Nerja supermarket tour

While it was still dark, I heard the main door click as Jorje entered quietly and went to work on the pool at the bottom of the garden, adding purification tablets, checking the water pump. I didn't hear him leave as I slipped away into sleep again. I woke up just before sunrise and took a photo of the valley as the sun was about to rise out of sight above the horizon. From where the sun did appear above the side of the valley a while later, I learned that the valley is oriented roughly east south east. A strong wind caused the windows to moan in their frame

After listening to 'Thought for the Day' I got up and made porridge for breakfast as usual. Jorje returned to switch off the pump and fish stray vegetation out of the pool. He's happy to talk with me in Spanish, and said he used to chat in Spanish with Fr Nigel the previous chaplain and his Uruguayan wife Pilar. He is Argentinian, easier to understand than a native Andalusian! Until lunchtime, I prepared and recorded next week's Morning Prayer and Reflection, then added chorizo to the second instalment of the dish I cooked yesterday.

I then walked down to the main road and followed the senda litoral in the Torrox direction as far as the Torre de Calaceite. My body started to remind me how far I walked yesterday so I turned and retraced my steps back to the house to upload photos and have a cup of tea. The house number plate fashioned from decorative tiles in a fancy little wrought iron frame was lying on the ground unbroken, blown off the wall by the pestering wind. Fixing it back on wasn't easy, as I couldn't find any tools in the house. An umbrella with a metal tip came to the rescue, giving me a blunt hard instrument with which to push together the soft metal loops used to mount the plate on the wall. It needs another mounting screw to prevent the wind from prising it loose.

A few things I didn't buy yesterday I still needed, so I drove to Nerja intending to go to Mercadona, but I approached it the wrong way for accessing the car park. Instead I drove right through to the eastern outskirts of the town where there's a second Mercadona, easier to locate at the side of a main road, even if the car park entrance is a little awkward. And there's a Carrefour nearby on the opposite side of the road. 

I settled for the Carrefour as I remembered it was easier to entre and exit for returning to Torrox. I found everything on my list with the exception of a few small paring knives for the kitchen. On the journey back I went to the Aldi store which is opposite Lidl on the same site, but neither store sells cutlery, but I did buy a couple of 8 litre bottles of water. The mains water is supplied by an artesian well. It's clean and safe to drink, but the taste when it comes to cooking or making tea is a different matter.

It's interesting to see the Aldi store opposite Lidl's was probably constructed more recently than Lidl, as it has an open underground car park without a gate entry system to control the length of one's stay in the car park. A smaller site has been optimised by this design approach. It was almost empty, whereas Lidl's surface car park with gate entry system is pretty full most of the time. This is free to use, but your ticket has to be validated for exit by the checkout operator. None of this at Aldi's. Access is easy once you know how, but not as visible to find as a surface car park. 

After supper I tried getting the telly to work. It was rigged up to receive UK cable TV. All the devices attached to it seem to work but there's no external signal input. Something's amiss I think. Unless there's some aspect of this assemblage I don't understand at all. I followed a line of cable from the system to the balcony, but reached a dead end. If there was once a satellite dish or aerial at the end of the line, there isn't now. I'm not bothered about this. I have my Spanish novel to read for entertainment before it's time for bed.

Feats of daring on Playa San Franciso

After several rough weather days this week, the wind strength dropped overnight and the cloud cover dispersed. Only when it rained heavily midweek was the cloud cover as low as it usually is in Cardiff. On very windy days the cloud cover has been higher. Generally it's been less gloomy than at home, but the return of the sun is welcome, penetrating the house and warming the lounge in the morning, so heating isn't needed. Something to enjoy while it lasts.

After breakfast I completed and uploaded next week's prayer video and edited my Sunday sermon. Lunch consisted of the second portion of chicken in a sauce cooked yesterday with potato, carrot and judia plana, which Google translates as 'flat bean'. It's a variety of long broad bean pod harvested before the actual beans within grow to maturity and the pod becomes stringy, a favourite veg of mine when I'm in Spain.

