Whirlwind Tour

After a huge snack supper in the hotel bar, washed down with a bottle of cheap Rioja from a nearby gas station shop, we touched base with home, thanks to the excellent in house wi-fi network, with its rigorous security protocols (one device only per user). Then we turned in, coping with the heat of the night, rather than the noise and chill of the zealous air conditioning system. We were up at dawn and heading out into the rush hour traffic for the last 11km stretch into Granada, by 8.30am, making for the Alhambra's hillside car park. By 9.10am we were walking down the tree shaded path below the Palace walls, enjoying the cool mist from irrigation system sprinklers which bathe the trees with water during the day. A very special way to start and finish a walking tour around Granada, where summer temperatures of 35-40C are considered normal.

We followed the road up the side of the Darro river which flows through the valley below the walls of the Alhambra Palace, then climbed up through the Albayzin barrio for a beer and a tapa in the Plaza Larga, before visiting the Mirador San Nicolas to take a selfie or two to send to the family. Owain is the only one not to have been with us on various previous outings to Granada. I was so glad at last to put this right.

Work on San Nicholas church has progressed somewhat since I was here this time last year. The chancel rood has been removed entirely and reconstructive work on the top of the walls goes on before a new beams and tiling can be added. Before making our way down to the city through the back streets of the barrio, I took Owain to show him the new Granada mosque which is quite near the Mirador. It's not open to the public at the moment, only at the prescribed times for prayer for Eid el Fitr. 

Outside there was a young woman, plainly dressed, wearing a hijab, engaging three girls in English whom I think were American or maybe Spanish tourists, dressed down, as westerners do, for the heat, reliant on the mercy of sun-cream to compensate for their lack clothing. It was, apparently, a dialogue of the deaf, which left the young muslim woman with a look of exasperation on her face.

I wished her 'Eid Mubarak' and we chatted with her for a while. From her speech, she might have been an English speaking Swiss German or Austrian convert, in search of a new authentic way of life, and eager to give an account of her new lifestyle choices to anyone willing to take her on. It's one of those cases of learning by doing. She had a lot to say, overlaid with presumptions about the nature of others' faith, but wasn't too good at listening, yet. 

After a while we parted company, with a mutual blessing. I wondered about her journey of faith and who was helping her on her way. Owain and I spoke about spiritual struggle in Christian spirituality and jihad in Islam, as we wound our way down steep narrow streets to the main street. From there we made a brief excursion into the old town area where the Cathedral and Chapel Royal of Los Reyes Catolicos are situated, but as it was getting really hot we decided this was enough of a taster visit for Owain, and headed back up to the car park.

On the way there, I found an open door in a gateway which gave us access into the area in between the Alhambra Palace and the Alcazaba fortress known as the Patio de Machuca. I recognised where we were, but had forgotten this part was open to the public without the need for booking tickets. This enabled Owain to have a glimpse at the domain from the inside, which was most pleasing to be able to share. By 1.30pm we were on our way out of Granada, heading for the autovia that would take us back to Salobrenia on the coast, and on to Nerja. It's such a spectacular journey to share. We parked in the main surface car park in Nerja, walked about and saw something of the beaches and the Balcon de Europa, before lunching on beer and tapas at Biznaga in the Plaza El Salvador, which is a favourite place for Clare and I.

Suitably refreshed we headed back to Malaga, at a lazy pace alone the coast road all the way. We ended up hunting for petrol in rush hour traffic, having missed an opportunity to refuel on our way into town, and this took us all over the inner city, nearly on empty. It was gone six when we reached the apartment. Owain went for a swim while I did some Monday shopping, then later we ventured out in the cool of the evening to eat at the Cafeteria Flor across the street. The food was excellent. It was a little too noisy for eating out doors for my comfort. Owain was happy however, tucking into a generous portion of pez espada, one of our family favourites - swordfish. A nice memory to take with him back to Bristol. It's been lovely to have quality time together. More of the same would do us both good, I reckon.

  

  

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.