Mojácar bound

I was pleased not to have to get up extra early for my Alicante bound flight this morning, and said goodbye to Clare at ten to nine. I was less pleased when no 61 bus appeared after twenty minutes waiting. I that time normally three should have appeared. Feeling desperate and furious at Cardiff Bus, I strode down to a bus stop on Cowbridge Road, and caught an X1 bus to the bottom of St Mary Street, after a two minute wait. As I boarded, three 61 buses came past on to Cowbridge Road within minutes of each other, one a double decker. What on earth is going on? What excuse can there be for this kind of unpredictability when buses now use digital scheduling mechanisms that synchornise with bus stop heads up displays?

Thankfully, a T9 Airport shuttle bus pulled in a minute after my arrival at the Custom House Street stop, the one after I had intended to catch. Just as I arrived at Vueling bag drop, the desks opened to receive luggage from a queue of about forty people, and I began to calm down and relax. Forty give minutes later, I sat and waited in the departure lounge for my flight to be called and drank a coffee. The flight left on time and arrived early. By half past four, I was being waved at by Tony and Janice who'd kindly come to collect me. My original plan had been to take a coach and be picked up, late evening, from Huercal Overa bus station, an hour from Mojacar, but anxiety about whether my back would cope with such a journey, when healing nicely after a treatment by Kay on Monday, led me to ask if I could be picked up.

Just after seven, we reached Mojácar. I deposited my bags in the Chaplaincy apartment, and was then taken out to supper at the Mediterraneo beach Restaurant at the other end of town. It was a very pleasant experience with a full view of the sea with an almost full moon, through the dining room window. Then, back to the apartment to unpack and get on line. It was easier said than done unfortunately, as the router was not functionng properly. 

It's a Huwawei 4G hub, designed to link to a carrier signal from a local cellphone mast, and deliver fast-ish broadband to any number of home devices. I discovered that it wasn;t working since it had hit its data cap. Interestingly enough, it has a second 4G PAYG sim for top-up purposes, arranged in a rather convoluted way by phone to the account managment call centre. I may be wrong, but having read the instructions provided about this, the device had the drained PAYG SIM card in it. I found the other SIM, inserted it and immediately had broadband wifi, since the previous months data cap had been replaced by the October allowance. The system had been idle over the week since the previous locum Chaplain left. 

The concept makes sense, but it would be more effective if it was possible to augment the data allowance via a mobile phone. Perhaps you can, but nobody has bothered yet, as there's a different habitual way of getting things to work. It's just a bit disconcerting when arriving in a new place and having to troubleshoot before phoning home and going to bed. Ah well, never mind. It's good to be here again in a familiar place.

Bedar Pueblo visit

When I first learned about the remnants of local mining and ore exporting industry on the edge of Garrucha. I promised myself to make the journey inland to Bedar, whose mines were linked by rail to the descagador on the shore outside Garrucha. Finally, this afternoon I got around to making the trip. From Los Galliardos, at the edge of the coastal plain near the A7 autovia, the road winds steadily up a green valley into the Sierra de Bedar. The village stands at over 400m with immense views of the entire plain, and Mojacar Pueblo perched a mere 150m up in the Sierra Cabrera above the sea. 

This is a mineral rich area, and on the floor of the valley approaching the village are remnants of its 19th industrial history, and a loading terminal where the tramway to Garrucha probably started.

There is a walking trail from there to different mine sites in hillsides above. Lead, silver and iron ore were extracted here then, but it seems likely that the Moors would have first established themselves in this locality because of this. So far, however, I've not come across any references to when they arrived. What is reported however is their use of natural materials to make thick insulating walls for their houses, a necessity in winter.

I carried on driving up the road beyond the village, that goes to the even higher village of Lubrin over the other side of a mountain pass. It's a breathtaking switchback of a climb. I'd hate to have to drive it in really wintry weather. But, on this bright, warm and breezy autumn afternoon conditions were well nigh perfect for getting photos of the plain beyond Bedar from above.

I drove up the mountain until I could find a safe place on the winding road to turn and then descended to the village and parked the car by the main road on the edge of the village and walked around the streets, to try and get a measure of the place.

Bedar isn't easy to spot from the plain below. It was established in a relatively secluded position, and seems to not to have had defensive fortifications. The streets are winding, steep and narrow, and the 17th century Parish Church of Nuestra Señora de la Cabeza and San Gregorio Nanzianzen nestles among streets in the higher reaches of the village. It was shut, as ever in siesta time.