Clare and I chatted after lunch. She recounted the performance of 'The Scottish Play' she watched last night at the Royal Welsh College of Music and Drama. Set in our times with guns instead of knives and swords and Macbeth was played by an Irish actor, and scenes at the start and finish intended to make a statement about the universality and continuity of treachery and conflict in human relationships, I guess.

Then I went for a walk down to the far end of Los Boliches, aware that the wind had picked up again. The sea was as turbulent as it was on previous days, if not more so. There were no surfers waiting for waves in the waters of Playa San Francisco, just too dangerous for sensible people I thought. But not for kite surfers however! 

Three of them took maximum benefit from the cross wind traversing the bay, to drive their surf boards across the top of three metre high waves, occasionally being lifted from one to fifteen metres into the air before hitting the sea again and only rarely going under rather than continuing to surf the waves. Amazing to watch. Like snowboarders who fly high riding the half-pipe or a downhill obstacle course, their confidence and control is very impressive. I can't imagine how they achieve such athletic excellence without paralysing or killing themselves.

On the return leg, I stopped to buy some toiletries at the large Los Boliches Mercadona on the ground floor of a huge apartment block. It's like a maze inside with many different sections. Then I stopped at the smaller Las Salinas Mercadona down the hill, to buy a stick of pan rustico. I bought one a few days ago for a change from half-rye sliced bread I usually buy, and enjoyed the flavour. Made of strong white flour, it's more substantial than its French or British equivalent. 

The air temperature today was decent fourteen degrees, but the strong wind was chilling, and when I got back I felt like cooking something to warm me up. The pan rustico  went nicely with a tapa I invented for supper, of spicy chorizo chunks, fried in olive oil with garlic, cherry tomatoes and sliced mushroom.

Finally, I listened to Janacek's opera 'Jenufa' on Radio 3 while writing and editing pictures uploaded when I got in. Then an hour's reading before turning in for the night, feeling the benefit of so much fresh air, sun and good food.

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.

Settling in

I promised myself a early walk to the nearby nature reserve lake, but no sooner than I'd got up, I had a phone call from John at Collyfer, one of the region's Funeral Directors, about a funeral in Arboleas Thanatorium next Monday. This will involve a bereavement visit to an outlying village a couple of kilometres from Arboleas, itself a forty minute drive from Mojacar. I tried ringing later on but only got the family's answering machine.

Then, after breakfast I had an hour long catch-up Skype chat with Archdeacon Geoff, filling me in on various items of news, and sounding me out for ideas about a fresh approach to a couple of outstanding issues. That's the benefit of having known each other for twenty five years, since we first worked together.

I decided to go shopping for fruit and veg before making lunch, but it was beyond lunchtime when I got around to walking rather than driving to Mercadona, for the exercise. By the time's I'd cooked, it was nearly tea time, but it didn't matter, as I have no routine established at the moment. Somehow, the evening slipped by as well. 

By the time 'The Archers' was over, it was already dark, and I took off for the beach to take photos of the Harvest full moon rising about the waters, albeit half an hour late. Then I walked up to the road bridge over the nature reserve. In the moonlight could see that it has now a different shape than it had last year. Torrential winter rain breached and carried away the reeds and bushes that colonised the shore line sand bar, but I couldn't see in the dark whether or not the breach led to open water. I'll find that out tomorrow.

  

Surprise supper

A quiet morning spent reading responses to the news about the Law Lords' conclusion that Parliament has to be consulted, not informed about Brexit proposals. The more the decision to leave the EU and its ensuing consequences come under scrutiny, the more likely it is that those who voted in favour of it may realise they were duped by lies and un-deliverable promises, and start demanding a way out. Already, before any strategic plan for withdrawal negotiations has been formulated, let alone debated or agreed upon, discussion on limiting the impact damage from Brexit is being aired. You could say that an early attitude of bullishness among our leaders is turning into sheepishness.

I walked to the Mercadona to buy some chicken to cook for lunch, for a change. Afterwards I chatted with Rachel and Jasmine over in Phoenix using Viber, and then with Clare in Cardiff. I was glad to learn that she's now been given a firm January date for the operation on her other eye. It's good to have something to plan everything else around. She's expecting a weekend visit from Ann tomorrow, when it will be a year to the day since Eddie was laid to rest. How quickly that year has sped by. Living at opposite ends of the country, we didn't see a great deal of each other except for family gatherings and holiday visits, but an abiding sense of his quiet, untroubled, thoughtful, assuring presence makes it hard to absorb the fact that he's no longer with us.

