Return to base

Monday morning, with departure tasks completed, ready to go, I had a farewell visit from Pam and Alwyn, and with them a tech' team to connect house cabling to a roof dish antenna. Had I requested, this could have been done when I arrived, but I've been content to live without telly here for the past couple of months as I did last year, and during my spells in Malaga. It started with that December I spent in Sicily four years ago, when I realised how much of a time waster telly can be. Choosing to watch programmes via the internet when possible means I'm much more selective and economical with time than I used to be. There's work to be done refitting the apartment kitchen before the new Chaplain arrives in February, and there's another locum between now and then. I wish the Warden well, in getting this done in good time.

I said my Goodbyes at midday and drove to the Antas industrial estate adjacent to the A7 autovia, to meet with Tony and Janice for the trip to the town of El Altet near Alicante Airport, to stay at the Hostal Pensimar on the outskirts, which accommodated me overnight for my early flight home in November last year. I drove all the way there and enjoyed doing so. It's the longest drive I've done in Spain in recent years, 230km, just under two and half hours. I checked in to find my room was the same one I occupied last year, which was vaguely comforting. I told the desk clerk I'd stayed on November 14th last year, and he confirmed in a second that it was in their computer record.

Before parting company, we had a drink and a tapa at a nearby bar, then with a couple of hours of daylight left, due to an earlier arrival than last year, I went for an exploratory walk around town. I could see no evidence that was anything other than a late twentieth century development, established to serve airport workers and associated industries, built on a rectangular grid plan on the east side of the airport, closest to the sea coast, about 5km distant. The parish church had almost no distinguishing features, resembling a warehouse or a basic municipal community centre. I think it may have been built with  multiple uses in mind. It was closed, and  the exterior didn't look nearly as bright as in the web photos Its title written over an east facing facade is 'Temple de Sta Maria del Mar rather than Iglesia. I wonder why? 

On the way back to the hotel, I bought some food to supplement what I had brought with me, for a picnic lunch and supper in my room. Having no interest in going out again at night, I ready to sleep and was in bed by ten. I was up, and breakfasting an hour before the alarm went off, and took a taxi to the airport at a quarter to eight. The airport was still quiet and there were no queues to check in or to clear security, so I had a full two hours to wait in the departure hall.

The boarding process was chaotic. Another flight for Amsterdam was called, due to leave shortly after ours at the gate opposite. Passengers for both were trying to queues at the same time, with the Cardiff flight queue forming ahead of Amsterdam flight, snaking right across the gate used by the latter. There was nothing to partition the queues, no signs forestall confusion, and the Amsterdam ground staff turned up too late to avert ensuing chaos.

Adding to the chaos was the gate digital display panel, advising of the separation of Priority (rows 1-15) from Other passengers. A dozen mobility impaired passengers were queuing there. Some foot passengers occupying rows 1-15 were unsure whether or not 'Priority' meant them too, and didn't hold back. Mobility impaired passengers board first, wherever seated. Foot passengers occupying rows 1-15 sensibly with Vueling board last, but only if an intelligible announcement is made first.

Leaving it to staff inspecting boarding passes at the gate to separate and retain foot passengers for rows 1-15 is time consuming enough, even more so if an explanation is required. It's confusing and distressing if no explanation is offered, given a majority of passengers on this route are elderly occasional flyers. A clear large sized static boarding information panel at the point where passenger queue separation is required, giving the boarding order is all that would be required to eliminate herding chaos and anxiety. Once we were boarded, however, calm and order reigned and the flight was uneventful. I dozed fitfully, waking up just in time to see the Ebro Delta slipping away below, its huge rice paddies no longer a patchwork of greens and gold, but dark grey, hard to recognise in contrast. Memories of happy sojourns down there with the Costa Azahar Chaplaincy.

I was home by five to two, welcomed by Clare with a hot meal. After unpacking my case later, we found the the mains electricity switch had tripped. Nothing we tried could restore it, even with diagnostic help on the phone from our dear Greek electrician who rewired the house eight years ago. Eventually he came around, and methodically went through every appliance in the place narrowing it down to a multi socket board in my study. The most recent thing plugged in there was my laptop charger which normally lives there. Once removed, all was well. Whether it's a dying charger or one faulty socket, I don't know, but we were most relieved he saved the day for us. Funny, the charger was working fine in Spain until Sunday. If it's a problematic socket, has it killed the charger? That's for another day. Another long night's sleep now needed to recover from travel, and the traumas of homecoming, on this occasion.

