Ascension up-country and an Artsenal concert

On his last visit, Owain accompanied me to the service in Salinas, and we continued afterward to spend the night and following day in Grenada. This time, he was content to have a lie-in and then go for a swim, so I set out for church at ten thirty, spent a while chatting with people arriving for the service at St George's, then set off for Salinas. using the back street route through La Meced to get to El Molinillo to follow the east bank main road along the rio Guadalmedina to reach the A45. Once again, this itinerary led to a set back, as a street linking the barrios was blocked by a cement pouring vehicle with no diversion signs in place. I had no option but to double back and take the longer route out to the autovia via the Avenida Andalucia. How frustrating!

Apart from that, the journey was uneventful, and unlike my other two Salinas trips, there was no rain just bright sunshine all the way. Much of the large parking area opposite the chapel was occupied by a big tent. It's the weekend of the San Isidro Laborador fiesta as well as Ascension Sunday. Inside the chapel entrance was a processional trona with the image of San Isidro from the side altar at the back mounted on it, ready for action, some time later in the day, I guess. A few families were setting up tents or canopies among the olive trees adjacent to the building for their festive picnics.

Today only half a dozen worshippers turned up, a third of the usual congregation. The entire choir and its leader was absent. Instead of the church being open at midday for choir practice, it remained locked until twenty past, which made me wish I'd gone to the toilet at the service station en route, where I stopped for petrol. A couple of visitors from Alicante turned up, and learned they were over an hour late for the Catholic Mass of the day. I was pleased to have an opportunity to speak Spanish with then, but they didn't stay for our service.

It was only after our Eucharist had begun that I realised that the reading which had been prepared and printed were for Ascension Day and not for Ascension Sunday, which I'd prepared for, and this meant I had to improvise around what I'd prepared to preach, not satisfactorily, from my perspective. This caught me off guard unfortunately. Singing everything unaccompanied was something I'm more used to thankfully. Afterwards, all the worshippers made for their cars, and there was no suggestion of retiring to Manolo's bar. I guess it might have been much busier than usual too, on account of the fiesta. It meant I could return immediately to Málaga to re-join Owain for lunch, however, an hour earlier than expected, and this compensated somewhat for the mishaps.

Later, we walked over to Artsenal at Muelle Uno to hear a live performance from a digital music artist from Madrid called 'Looping Greice' (aka Gracia Texidor). She relies on minimal percussion voice and occasional guitar to construct a live digitally recorded backing track against which she sings. It's a remarkable technique, which she's polished to create a sustained consistent performance. Here's an example from YouTube, and there are others! The sound system at Artsenal is very good, although an outdoor venue with people casually coming and going is less than favourable to a solo performer. Yet, she managed to hold an appreciative, if dispersed audience for an hour and a half, with nothing more than a bottle of water for sustenance. I'd like to see her perform in a club venue in her home setting, where the energy she emits would be less dissipated.

We then returned to La Malagueta and finished the day with a drink and tapas at Restaurant Flor across the road from the apartment, and talked over a bottle of once until midnight yet again. Not a good idea when you have an early start, but at least, when he gets back to Bristol Owain will have the rest of the day to recover as he doesn't work on Mondays. We both wish he could have stayed longer, even if neither of us could sustain the weekend's pace of stimulus for much longer.

Travel triumph and embarrassment

I arrived at St George's this morning in time to greet some of the regulars and have a quick chat with Rev Doreen about the adult Confirmation group, before taking the car and heading off to Salinas. As ever Sunday morning, traffic cones restricted flow on the Paseo de Reding. As it was unclear what this would mean for my planned exit route, and to avoid the confusion I experienced this time last month, I turned down on to the coast road, and wound my way around the streets in order to take the Avenida de Andalucia route out to the autovia. It's not as direct and takes a little more time and distance to reach the A45 junction turn for Granada this way, but it's straightforward, with less room for surprise deviations.

The weather was overcast, and as I climbed up the valley that brings the rio Guadalmedina down to the sea, started to rain and continued until I reached Salinas. There were ten in the congregation, somewhat less than usual, with several choir members absent. We sang the ordinary of the Mass to good old Merbecke, with the Peruvian Gloria, and used the Taize version of 'Nada te turbe', which touched me greatly, reminding me of inspirational visits there over decades past, both from Britain and from Geneva. Must return there one of these days, it's fifty three years since our first visit. Even so, it makes me feel young in spirit, just thinking about it.

After a drink and a good chat in Manolo's bar afterwards, I drove back to Malaga, and found my way through the back streets past Plaza de la Merced the most direct way to La Magueta and St George's.

Having lingered a little, I was glad that I'd prepared a pot of stew for a late lunch, as I needed to be out of the house and on my way to the airport to meet my old friend Geoff for an hour, before he left for his flight back to East Midlands airport. He was here overnight, and then taking a service in St Andrews Los Boliches before presiding over the chaplaincy AGM. It was good to catch up with him face to face, and see him looking well, despite his challenging role as 'Voluntary Archdeacon', over the past four years, two of these in retirement.