Just as I was thinking about having supper I had a phone call from Pam and Alwyn inviting me to join them for supper in a restaurant with Archdeacon Geoff and his wife Carol, who'd spent the afternoon with them on their week long whistle stop pastoral tour of Costa Chaplaincy visits. Such a welcome surprise! It's a couple of years since I last saw Geoff of Carol in the course of looking after Nerja on locum duty. Though Geoff and I skype each other and exchange emails from time to time, there's nothing as good as catching up face to face. And great to see them both looking so well. The Derbyshire country air is doing them good.

We went to the Bella Vista restaurant, one of Mojácar's most recommended eateries. The food was very good and the price for a very varied set menu most reasonable. I had sopa de mariscos and sardinas. The waitress laughed as she corrected me saying sopa de marineros - literally - seaman soup, instead of fish soup, but nevertheless expressed appreciation for my effort at ordering in Spanish. How kind! It was a lovely convivial evening, with friends old and new.

      

Walking again to Mojácar Pueblo

Again I was up and about before dawn this morning, but sunrise was at half past eight, local time. It's just as well that I don't have any early starts here. The clock goes back tonight, and adjusting to the change of hour won't be so critical as when I return home in just over two weeks, and have to put the clock back another hour. Oh those afternoon sunsets, and dark by half past four! I don't look forward to that.

After breakfast, I sat out on the balcony with the telescope on its proper tripod, so I could use it to spot birds a good hundred metres away. I identified a collared dove, both from appearance and its characteristic call, which is different from that of a turtle dove. Yet, according to my bird book, the turtle dove is supposed to be common here as the collared dove is in the UK. The book, however, was published over thirty years ago, and things have changed in that time.

The weather seemed good for another walk up to Mojácar Pueblo, this time using the shortcut over the back road I discovered last week. It took me just under an hour and a half. When I arrived in the Plaza with the large mirador looking out across the coastal plain to the north, I was surprised to find that since my last visit it has been closed, surrounded by heras fencing, and transformed into a building site. There were groups of puzzled tourists somewhat crammed into the remaining half of the plaza nearest the shops. Not what they expected either? 

For a while, I wondered if there'd been some sort of disaster there, but then I saw an Ayantamiento notice announcing closure of a few back streets due to the demolition and 'sustucion' of the Plaza. Google translate was unable to help me with this word, but when I was about to set off on the return journey, I saw a large information panel near the bus stop announcing the demolition and 'suscitución' (=substitution, i.e. replacement) of the Plaza. The puzzling word was no more than a municipal typo.

In the Plaza there's a redundant ermita, which has been turned into a souvenir shop. I went in this time, as it was open, and looked at the collection of small silver 'indalo' images, which I'd discussed with Clare as possible Christmas presents for Rhiannon and Jasmine. After a WhatsApp phone discussion with Clare, I bought two pairs, to use for earrings, rather than single ones to hang on chains.

I visited the Parish Church again to see if there was an advertised time for Tuesday's Todos Santos Mass, but could find no information. Nevertheless, I enjoyed a quiet time therein, until a tour party arrived, led by a priest. Then I sat outside in the Plaza de Iglesia with a beer and a warm tortilla tapa, watching people coming and going for a while. Then I wandered about in a part of the town I'd not gone through before found some streets with views on the highest elevation of the pueblo, facing the sea. At the top is a Plaza del Castillo, although nothing visible now remains of the mediaeval Moorish fortress.

For the return trip, I chose to re-trace my steps on the route I took on the first walk up to the pueblo. As my legs were already well stretched and tired, the descent to the plain was quite steep in places and uncomfortable to walk. I glimpsed several interesting birds on the route, but I identified only a crested lark as it ran away from me along a side path.

By the time I reached the apartment, I was quite footsore, perhaps because I wore my walking shoes for my nearly four hour expedition, rather than the usual sandals. That's only the second time I've worn them since travelling in them, so my feet were unused to the change from sandals, even though the shoes are comfortable to walk in.