Farewell Sunday

I woke up before dawn this morning, and made an effort to get out of the house and visit the charco bridge to catch the Egrets leaving for the day. Half of the hundred or so birds had already left for the day, and my efforts to catch groups of  them on the wing weren't very successful. The HX300 works well in bright light, but in low light, it takes several fast frames at different light settings, then blends them to produce a composite shot. The processing takes a couple of seconds, ruling out quick repeat shots, needed when aiming at birds on the move, so fleeting opportunities are missed. It's a good camera for normal purposes. I got a few good shots of the early rising sun, for example, but it's under-powered for exceptional conditions. I wondered if my DSLR would perform any better, but didn't bring it with me, so I'll never know.

After breakfast, I took my last trip along the coast road to celebrate the Eucharist at the Ermita San Pascual de Baylon. There was a congregation of sixty, with couples I recognised from last year lately arrived to stay for the winter, attending for the first time since their return. As others return to the UK to spend Christmas, or visit family beforehand, others come out for winter sun. It was bright but cooler, like a British spring morning without the chill wind, and I enjoyed the 'hail and farewell' of the occasion, feeling satisfied that I'd given them of my best, and been appreciated.

Early rising left me quite tired, however, so rather than join the people gathering for a coffee at the Koi ice cream parlour cum restaurant in town, I headed back to the apartment to cook lunch take a siesta, pack my case, tidy up and clean the apartment. As sunset approached I made my final visit to the charco bridge in time to watch the Egrets return and settle for the night. It's a marvellous sight, but one which really calls for a more powerful camera to get the best shots. The past two months of daily bird-watching have been very special experience and opportunity for me.

   

Thinking about home

Another disturbed night, concluding with late rising, and missing the walk to the bridge to watch the Egrets depart. Late morning, Churchwarden Pam and  her husband Alwyn called in and took me out for a coffee and chat. Then it was time to cook and eat before finishing and printing off my final sermon for tomorrow, then writing the end-of-stay report requested by the diocese. I was mildly annoyed that it was dark by the time I finished, and had not yet been out for a walk. I settled for walking as far as the bridge and back. 

It was pitch dark over the charco water No moon was visible. It had been cloudy all day, quite a rarity here. The overspill from street lighting illuminated only a small area below the bridge. The Coots were still out and about and I had a few glimpses of warblers dashing out of the reeds momentarily on their strange erratic flight patterns. Are their eyes keen enough to hunt insects in semi-darkness? There were bats there too, with distinctive flight patterns and movements of their own. Quite intriguing was the unidentifiable small bird which moved from one bank to another at high speed in a horizontal straight line, strangely purposeful compared with the others. Many of the inhabitants roost in the shelter of cane and reeds during the hours of darkness, but not all it seems. There's so much I don't know.

After supper, I listened to an interesting programme on BBC Radio Four with international writers reflecting on the many meanings of the concept of 'home' in their own experience and in the works of other people. It certainly stimulated me to think about what 'home' means to me. I've ministered in ten different settings and with Clare made a home in fifteen different places during my working life. Learning to be at home and flourish wherever we found ourselves had been characteristic of our life together. For seven years in retirement Meadow Street has been home to us us, but locum duties have taken me temporarily to seven new places, where I've had to make myself at home for one to three months. All this, since leaving my birthplace and living in three other places in my student years. 

Home is wherever Clare is, to return to, rather than any remembered or ideal place. When I think about it, I struggle to identify any one environment where I could envisage spending the rest of my days. If anyone asks me where 'home' is, I say 'Wales', or 'Cardiff' but nothing more specific than that. I trained and was ordained in Cardiff, and a journey lasting fifty years started there. If I don't ever feel entirely settled in Cardiff, it's because we set out from from there, not imagining it would be a return journey. It became a default place to return to, however. Neither of us have any current family memories or associations in the city, nor in Wales for that matter, except for family funerals at Thornhill Crem, mostly decades ago. We love Wales, but rarely think of moving elsewhere in the Principality to settle. As Clare says, I've been restless all our married life. I'm not sure I know the reason why. Will I ever really settle anywhere?

   

Last visit to Llanos del Peral

There were thirty people for the Eucharist at Llanos this morning, with Margie preaching an excellent sermon to an attentive audience. She ended with a simple prayer, and the congregation replied Amen with a single voice. That's how I was certain they were listening carefully. She doesn't have big voice but she does have a clear voice, and is able to measure her pace of delivery in tune with a resonance of the building's acoustic, so nobody would have to strain to hear her. Her unpacking of the parable of the talents was thorough and thoughtful. She admits to being enthusiastic over studying scripture and having an opportunity to convey this in preaching. The interregnum gave her an opportunity to do this more often and gain experience. It's been good for her and for other members of the ministry team in this far flung Chaplaincy.