There's also a Capilla de Nuestra Señora de la Cabeza that looks to be of fairly modern construction on the edge of the village above the main road in its own tree line plaza. It has a tall plain east window, to shed light on two large stained glass panels suspended inside the sanctuary on either side of the altar, flanking the statue of the Virgin. The window has long curtains, maybe to limit the amount of afternoon sunlight entering the sanctuary, but maybe so that the image of the Virgin can be turned around on special occasions for viewing by those standing out in the plaza. Just a thought. The entrance is a wrought iron gate, behind which is a substantial glass door, allowing visitors to look in.

Walking past a bar, I only heard English spoken, indicative of Bedar's popularity as a place for British people to settle. The mines closed in the early sixties leading to population decline due to emigration, so the influx of expatriates helped revive the fortunes of this village. as also happened with Mojacar Pueblo. Much of the site in the valley below from where ore would have been transported out to the coast has been cleared of industrial detritus, and landscaped. It's difficult to imagine what it might have looked like at the turn of the twentieth century when this was a much busier place than it is now.

I read an article earlier in the week about two French geology students who were researching local mining history here last year, and had re-discovered tunnels thought to be an underground section of the cable drawn tram railroad carrying ore to the coast, as an improvement on the overhead cable and bucket system commonly used. The latter I remember well, as it was used for building mountains of useless mined coal shale from deep underground and ruining the landscape when I was growing up in the Valleys. As spoil tips grew and changed shape, pylons could be abandoned or moved to deliver spoil to ruin new sites, a cheap and mobile option. The railroad to the coast was point to point, worth investing more in developing. It's amazing that new mining technologies can extract marketable minerals in situ and leave the spoil underground where it belongs. My Dad and Grandpa would be amazed, and very glad to see this.

As I'd set out rather late after lunch, my visit was not a lengthy one, as I wanted to pick up some more cerveza sin alcohol on my way and be back before dark. There's a good deal I didn't see in Bedar, and as it's not very far away, I think I'll make another visit before I leave.
   

Pathfinding

This morning straight after breakfast, I set off to walk to Mercadona, in need of olive oil and fruit to see me through the weekend. My usual route goes along the main road as far as 'El Rancho del Mar' hotel, then turns inland and goes uphill, and then left along a parallel side street, passing the local Urgencias. It's quieter. Today, on a whim, I took a detour, walking on uphill, beyond the point where there's neither tarmac nor lamp-posts, just an un-metalled track in open scrubland. I was curious to see if this track would give me some different views of the foothills away from the sea, inland. I wasn't disappointed, and also got a pleasing photo of Mojacar Pueblo in bright sunlight.

I climbed, about three quarters of a kilometre to the top of a ridge, and discovered that the track on the other side descends steeply down to the main road from Playa to Pueblo. Walking down from the Pueblo on a previous occasion I'd noticed this track and wondered exactly where it led. Now I know! Next time I walk to the Pueblo, I have a short cut that'll save me a couple of kilometres.

Earlier in the week I bought an 800g pack of fresh chicken breast, enough for at least four meals, given how little meat I eat at any time these days. Rather than freeze any of it, I decided to cook and then store it all in one session, then use cooked portions to add into some other disk I fancy preparing. The first batch for lunch, ended up being stewed in white wine with onion, garlic, herbes provençal, green beans, red pepper, mushroom, and a dash of tomato passata, which I prefer to tomato frito. It turned out to be an enjoyably tasty dish, which is just as well, as I made enough for two. I still find it hard to scale down and cook food for one from fresh ingredients, but this means I take time to cook properly only every other day.

Later, I did a load of washing and left it out on the balcony for a little too long. I had to put on the heating for a while, to finish drying my only pair of pyjamas. It's not yet been needed, apart from this, as the weather is pleasantly mild, day and night, 21-17C. 

I finished and printed off tomorrow's sermon, and dealt with messages from Duncan, in Malta on holiday, about a funeral this Wednesday in the Parish Church at Arboleas, the next on the road down the Almanzora valley towards the coast, from Albox, so it won't be hard to find. Even so, I spent time with Google Street View trying to identify where the church is in Calle Iglesia, as churches aren't always tagged on these maps. I found out that it's dedicated to Santiago. The building is 19th century, replacing a church built after the reconquista, in 1505. That building was located on a promontory above the town and the river, and dedicated to San Roque, the town patron. It became ruinous and eventually was completely demolished. I've driven past the town several times now, so I won't have any trouble finding my way there.