After cooking lunch and a siesta, I realised I there was some weekend shopping to do. I couldn't face the usual four kilometre walkabout to the Mercadona, so rather than do without until Monday, guiltily I took the car. Apart from the rare convenience store, shops and supermarkets here are shut on Sundays now. I'm not sure what happens in high season. 

The roads have certainly been busier yesterday and today with the influx of people taking a break for Todos Santos. Hallowe'en silliness doesn't play such a prominent part here as it does in Britain and other places where culture has been poisoned by American marketing hype. It's a relatively recent introduction. The custom of visiting family graves, tidying them up, leaving flowers, and even having a picnic party there, is still widely practised in Spain. Death is accepted more as a part of life, rather than the subject of fear and supernatural fantasies. It's altogether healthier, in my opinion, than what has sadly become normalised in northern European countries.

A funeral to prepare for

Just after a late breakfast, I received a phone call from an Englishman working as a funeral director to ask if I'd take a service in the village Church at Antas, about half an hour's drive inland from the coast. He gave me the widow's contact details, and those of the Parish Priest, who said he'd like me to get in touch. I then phone made a midday meeting arrangement to prepare for the service in a cafe on a trading estate close to the A7 autovia exit nearest to Mojacar, which is actually within the boundaries of Antas, although separated from it by the road.

I arrived just at the same time the widow and her widowed friend, and noticed how members of the staff in the cafe greeted her with of sympathy, clearly she and her husband were regular customers here. We talked for a long while and I gleaned enough information to write a eulogy, as family and friends didn't wish to. The deceased was an aero engineer, what had worked on building Concorde at Filton in Bristol, something recalled understandably with great pride. 

A selection of popular music had been chosen to play during the service. No hymns, and very few prayers I was admonished, as the widow claimed not to be a believer, although her husband had still possessed respect for the faith of his boyhood, if not actual practice. As the shock of his death, unexpected due to complications after an operation was still raw, I felt it wiser not to argue, but later, it meant that I'd need to give careful attention to liturgical content with this in mind, as to crafting the eulogy. The issue is not leaving God out as much as bringing God's presence into focus in a respectful way - inviting those who can to pray, rather than just saying prayers on everyone's behalf. Thankfully there's plenty of precedent for that in Christian tradition, always having to cater for diversity in the participants at an occasional office of the Church..

On the way back to the apartment I did my main weekly shopping trip to Lidl's in Garrucha, but after lunch I realised that I'd forgotten milk and margarine yet again, so walked into Mojacar to buy some, and get much needed exercise. In the evening I called Fr Enrique, the Parish Priest of Antas, with my well rehearsed speech in Spanish, but got no reply. Half an hour later, however, he rang back, and after a successful start in Spanish, he switched to English, keen to practice his foreign language as I was. I'm looking forward to meeting up on Wednesday for a chat before the service.

I went down to the beach again in search of pictures of the moon rising out of the sea, but there was thin cloud down to the horizon, and little to be seen, let alone photographed. Ah well, another night maybe.

  

Saturday shopping

I got in late last night, then talked until even later to Ashley, who was still in the office in between making another walk around Cardiff city centre's night time economy to check that all's well with CBS radio users. As a result I got up late, did some writing after breakfast, then cooked a chicken and chick pea curry, making use of a couple of chicken legs I came home with from last night's social evening and the remainder of last week's veg purchases. That made a pleasant change. 

Then I drove to Garrucha to do the week's shopping for supplies at the bright shiny new Lidl's, one of the largest I've been in anywhere, either in Spain or Britain. I didn't notice much more of a variety of products on sale, but it seems to be able to accommodate more shoppers. However, mid-afternoon only one till was open and the queue was long. 

Garrucha is my next walking destination. It's a small town with around 8,500 inhabitants, plus holidaymakers. It has an industrial history as a mineral exporting port. Nowadays it is visited only by bulk carriers exporting building plaster, manufactured inland. It has a small fishing fleet, and a leisure marina. There's an 18th century castle to discover and on the road into town from Mojacar what looks like another of those fortified mansions, like one I saw last month outside Benajarafe near Velez Malaga.