Given the widespread shortage of Anglican clergy to fill vacancies and the length of time taken to fill them, the problem is also capable of being at the same time an opportunity to develop lay ministries. The challenge then for any incoming cleric is to enable this to flourish, and not to be an inhibitor of emerging vocations to new areas of ministry. The trouble is that whether clergy like preaching or not, they feel they ought to preach more often than not, as this is one of the key apostolic duties of every cleric, whether they are good at it or not. 

Perhaps it would be good for every church encouraging lay ministry to consider with its pastor how often each ministry team member should be assigned to preach, so that a spectrum of different interpretative voices and witnesses to discipleship can be heard by the whole community over time. The priest isn't just there to teach, but to make sure the whole church learns and teaches through all its ministers. Discerning together and organising a whole church education programme, taking into account the particular gifts of each contributor is quite a task. It cannot and should not be done solely by the cleric in charge, even if this is the dominant expectation on the part of church leaders. Doing this well so that church members are enthusiastic and motivated to learn can involve self-effacement for a cleric. Not preaching so often could be a more effective way of ensuring delivery of the 'Ministry of the Word' by affording fresh opportunities to others. And I say this as one who loves preaching and works hard at it.

As a locum priest, wherever, I go people make an effort to thank me for preaching, more so that for celebrating. Some say how much they appreciate having a succession of locum clergy to listen to during an interregnum. Evidently, variety is perceived as beneficial, and as such can be incorporated into the ministry of the long term resident priest also, if all involved give the matter adequate thought, and show willing to change traditional expectations. Now that I'm retired all I can do is plug the gaps, as requested. I'm no longer in a position to implement ideas I muse about here. Could I have done more of this forty years ago, I wonder?

On my return journey, I stopped outside Garrucha at one of the few convenience stores I know to be open on a Sunday, to buy the bottle of red wine I'd forgotten to get yesterday. A bottle of Romanian Pinot Noir caught my eye, one of several wines of Romanian origin in the shop. It's unusual to see foreign wine imports, with some French and Italian exceptions in bigger supermarkets. I wondered if the store has Romanian owners with links to a home wine exporter.

Spain has employed Romanian agricultural workers since well before the country joined the EU ten years ago. Some work in trucking and hospitality businesses, so why not food retail too? There are said to be a million Romanians in Spain, a third more than the number of British expats. Its Orthodox church has twenty parishes and a Cathedral in Madrid, almost the same number as the Archdeaconry of Gibraltar, though there are over seventy Anglican places of worship embraced by its Chaplaincies. Funny how noticing a wine label in a shop set me off on this little excursion of curiosity.
 

Robots never smile

Apart from domestic tasks, a walk and a little writing, I didn't do much else today. No sermon to prepare, as Margie one of the Chaplaincy's trainee Readers is preaching. I wasn't inclined to go far as I was expecting a visitor. Following a brief reconnaissance inspection yesterday, David, one of the Mojácar congregation members, a retired engineer, came around to remount the fallen wall radiator. 

The original brackets, being ancient and not really that fit for purpose were unavailable in the local ferreteria, but he'd purchased a couple of heavy duty masonry screws with ends that could be tightened with a spanner, plus a small length of stainless steel tubing and some washers. The screws were a perfect fit for the existing holes, but he needed the tube to fashion a couple of spacers of the right length to position the radiator away from the wall, to ensure air-flow. He measured, and then cut the tube into equal lengths using his hacksaw, without benefit of a tape measure. His experienced eye and metalwork skill made light of the job. 

All I had to do was to hold steady one end of the three inch tube with a pair a pliers while he held the other end and cut with the saw. An engineering apprentice in his teens, he'd worked forty nine years before retirement in the same West Bromwich small business, specialising in making different kinds of springs to order for the motor industry. It was wonderful to watch him wield a hacksaw with such steadiness and accuracy at close quarters. The finished wall mountings fitted perfectly. At the end, David smiled with a craftsman's sense of pleasure at job he was pleased with, which he knew his old apprentice master would approve

Much is being written about industrial systems involving robots and artificial intelligence replacing human labour entirely in coming decades, as has been happening throughout my lifetime. There are many difficult and dangerous taks which new technologies and devides are welcome to, but robots never smile. Only a human being making something with ingenuity, skill and natural effort, has that experience of true joy in creativity. Even if machines can, maybe will continue to be devised to take on the majority of industrial work, there will always be a place for people to learn engineering skills, to use basic tools and make things from scratch, just for pleasure.

