight departure being at seven fifteen in the morning.

We were both out of bed by four thirty and on the road to the airport by five under the light of an almost full moon. She was checked in and on her way through security by ten past five. As it was still dark when I got back, I went to bed again and slept until nine. At ten I had a text message to say she'd landed in Wales, and by eleven she was at home in Cardiff again. So easy, so convenient, apart from the early start.

I thought it was about time I booked my home leave flight for October, a month from now. That will also involve an early start. Unfortunately the first train arrives in the airport just as the flight begins to board, allowing no time to pass through security and walk to the departure gate so that rules out the best option. I'm contemplating going to the airport on a late train and camping out, as in some ways a disturbed night's sleep is no worse than having to waken from a deep sleep to get going, and it would save someone having to get up early to ferry me. Such is the cost of airport parking, I wouldn't contemplate taking the car and leaving it there for five days. If only the flight left an hour later!

Next task was to set about preparing my part in the funeral service being planned for this Thursday. Sid Wright, the man who died at 93, was a well known musician and entertainer, who'd been a band leader in London's West End clubs for forty years, starting during the blitz. Retiring here at sixty he went on to have second career pioneering the development of musical entertainment for British expats. He was a founder member of Fuengirola's English language Little Theatre, and one time St Andrew's church organist, who'd helped raise funds to establish the chaplaincy. Accommodating the family's wishes meant first reading through fascinating biographical material and press cuttings of some of his interviews, and tailoring my usual contribution to fit the occasion.

Once that was completed, there was an article to draft for the next edition of the Diocesan prize winning Chaplaincy magazine 'Outreach', ahead of next week's production deadline. It kept me busy for most of the day. It was only when I woke up from my siesta wondering where Clare was, thinking she was downstairs, that I realised I'm here now on my own. For several weeks in the Spring we were the first occupants of the house, and this has been a repeat. I shall miss her, no doubt, and it'll take longer than usual to get used to being here without her. Just as well I have plenty do to at the moment.

As I sat down outside in the shade to enjoy an afternoon cuppa, I heard light aircraft and helicopters busy in the area. There was a column of smoke rising on the western outskirts of the town. What at first I thought was an unusual film cloud clinging to the face of the Sierra de Mijas above and behind was smoke from a fire. This was confirmed when the helicopter appeared trailing a large bucket of water to dump at the site. After a hot summer, everything is tinder dry and the Protection Civil teams have to be vigilant to prevent brush fires getting out of control close to the suburbs. The column of smoke transformed into a column of steam, but long after the mountain looked clear again, the smell of wood smoke hung, not unpleasant on the evening air.

Around the urbanizacion in which this house is set, there are still acres of empty building land which await development. Since we've been here, on several occasions small teams of men have been out with strimmers cutting down and removing all dry brushwood in the vicinity. How tidy, I thought then. Now I realise how safety conscious people have to be in a crowded, arid urban area.
  

In flight inconvenience

We arrived in good time for our plane to Malaga, and it departed on time. I was so relaxed, I dozed off once we were airborne. When I woke up, the refreshments trolley was on the move, and I needed to go to the toilet. We were sitting quite near the front, so I figured it wouldn't be long before the trolley had passed my seat, but the indicator light stubbornly stayed on 'occupied'. I asked the trolley steward if it going to be opened at all, and was told the toilet was out of order. True or not, the only person to go in and out of the loo was a bearded pilot, wielding a pass key. I got up to join the queue for the pair of toilets at the tail end, but the gangway was blocked by a second trolley, and the stewards seemed to be oblivious of the fact that there were several others like myself, looking uncomfortable and fidgeting, children and old people alike. 

An hour later the gangway finally cleared. Another passenger equally desperate appealed to the trolley steward to abandon a second round of refreshment orders to let people pass. It was an embarrassment for some passengers to ask, and an error on the part of the stewarding staff to give food and drink sales a higher priority than passenger comfort. I was awake long enough to follow pre flight announcements, and there was nothing said either in English or Spanish to warn passengers of the inconvenience, so that some might think ahead of trolley service. It was an unpleasant experience, and it's the first time that I've had cause for complaint about anything on a Vueling flight, whose staff are generally charming and considerate. What went wrong? Something amiss in training new staff perhaps?

The flight was early arriving. We were picked up by bus and ferried to the terminal, but the gate staff hadn't arrived, so we lost the ten minutes gained. But it was comfortably warm, and ten thirty at night so there was no point in getting grumpy. As soon as I was able, I tweeted about our on-board experience. Within the hour I received a tweeted reply directing me to the Vueling complaints website to make a report. It will be interesting to see how long it will take to respond.

Churchwarden Bill was there to meet us and take us to Fuengirola and 'Casa de la Esperanza', the Costa del Sol East chaplaincy house. How good it was to arrive at a now familiar place and relax with a cool beer and a chat before tackling one last thing before bed.

Another internet router had been installed since we were last here with a different 20 digit alphanumeric wi-fi password. I just couldn't get it right trying to connect my phone. There was no automatic set up button on this one! I switched to my Chromebook, entered the password monster correctly from a proper keyboard first go, taking care to cut and paste my effort to an email, to send myself, if successful. Then I could copy and paste it from the email to the phones and laptop I'd brought with me to cover every communications need while I'm away. It was quarter past one before I could finally relax into bed in the heat of the night ...

We woke early, breakfasted, and then went out food shopping. As I arrived home, fully laden, the front gate and doors were wide open, much to my surprise, as we'd locked up carefully. Churchwarden Linda and Peter her husband had arrived to stock the fridge ahead of our arrival, not realising that we'd come in on a late night Thursday flight, they'd mistaken the day. It was great to see them again, sit down and get an instant update over another cool beer. My, it's hot, 28C if not more, and humid, although there are breezes from the sea from time to time. Acclimatisation is going to take a little while, but it's good to be back again. 

   

Homeward bound

When I got up this morning, the temperature in Fuengirola was much the same as that in Cardiff, but sunnier. Having packed and cleaned the apartment, I drove to St Andrew's where I met Ian and handed over all my keys and the chaplain's mobile phone. He took me for a parting glass  to a restaurant above the covered market, a short walk from the church. Above the restaurant, I discovered is the local public library and above that several rooms for community use. It's an impressively useful piece of municipal social architecture, and apparently, well used. As Ian lives a few stops up the railway line to Malaga via the airport, we travelled together and chatted about the way of life in these parts which both of us appreciate so much.

My tarjeta dorada railcard gave me a discount fare of €1.55 for a forty minute journey. I'd over-anticipated the time I'd need to check in and go through security by an hour, and had to wait half an hour for the bag drop counter to open. By the time I was air-side I had two hours to wait, which passed by quickly enough, nosing around the shops, and walking the considerable distance to the Vueling departure zone. Flying past the snow capped Pyrenees lit by late afternoon sun was a pleasant experience. The couple occupying the seats next to me were returning from a three month spell of mission supporting the Ark evangelical church in Fuengirola. Through the good offices of a friend they were introduced to the mission among Andalusian gypsies which has seen significant growth in Pentecostal churches serving gypsies in Spain, a group that has become alienated from Catholic tradition. So, the conversation on my return trip was just as interesting as that on the outward journey.

We arrived in the dark at five thirty and I was soon on the airport shuttle bus to Cardiff, and quickly on to a sixty-one, reaching home in time for the Archers, and a welcome home supper with Clare. And now, a month's mail to read!