It's good to get stocked up, so that if I run out of anything it's easier to walk to the shops and carry back a few items, with no need to use the car. In fact that's exactly what happened next. I realised as soon as I got back that I'd forgotten to buy milk. So, my evening paseo was a brisk 50 minute round trip walk to the Mercadona under an overcast sky containing some dark storm clouds. No sign of rain so far however. The evening is still warm (19C) and fragrant, with tree frogs chirruping not too far away and a few dried up leaves dropping. It's dark now by eight o'clock. The only thing missing to complete the autumnal feel is a whiff of wood smoke in the air.

Heavens, I've been here a week already! Time passes quickly with so many new places to explore.

  

Walking to Mojácar Pueblo

A slow start to the day, and a morning spent on writing a second sermon for Sunday's Evensong for the congregation at Aljambra, a place I'll be visiting for a social event tomorrow.The first lesson on Sunday evening is Nehemiah 6, and noticing this reminded me of ideas I've had for a long time, but had few opportunities to work on in preaching. I've probably said it before, but in recent years I've found that Old Testament readings, properly interpreted, can be helpful in giving us a perspective on contemporary issues to be faced. I've preached more often on Old Testament texts in the last quarter of my ministry than in the first three quarters.

After siesta this afternoon, I went out, not knowing where I'd walk. I headed towards the Rio Agua nature reserve, and found a road past the football stadium which headed inland up the river valley. There's a straight road to the west, bounded by a dyke three metres high for more than a kilometre. This affords protection from the Rio Agua flooding after heavy rain - a necessity - for on the opposite side of the road is a series of industrial sites, from which cement and road-stone are distributed, plus a municipal vegetation dumping site.

As I walked inland, the surface waters of the coastal lagoon soon gave way to dry river bed, with trees, bushes and above all bamboo groves dominating along the underground watercourse. This is indeed arid land, except for the underground water that nurtures surface greenery in abundance. On this part of the route, the wind whipped up clouds of dust along the unmetalled road. I felt as if I was in a Western movie. Once I passed under the town's elevated by-pass, the terrain changed from semi-wilderness to olive groves and orchards of oranges and lemons. There were grenadines too, growing wild by the side of the road. Just wonderful.

Past the orchards, the path climbs steeply until it meets the main road, offering access to thel town uphill. In the lower reaches, the ancient water source is located, a traditional meeting place for everyone. Tradition has it that when the conquering forces of Ferdinand and Isabella arrived at the fuente, over five centuries ago, the loyalty of Jews Muslims and Christians was pledged to them by a town united, living together in peace, and this after decades of violent conflict.

I climbed to the highest point, bought a bottle of water and a lemon I needed for cooking later, as it was convenient. From the mirador, I saw the five fifteen hourly bus drive away. Rather than wait, I walked down to Mojacar Playa, visited Mercadona to buy some fish for supper, a second day in a row, and walked home. The round trip, with stops was two and a half hours, less then I thought. The achievement of this little 13km round trip on foot left me feeling quite exhilarated.

  

Mojácar Pueblo

I completed my Sunday Eucharist sermon for Mojacar this morning, nice and early. There'll also be an Evensong inland at Aljambra. With plenty of leisure to think, I'll prepare something different to suit the readings for this occasion.

I've been meaning to do it since I arrived, but finally this afternoon I drove up to Mojacar Pueblo, the hill town sitting 150 metres above the coastal plain, nestling on a promontory beneath jagged sierra peaks. The site's history of occupation dates back 4,000 years, but the present layout of the town, like so many other historic villages in Spain dates from 11th century Moorish occupation.

In the 19th and early 20th centuries its ancient prosperity diminished greatly, as did its population, but it was then 'rediscovered'. It became a centre for artists from the 1960s, and after that grew as a tourism destination, with the development of Mojacar Playa on the coastal plain, during the past thirty years. The old town has decent approach roads, modern parking facilities, several plazas and small retail areas equally modern, yet exploiting its steep hilly environment without detriment.