Now the pyjamas are dry enough to wear, bed time.

     

Up and beyond the coast road

Today is actually the 50th anniversary of the Aberfan disaster I wrote about last Sunday. The BBC Radio Four Today programme had a thoughtful report by John Humphrys, who as a young reporter had visited the village that day. Radio Cymru played part of Karl Jenkins' Aberfan memorial cantata recently premiered. BBC Radio Wales gave over the morning to playing music, and receiving phone calls from people in Wales and further afield sharing their stories from that day. At nine fifteen, the minute's silence in honour of the 144 dead was observed, but it was not 'radio silence'. I believe it was a live feed of the ambient sound being experienced at the ceremony in the village itself, as the distant roar of traffic on the A470 above, and birdsong, could be heard. 

Silence started and ended with the blowing of a whistle. I wondered if this was connected with the original rescue efforts, but I haven't found anything to confirm it. Rescuers digging for survivors commonly use a whistle to call for silence and stillness if any sound is heard from the stricken zone.

This landslide of a mining spoil heap into a school full of children, was an example of incompetent dangerous waste management on the part of the National Coal Board, many of whose practises may hardly have changed since the pits were developed by private mining companies. Eagerness to extract mineral wealth profitably from the ground and get rich as a result is often accompanied by disregard for safety of workers or the impact of the industry on the environment. It's still happening in many parts of the world, and despite modern scrutiny, it could happen again here over the introduction of fracking.

I found myself thinking not only of the teachers and children whose lives had been taken, but of the countless others working in mines, killed by industrial accidents or diseases, often receiving little or no compensation from company owners. The National Coal Board and its chairman Lord Robens were much criticised over the disaster, but nobody responsible was brought to judgement. Mother Nature's judgement on dumping large amounts of mining spoil over a watercourse was an avoidable environmental catastrophe. It wasn't bad luck but a man-made disaster. The fact that such things still happen indicates how far costs get cut, risks get taken and safety disregarded in pursuit of profitability. When will we ever learn?

After lunch, I went for a walk along the coast road. A little way beyond Mojacar's Parador hotel, I found an un-metalled road running inland alongside a piece of raised waste ground with derelict buildings on it. A gap in the more or less continuous urban development which is Mojacar Playa. The road goes alongside an arroyo flanked by more unkempt waste land, marred by rubbish. Then the road begins to rise and parts company with the arroyo. Half a kilometre from the coast road, houses with extensive gardens and terraces became visible, private villas, well separated from each other, and the road becomes metalled. After walking half an hour, I came to a luxury urbanizacion, like many others, built in Andalusian pueblo blanco style, borrowing features from Arabic buildings, arches, domes, towers suggestive of minarets but aren't. At 50 metres above the sea and an initial 10 metre rocky outcrop the road offers good coastal views.

Cloud shrouded the peaks inland, but was more broken out to sea. The mountain foothills, contain a lot more dwellings scattered on them than are visible initially from the coast road, up to a height of 200 metres. There may be a hamlet or a village up there, but then it may be a select hotel or urbanizacion, it's hard to tell, from a distance of several kilometres. Who lives there? Who goes there? Who stays there? It'd be interesting to find out, but living that far from town is must be rewarding for the views alone. 

On my way back I found I'd received an email from the Revd Roy Jenkins thanking me for my message of appreciation sent after his Sunday morning broadcast service. He said he'd worked on three different Aberfan commemorative programmes, and that preparations had been going on for over a year. When I arrived back at the apartment, I realised that I'd walked for nearly three hours, a distance of about 10 km. No wonder I'm feeling tired tonight.

       

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.

  

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.

  

Llanos Harvest Festival and Sunday Lunch

Having gone to bed late, it was well after sunrise when I woke up, so there was no time to take a look outdoors or eat breakfast at a leisurely pace, but I was in the car and on my way to rendezvous with Alwyn and Pam at a commercial centre close to the autovia, about 15km from the apartment, so that we could travel together to the church at Llanos del Peral, where I was to celebrate at preach at eleven.

I took a wrong turning in Garrucha, the next town north along the coast, and went south west instead of north west. I realised the further I travelled that landmarks I'd noticed close to the road during last night's journey were not appearing, so I stopped and called Alwyn and was re-directed to the autovia, several junctions further south from where they were waiting for me. I made it to the agreed place only ten minutes late, and we proceeded to Llanos and arrived when we'd planned to.