 

Remembrance Sunday

The Ermita de San Pascual de Baylon was full to overflowing for this morning's Eucharist with act of Remembrance, altogether about a hundred people. We started at 10.45, and reached the appointed hour just as we finished singing Abide with Me before the Gospel reading. I'd have been less tense if we'd had a shorter hymn at that point, as singing it in full can drag and lose a minute or two, causing some old soldiers to inspect their watches.

As a locum priest, you take things as you find them. Left to my own devices I wouldn't have integrated the Act of Remembrance into the Eucharistic Ministry of the Word, but kept it as a stand-alone ceremony before Mass, as a number of people turn up for the ceremony and leave straight after, rather than stay for the full service. In fact, that was what I'd expected, or forgotten from last year! Presented with a printed order of service minutes beforehand, I had think on my feet too quickly for comfort. And, it didn't help that I'd slept badly and didn't feel as if I was on my best form. Anyway, by the time I preached, the adrenalin generated by an audience started working its magic.

At the end of the service, Val the Treasurer came to the front and read the formal announcement of the name of the coming new Chaplain, Canon Vincent Oram, currently working in St Alban's diocese, although his ministry began in the Anglican Province of the Church of South Africa, back in the time of apartheid. He's been in rural ministry there and in UK, and won't have any problem adjusting to a ministry involving long drive times for himself and his several flocks. It was for me a satisfying thing to be here when the announcement was made, having met him briefly just after I arrived for duty. I may never pass this way again, and look at my many photo albums of the region with nostalgia, but to have been here to help prepare the way for his arrival is a pleasure of its own.

I joined sixty members of the RBL Branch for lunch at the Bella Vista restaurant after church, but nearly came un-stuck. I arrived at the restaurant, same one as last year, thinking I was only just about on time, and the place was empty apart from three waiters waiting for something to happen. I could see no welcome to the RBL panel in the foyer, and thought I'd made a mistake about the venue. I was too dumbstruck to enquire, went back to the car and tried calling the organiser to check what I'd done wrong. No answer. So, I drove back to the apartment, unable to figure out what Id done wrong. Half an hour later, my call was returned. I was at the right venue, only half an hour early! If there were any diners present, or organisers, they were in a back bar, and not making any noise. I felt such a fool, but jumped in the car, and returned, saying Grace only ten minutes later than proposed. What an idiot!

After an enjoyable meal in pleasant company, I made my excuses and left, to be sure I was ready on time for the drive to Aljambra for Evensong. As I made my way up the Almanzora Valley, the setting sun was just above the horizon, right in my eyes, and slowing me down somewhat, but I was there a quarter of an hour before time, just enough to get organised with Duncan leading the office, and me preaching and baptizing. There were thirty of us present, almost full, and baby Tallia Sophia's three siblings were there taking part, along with parents, godparents and friends. It was a delightful finale to my Aljambra sojourn, and there were some warm and kind words of farewell to send me off into the night, back to base in Mojácar after an eventful day.

 

Armistice observed in Mojácar

As I wasn't assigned any special duties this morning I walked to Mojácar Playa's Parque Comercial to join with other members of the local Royal British Legion Branch for the Armistice Day two minute silence. There's a large patio with tables open on one side, enclosed by shops and restaurants, where people can sit to eat and drink. In one corner Mick and Chris had established a poppy sales stall, and there was a public address system, as on this special occasion a local British singer known as Lady Ellen volunteered to sing popular songs of the two World Wars after the ceremony. She's well known and popular, after living and working here for thirty years. She'd come to boost the poppy selling last Saturday also, but was sabotaged by wind and torrential rain. Today however, the sun shone, and it was twenty five degrees, the other face of autumn on the Costa Almeria.

As well as fundraising, Mojácar Branch of the RBL is active socially, with evenings of entertainment and dinners, attracting 60-70 people at a time, regular residents and seasonal visitors. With a fair number of ex-service personnel among expatriates, the Branch's welfare section finds plenty to do in supporting older people. It's impressive, and has good links through some key personnel with the Chaplaincy, perhaps even strong than in many British parishes.

With two sermons to prepare for tomorrow, I spent the afternoon finishing off one and writing the second one, joining the theme of Remembrance Sunday with Baptism, since there's a Christening at Aljambra at Evensong. I'm looking forward to it, although it'll be my final service there, and time for my first farewell, as Evensong takes place on the second and last Sundays of the month, whether that's a fourth Sunday, or in this month fifth, and I'll be leaving for home before then.