It was quiet, and there weren't many people about during siesta time on this autumn afternoon, but I could imagine the place welcoming large numbers of high season visitors. There are spectacular views over the plain to the north towards Vera and Garrucha, with a walkway following the line of the ancient town wall, no longer visible, showcasing the view.

The Parish Church of our Lady of the Rosary and St Augustine, dates from 1560. It stands at the edge of the upper plaza. It has a plain fortress-like exterior, and a squat bell tower. The interior is a simple high round arched unvaulted nave without apse or aisles. The west front is also plain with a single round arched entrance. Classic forms, but with no renaissance or baroque portal to boost its status as a church building post reconquista. It was built on the site where the mosque once stood. I wondered if the unadorned simplicity of this building bore witness to the town's history, in which Jews, Muslims and Christians had lived peacefully together, and won respect from Ferdinand and Isabella when citizens of all faiths united in pledging loyalty to the Crown without surrendering the status quo they'd developed.

Although it was siesta time, the church was open to visit, and a gentle stream of recorded plainsong offered a calming welcome to all who entered. There seems to be no Catholic place of worship in Mojacar Playa. There's an Assemblies of God missionary congregation, and the Anglican presence, but no Mass centre advertised to cater for visitors down on the seaside. I wonder why? This Friday is the patronal fiesta of Our Lady of the Rosary, so there'll be special events up in the old town, but not at a time when I can make it, unfortunately, as I have a prior engagement with the Anglican congregation out at Aljambra.

After a couple of hours up in the old town, I returned to the apartment, and then went out for my daily walk. This time to the Mercadona and back, eighty minutes exercise, and some fish for supper as a reward for the effort.

My photos you'll find here

  

Beach surprise discovery

I had a meeting this morning with churchwarden Pam and Fr Alan, the retired priest who been living in Mojacar permanently for 12 years. He's acting as Interim Priest in Charge during the interregnum, to provide much needed continuity, as he is well known in all four worship centres, and throughout the widespread pastoral area the chaplaincy covers. If was good to hear them speaking about the many challenges and opportunities which present themselves, and in the privileged position of having my duties organised for me during my stay.

When we'd finished, I had some washing, and then, having located the nearest Mercadona some shopping to get done before lunch. It's necessary to drive to a supermarket, as it's almost half an hour's walk, too far to carry a full week's basic purchases in one go. Mojacar Playa is well spread out over six kilometres of sea shore. There are a handful of small convenience stores, the nearest is ten minutes from the apartment. The resort and all the satellite urbanizacions are planned around the presumption of car usage for the long term residents. I understand that in summer vehicle congestion is a terrible problem. A journey which now takes me five minutes can take four times as long.

There are, however, frequent busses along the coast road catering for visitors, or residents that are no longer able to drive. It will be necessary to use the car more than I'd prefer to, in order to perform all my duties, and look after myself. I don't mind at all, except that it will be vital to make sure that I get out and walk every day for an hour, as well as go places by car.

After lunch and a siesta, I decided to go and find the chapel where I'll be celebrating the Eucharist on Sunday next. The Ermita de San Pascual is not in Mojacar itself but 11km from the apartment, just off the coast road as it weaves though the mountains, in the hamlet of Agua de Enmedio overlooking one of the several golf courses in the area.

The west front of the building, which accommodates over sixty people, is tiled in large roughly hewn slate slabs with a silvery grey colour. This isn't typically local, but apparently an idea originating with the benefactor who had the chapel built, who'd lived and worked in South America, and imported this architectural feature, imitating capillas rurales in the Andes.

On the drive back, I stopped to look at Castillo Macenas a mid-eighteenth century coastal defence fortress which stands on a beach, fifty metres from the shore. There's a promontory a kilometre further south with a round watch tower, the Torre del Pirulico. The beach is several kilometres away from the conurbation, with unpaved parking areas between road and beach. On the sand beneath the fortress walls, goodness knows how many people had made small piles of stones, found laying about in the vicinity. I made one too. A spiral design, a peace sign and a yin-yang symbol were also laid out in a mosaic of white marble pebbles and black slate pieces on the sand.