It was a Harvest Festival celebration, and there were sixty people present, forty nine of whom received communion. The place was beautifully decorated, and all the foodbank offerings were arranged in a pleasing display before the altar. We even had a traditional wheatsheaf shaped Harvest Loaf, and some purple grapes on the altar. I just remembered my Jamaican bus driving non-stipendiary curate back in St Paul's Bristol using the very biblical descriptive word 'shewbread' in this context. 

The church building is a simple functional twentieth century 'mission church' design, with several rooms, used for educational and social purposes, with a kitchen and toilet, all behind a worship area accommodating sixty. There's a large patio on the south side, where tables and large umbrellas had been arranged for 'bring and share' lunch following the service. 

Llanos del Peral is a spread out rural village in rolling uplands with the sierras behind. It's grown in recent years as Brits have settled there, away from the coast, converting old farmhouses or building anew in the Andalusian arichtectural style. It's an area of orchards and horticulture. The dark green of the fruit trees contrasts with the pale yellow, if not white or grey sandy soils of the region. Ranks of mountains several hundred metres high seem to erupt from vast plains at intervals, not close enough to each other to form what may be considered valleys. I'm finding it difficult to estimate the scale of distances, as happens when travelling in the plains of East Anglia. It'll take a while to get the measure of this region, classed by low rainfall as 'semi-arid', and for that reason ecologically interesting.

I received such a warm welcome, and it's clear there's a lively sense of community spirit and pleasure at being a congregation among its members. Former Chaplain, Pauline Williams, ex-Llandaff diocese, was asked to create an opportunity for worship in this area two years ago, and once a gathering place had been found, people gathered in good numbers and the community has continued to grow in the twenty one months since they began. The time and place were clearly right, and it's to Pauline's credit for realising this. Needless to say, she is much missed.

It was gone two by the time we headed back towards the coast. After collecting the car on the road into Garrucha, I spotted a small 'open all hours' convenience store that was open, and was able to buy fruit and veg for an evening meal. This isn't a region where the supermarkets feel the need to stay open on Sundays, outside holiday high season. Once back at the apartment, a siesta had to be my priority after a long drink of water, then a walk into Mojacar and back, to learn about the neighbourhood.

The beach is a 50-100m deep. In some places there are houses along the edge, and in others there's an open area with a few restaurants, children's play parks and several beach sport recreational areas. The coast road runs along behind, and then, further back behind lawns, are hotels and holiday apartment blocks, but nothing higher than four storeys and mostly in the Andalusian architectural style. I guess that Mojacar developed later than other coastal resorts, and in a way where there's been more planning than in those areas where builders and landowners once competed to exploit lucrative space, producing tall, sometimes ugly urban sprawl right next to the beach promenade. Mojacar Playa has certainly grown a townscape that's more pleasing to the eye than most.

I began to walk up the road toward the old pueblo blanco, as the sun was setting behind the mountain that cradles the ancient hill village, and took some photos, but then turned back. I'd been walking for an hour. It was twilight by the time I reached the apartment, but the exercise did me good, and helped to make me feel grounded in my new abode, as did cooking supper in an excellent spacious kitchen, in a lovely house, in a quiet street. A good place to return to, given the distances needing to be travelled. I understand the pastoral area is roughly the size of Wales!

     

Destination Mojacar

Out of the house and waiting for a 61 bus just before eleven this morning, but having just missed one, I walked down to Cowbridge Road East and caught a 17, departing at the same time. The extra walk did me good, likewise the dash at the other end to catch the T9 airport shuttle bus. I needn't have worried, as the bus was stalled by the breakdown of its ticket machine. An engineer turned up shortly after I arrived at the bus stop, and by 11.30 we were on our way, arriving noon at the airport.

Not being as quite as early as usual checking in, there was a queue of fifty people for Vueling flights to Alicante and Malaga, but this quickly diminished. Within 35 minutes, my bag was checked in, I was through security clearance, and had an hour to wait for the departure gate to be announced.

The flight left roughly half an hour late, but arrived only ten minutes late. By half past six local time Pam and Alwyn found me, and we were on our way south to Mojacar, a journey south west of more than two hours on the A7. The setting sun was in our faces most of way, and by the time we left the autovia, for the last 20km to Mojacar, it was dark.

After dropping luggage off at the apartment, we went for a meal in an Italian restaurant, where I ate a huge plate of pasta, being very hungry after my flight and road trip. All is in darkness, so it's hard to imagine the place I've arrived in. Tomorrow will indeed be a day of discovery.