On the way there, my bus card malfunctioned, not for the first time lately, so I had to pay cash. Later I visited the Malaga public transport website to find help in troubleshooting the problem, and had a rather embarrassing surprise. The malfunction was due to the card running out of money. I thought I had more than enough to cover my journeys, but evidently not. When I bought the card to use during my first visit here eighteen months ago the single fare rate for an hour's trip was €1.07. The website told me that it had gone up to €1.30 in January this year, probably increasing from some rate in between last year. 

So in effect, I'd not been putting enough money on the card, and had run it down faster than I realised. What an idiot! Malaga public transport information services are excellent, but there's nothing on the rolling information panels, or on the bus stop printed schedules to indicate the essential far rate, and you have to dig for it on the website. I suppose a rate increase would be all over the local news, and so most regular users would know. In fact, while I was trying to get the card to work and fumbling for my wallet once the bus driver demanded a fare in cash, a kindly fellow traveller aware of my plight pressed €1.30 into my hand to pay. But as I had cash on me, I thanked him and pressed it back into his hand. Ah los Malaguenos!

Salinas, in a roundabout way

As I set off from church for the drive to Salinas this morning, I found that the police had temporarily closed the road due to the passage of a fun run. Fortunately I'd left exceptionally early to enjoy the journey, and stop if I fancied, en route. Disconcertingly traffic cones were still blocking the route I wanted to take to get to the main route out of town, through the Alameda to get to the autovia, so I opted for another route which I'd taken before, running around the back of the old town, to a point where the road follows the rio Guadalmedina out of town, past the football stadium to the junction of the A45 autovia, running up the river gorge towards Antequera.

I checked Google Maps, and this gave me a second longer alternative route out through Limonar, for no reason I could understand. I tried to follow it, but soon ran out of motorway signs, and got totally lost in narrow winding hilly back roads and one way streets, in which I became disoriented trying to extricate myself. I found a main road uphill, with almost no signposts. The took me up and over a bridge that crossed the autovia, but offered no side roads to follow and reach a junction. 

There was one signpost only. I said 'Colmenar', which I knew was somewhere up the Guadalmedina Valley, so should be the right direction. Google Maps was again unhelpful, and I need to see the landscape a map refers to, rather than be subject to a barrage of verbal instructions I am reluctant to trust in case they are not up to date, or don't make sense of what I can see. So, I drove on. The next sign I saw said 'Montes de Malaga Parque Natural', and 30km to Colmenar. 

The road climbed 300m from autovia level before dropping down into Colmenar. It ascends and descends in following the ancient ridge road. The views are spectacular, but with a noon deadline, I had no idea how long this detour would add to my journey and if I'd be there before the service started. Also a number of Sunday motorists were out driving at a leisurely pace, as they sought a hostelry for Sunday lunch, plus cyclists, slowing down the park crossing.

I stopped and asked directions to the autovia in Colmenar and was directed to Casabermeja about 15km away. Then there was another half hours journey in haste, plagued by bursts of heavy rain. But, I made it to Salinas by noon. The choir was singing, but they were still rehearsing, strange I thought, why haven't they started the service? 

Then I realised my rush and panic was all in vain, as the service actually starts at 12.30. The journey is only fifty five kilometers by the correct route. I'd done at least seventy by failing to find it. I always allow two hours for a 45 minute trip, just in case there are motorway delays and diversions, but this morning's disorientation was both in time and direction.

There was a congregation of eighteen. The choir sang beautifully, and afterwards most people went to Manolo's to eat and drink. Doreen arrived from Velez Malaga at the end of the service, and after half an hour of socialising, we went into the restaurant for a working lunch, which was nearly as busy as the bar. As it was cold and pouring with rain, the veranda tables outside weren't in use, the reason why it was so crowded inside. It was good for the two of us to catch up, though there wasn't enough time to start planning our post Easter adult confirmation sessions. That'll have to wait until next Sunday when we meet for lunch after our respective celebrations in Malaga and Velez.

The return journey was much more straightforward, following the rio Guadalmedina down to the edge of the old town, then realising why I'd been misled when leaving this morning. What I needed to do was circumnavigate the Plaza de la Merced to get myself in the right direction through the back streets to the road along the river. I know now. I'll have to practice this route at leisure, and not wait until next time I have to travel again up-country.

Another up-country visit

This morning, I collected the car from St George's cemetery and drove out of town towards Granada for my second visit to celebrate the Eucharist for the Salinas congregation. I made sure I was early enough to get a drink in one of the village hostelries beforehand, and take a stroll around the place with my camera. I discovered there's a working train line running through the place, that connects Cordoba with Granada, although Salinas station is no longer operational, so it's necessary to drive 18km to Loja for a train.

There were fourteen of us for a Sung Mass, with eight in the choir. Once again I enjoyed the quiet and reflective nature of the occasion. It was great to have such a good sing. We met at Bar Manolo for a drink afterwards. Curate Doreen soon arrived from taking the service and Velez Malaga so that we could have lunch together, and spend the afternoon discussing ministry and the chaplaincy. It was something we'd promised ourselves we'd do during my stay, as we did during last September's locum duty here.