The beach has an element of natural unkempt wildness about it, until you look back towards rising ground where there's a bend in the road. Here the concrete skeleton of long low rise building complex sits, looking neglected and ugly, a sad blight on the landscape. It's one of several large unfinished projects hereabouts, a legacy of the past decade of economic crisis. Good cheer arrived, however in a pair of lapwings, one of which sat quite still for long enough to allow me to take three good pictures, quite close up, before flying away.

Immediately after returning, I went out for that essential walk, this time, heading north on the beach towards Garrucha. A few hundred metres along there's a large area of reeds, bushes and trees that makes a huge green patch on the otherwise quite bare shoreline. It's where there's usually a dry river bed, an arroyo, with underground water seeping into the sea. Here, however, the sand has created a barrier over ages, so that instead of water spreading out and dispersing in the sandy subsoil, it has formed a shallow lake of brackish water, on which certain kinds of vegetation and wildlife thrive. 

The lake is about half a kilometre long, spanned by a road bridge. This is the outflow of the Rio Aguas, as the bridge signage informs the world. I walked back along the road to the bridge, and from there had a fine vantage point to take photos of an egret, some coots and a remarkable if shy wading bird with red legs and red cheeks and beak - a Purple Gallinule - my first sighting. There were other smaller birds as well, but they moved too quickly for me to identify.

Another man was on the bridge with camera and binoculars, another bird watcher. He approached me and we started chatting in Spanish, and comparing photos. He showed me an app on his smartphone which not only gave a photo of a bird, but its name in four languages. He was a visitor from Madrid, I think, and had only discovered this remarkable jewel of a conservation area, right in the middle of a major holiday resort in the previous week. A conversation about birds exclusively in Spanish plus the discovery of this place really made my day.

  

First Communions in Sta Pola

We didn't get up early enough to get ourselves to the ten o'clock Mass at the main Parish Church of Our Lady of the Rosary this morning. In fact, we were unsure of the time and arrived just as communion was being distributed. Ann's back had been playing her up, so she stayed behind. Clare decided to return with some nice pastries to cheer her up and we enjoyed a cup of coffee together standing up in a crowded pasteleria before parting company.

 I decided to stay in town and wait for the midday Mass. It was one of the series of Paschaltide First Communion Sundays, so I knew it would be a 'Family Service' in every sense. I went to the Castello to wait, and found this was the gathering point for families with childred being presented for first Communion and the catechists organising the event. It was already visibly a multi generational event with abuelos minding the little ones, while the abuelas were involved with organising and drilling the candidates.

There were a dozen girls in white dresses and a dozen boys in sailor suits, a immaculately turned out. Two by two, shepherded by abuelas and photographed or videod every step of the way, they processed from the Capilla de Nuestra Senora de Loreto in the north east corner wall of the castillo, out to the main west gate to the church, two hundred yards away in a side street off the main square.

The church was packed, and the Parish priest, still the man I recall from previous visits, a good five years older than I, conducted the service with extensive explanation at every stage, perhaps conscious of how few people present, all dressed up to the nines, we're regular attenders. I was delighted to find how much of what he said I can now follow. The work I have done with Duolingo is reaping rewards now.

I arrived home just as Ann and Clare were venturing down to the beach, so I prepared salad for lunch, including a tapa of mussles (admittedly canned) in a spicy sauce on a bed of rice,a little fovourite of mine. Then later I also cooked supper supper, this time a risotto with seta mushrooms, onions, french beans and pickled anchovies - a great pleasure when the ingredients are so readily available at the Mercadona just a few flights of steps below our AirBnB apartment.

Plastic bag tribute

Apart from a brief excursion get replenish food stocks, I spent Friday home alone, avoiding the heat, mostly working at DISC intranet updates. Often a spate of new information comes in after a monthly Radio Users Group and it's in everyone's interests to sort and post it quickly, and right now having work to do is a good distraction. After three weeks of Clare being here with me it's not so easy to revert to solitude. I'm starting to look forward to next Thursday's home flight.