It was six by the time I drove back to Malaga. The countryside of the Comarc de Noroma on the plateau 600m up behind the coastal sierras is heartbreakingly beautiful. Heartbreaking, because it's impossible to stop and take pictures where the views are best. It's so photogenic in the warmth of early evening light, richly green, but with darker greens than we get further north. The slopes grow olive and almond trees. 

The rolling plains grow cereals and have recently been harvested, leaving swathes of bright golden stubble tinted red, grey or white, depending on the underlying soil. That palette of yellows and greens is so exquisite it almost moves me to tears. I can't even gaze at it on the move, as I must keep my eyes on the road! I could do with a few days to wander the back roads and capture this landscape at different times of day. Villages and farms are relatively few and far between. Three small towns along this route have Villanueva as their first name. But, it's the open rolling countryside that captures the eye.

I can see what draws painters to Spain, like Provence. I wish I could paint, not just take travel snaps. But that requires the kind of time and patience as well as vantage points I don't have. Well, at least I can talk about it!

Historic stopover at the gates of Granada

We set out before ten to collect the car and my alb and stole from St George's churchyard, and I was pleased to find a couple of Nigerian church congregation members were already busy preparing to welcome those who would be coming for worship at eleven. Another new experience for Owain of Dad's workplace.

The hour long drive to Salinas gave us enough time to have a coffee in Manolo's Bar before going to the capilla and joining the congregation. The local parish congregation was just finishing, and I was introduced to their young assistant priest, who originated from Mexico. The now elderly and infirm senior cleric had been a missionary there, and encouraged the vocation of a local boy, who has now ended up working in this rural community with four congregations to look after. 

I was delighted to find that I could converse a little with him in Spanish, and he clearly enjoys being able to speak English in return. Relationships between the two congregations are very warm and hospitable, and people are wonderfully open to the ministry of women clergy, I heard, not for the first time, and that's despite the evident conservatism of some traditionalists.

Salinas Anglican congregation members John and Val have developed a community choir that sings concerts in the region. As many people as can make it come together to sing for Sunday services fortnightly. The capilla has no organ or keyboard but does have an excellent acoustic, so the singing is 'a capella'  led by the choir. It's an arrangement which I appreciate and enjoy. It helps to build a worshipping community in a special way, as they gain confidence in each other by singing together, or if worshippers are not particularly musical, they can relax and enjoy listening contemplatively. 

There were nineteen of us present, and after the service the congregation retired to Manolo's Bar to socialise over a drink. John and Val kindly treated us to lunch and some interesting talk about life in deepest rural Andalusia. We heard a couple of stories about how people had come to the region for a month's holiday, and ended by exchanging contracts on a house to live in for other holidays, or for impending retirement. A place and way of life which people can grow to love very quickly it seems.

When we parted company, Owain and I drove on the A92 to the town of Sta Fe, in suburbs adjacent to Granada's small airport. Using Booking dotcom, Owain found a room for €36 to stop the night, a roadside Hotel called BS Capitulaciones, on of two with the BS prefix in Granada, thought I have been unable to find out what BS stands for. Identifying the place wasn't difficult, but finding out how to reach it from the highway was less than easy. 

Coming into Granada from out of town, we had to go under the motorway and around a narrow back street, then turn on to the highway going in the other direction for the length of a large car sales compound and exit immediately right, with no slip road or signage to give safe passage. The hotel is a well appointed modern building with a large forecourt, secure indoor parking, a restaurant plus a bar with its own breakfast and snack menu. I couldn't help wondering if the owners were in dispute with city planners and lawyers about safe and proper site access. It's clearly well used, being close to the airport, but not being well served by municipal authorities in my opinion.

What a strange name for a hotel, we both thought - was this anything to do with what we'd noticed about site access and location? Very soon we discovered that the town of Sta Fe had been the place where the forces of King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella had been garrisoned before the final assault and siege of Granada in 1481, one of the great prizes of their Andalusian reconquista campaign. The camp rapidly turned into a fortified town. The outcome was the negotiated withdrawal from Granada by the outnumbered Muslim armies of Bobadil the city ruler in 1492. He chose loss of honour and status rather than loss of blood, and has been sneered at by historians of the victorious for his weakness, rather than his humane common sense. Sta Fe was where withdrawal agreements of safe passage were signed and labelled 'Capitulaciones', and henceforth remembered.

After unpacking, we walked into the town centre, which is still defined by the four substantial gates which mark the four points of the compass, and commemorate 'Los Reyes Catolicos', as does the large 18th century neo-classical parish church of the Incarnation. The original church, constructed when the town was first built, was destroyed in an earthquake. The town was named Sta Fe (Holy Faith) because it was the dwelling place of the armies of Los Reyes Catolicos. It's a place of great significance for the whole of Spain because of the story it tells. It it seemed to Owain and I that it looked a little in need of care and attention, a coat of paint, better signage, despite banners hanging from lamp posts declaring the 425th anniversary of Capitulaciones. Perhaps it's part of the fate of any place which finds itself under the flight path of the local airport. Too easily overlooked.