This afternoon, I ventured out in the heat to replenish the stock of cerveza sin alcool which is one thing Spain does well in several varieties and at reasonable prices. There's nothing like a refreshing beer in this hot 'n humid atmosphere, preferably without alcoholic side effects. Many standard soft fizzy drinks seem to be a cocktail of artificial ingredients plus an overdose of sugar or sweetener, ruining the taste buds and who knows what else.

I took with me some empty jars and wine bottles to take to the bottle bank which I pass on my way to the supermarket, still using the same plastic bag that I brought from home with spare shoes in it, a bag acquired in Woodbridge Suffolk last summer, at a splendidly up-market Adnams brewery shop.  I've used it at least every other day for bottle carrying and/or shopping over the past three months. As I was packing my purchases at the Mercadona checkout, the handle parted irreparably from the bag. 

I thought it was worthy of this photo tribute after over fifty heavy goods deployments here in Spain, in between being rolled up and consigned to a spare pocket. Also dozens more uses over the previous nine months back home in Wales."100% Biodegradable ... and of course reusable." it says on the bottom. There's nothing to say where it was made, or by whom. I'd love them to know how much this travelling companion has been appreciated as a sustainable consumer item.
 

Development despite recession

Today was quiet and uneventful, the skies still cloudy with occasional showers. I took a phone call in Spanish from a photocopy engineer who wanted to make a service visit. I understand far better than I can speak, as I don't get enough practice on a daily basis, and my recall is quite slow, but somehow I managed to convince him that neither Tuesday nor Wednesday this week would be convenient for him to visit. 

Before supper I walked down the steep hill to Burriana beach, and discovered there was another way to return, up another more winding steep hill with different views. This brought me out near the new Mercadona, which I recall being just a wasteland site with a ruined building when I was first here four years ago in May during the Romeral de San Isidro.

The photo below was taken from much the same location. I took another photo here, when I was here two years ago, interesting only for the graffiti it contained,. At that time the site was fully enclosed with a couple of tower cranes, and site excavation was well under way.   

Now that the fully open supermarket has claimed that empty space, it presents nicely landscaped gardens flourishing around the edges of the building. It seems quite low-rise, but is actually dug into the hillside with underground and open air parking below. A polished accomplishment, fitting fairly unobtrusively into the modern if traditionally styled housing of the urbanizacion close to it.

There's a small red advertising panel on the pavement, close to the corner of the building. It was there then too, advertising then as it does now the SuperSol on the opposite side of the road two hundred metres away. It's hard to imagine that the town would be under capacity for new supermarkets at times when it's not inundated with visitors, but I guess there must still be money to be made in providing such swish big convenience stores to big spending visitors.

Welsh rehearsal up-country

This morning I had to drive to Coin to celebrate the Eucharist in the Iglesia de Cristo, but having forgotten to put by alb in the car, had to go via Los Boliches to pick it up. During the 35km journey I became aware of just how uncomfortable it to drive the car for any length of time, a tribute to their size and shape, sadly. Over coffe after the service, I was asked by Carol to teach her how to sing 'Mae hen wlad fy nhadau' as a choir she belongs to takes part in the St David's Day concert on Saturday evening at the Salon de Variete in Fuengirola.

All she had to guide her was a phonetic version from the internet. There are so many ways of pronouncing phonetics incorrectly, so it was quite difficult at first to get her to listen and repeat after me instead of struggling to read it. You wouldn't easily be able to get the phrasing from that as well. It would have been better to have the properly written script and learn how Welsh is pronounced. Anyway, it was rather hilarious being in a Spanish country restaurant singing the Welsh national anthem loudly, disregarded by all and sundry, even our companions at table.

When I returned, I pottered around the house, getting used to preparing meals in new kitchen, or playing with the dog in the garden, and taking her for a walk. We disturbed a pair of Hoopoes foraging on the track. Not much change of snapping them spontaneously with a dog in tow. Afterwards I walked downhill to the nearby Mercadona  supermarket to re-stock on food. I bought too many heavy things and had to work out how I carry them back without straining myself. It's not a bad exercise for an impatient man to have to walk slowly and stop to redistribute the load in order not to tire one side more than the other. No harm was done, and when I went for my evening appointment, Mogens Dahl the chiropracter was satisfied I'd sustained progress since Monday, so it'll be a week until my next visit.