 

Church smoke legacy

As I headed out of Calle la Mata to drive through Mojácar to celebrate the Eucharist at the Ermita de San Pascual this morning, the road was blocked off by a Guardia Civil patrolman, probably due to a cycle race passing through. I was sent up a side road along which I have walked several times, which leads eventually up to Mojácar Pueblo. There were no deviation signs, to indicate where one might re-join the Paso del Mediteraneo using one of the many side streets, so I dutifully drove half way up to the Pueblo, and then back down into the Playa's commercial hub to get back on the main road. It was only a ten minute delay. There were no further hold-ups, no sign of ciclistas anywhere, but it made a change from routine. 

There were forty in church for our All Saints' Sunday celebration. As is customary on this festival incense was used, one of the few remaining occasions when it is. I suspect it's endured rather then enjoyed by most, but it's a legacy from times past when there was a 'high church' chaplain. I love the use of incense in worship, although the grand formal rituals only work in large liturgical spaces. It's something which needs room, and a small crowded chapel isn't the best place for this. I would prefer to have a small bowl on the floor before the altar, or on the retable behind, underneath the cross, burning gently without being swung around. 

I've seen this work in monasteries, across the religious divide to evoke a scent of the sacred, and it's quite enough. Portable censers were used in outdoor processions of public officials in ancient Rome and were adopted for church processions as state and church officialdom began to blend post-Constantine. The lovely smell matters far more than the delivery ritual, so long as it doesn't make people cough, which it's more likely to do in a confined small space. I restricted incensing to the Offering of the Gifts this morning. No dignified processions are really possible in this space, so I omitted to use incense for the Gospel. Well, it makes sense to me.

During an interregnum, nothing must change. It'll be interesting to see what the newly appointed Chaplain decides to do about this. I hope there is real discussion, and not just a hanging on to legacy customs which don't really work well in the ermita anyway. Afterwards, five of us went to the Kio Ice Cream parlour in town for a drink and a chat before heading home. I cooked myself a tuna steak and green veg for lunch. Then a siesta, then a walk around the charco, with a glorious sunset against a sky with high clouds to take photos of. Then an evening of writing and reflecting before an early bed-time. I need to be sharp and on form, as tomorrow's funeral is early, and I'm never quite feel I'm at my best until after elevenses.

In the midst of life

After a better night's sleep with a pillow under my pelvis, I woke up to somewhat less discomfort than over the past few days. By a process of cautious experiment, I found a comfortable position in which I could relax and sleep, and this helped the displaced vertebrae to resume their natural place. As long as I'm careful, the soreness should go in a few days. I was glad about this, as I had an invite from Jasmine, a member of the Llanos congregation to a coffee morning at her home in the campo three quarters of an hour's drive from Mojácar to the west of Huercal Overa.

The house is set in open rolling countryside between the village of Sta Maria de Nieva and the hamlet of El Gor. The village built an ermita on top of a low hill in the early eighteenth century, then a church, which was destroyed in an earthquake in 1863 and took twenty years to rebuild. It has twin towers and a dome. It stands out because its exterior is clad in red sandstone, and it's the only large building in a village whose houses stretch along the main road from Huercal Overa, evidence perhaps of a certain prosperity in the area a hundred and fifty years ago. It wasn't open however, so I didn't stop to take a closer look.

About two dozen people came from far and wide to the coffee morning. There were a bric-a-brac and book stalls, and one devoted varieties of home made preserves and marmalade. One member had cooked a fresh batch of big traditional pasties before coming. I was lucky to get the penultimate one to take home for lunch. All this, plus the raffle, always a raffle, was in aid of church funds. It's an impressive amount of effort which this, like many other churches, invest in what I like to call the 'voluntary economy'. It's great how traditional recipes and home cooking, whether inherited British or acquired Spanish are at the heart of community food culture. It helps that many ex-pats have fruit trees on their fincas and enjoy their produce. I returned with a bag of freshly picked mandarins, to top up the fast reducing bowl of freshly picked ones I was given last Sunday.

Just as I arrived, the chaplaincy phone received a call from a Spanish undertaker asking if I was Hywel Davies. Hywel is a colleague and friend in Llandaff diocese. He was here on locum duty in March and April this year, so this didn't surprise me, and I was able to explain who I was, and then conducted the full conversation with him in Spanish. He texted me the phone number of the widow, and so I drove straight from the coffee morning to the apartment in Vera Playa, where Christine's husband had died suddenly the day before, six years younger than me.

I found my way to the area where I knew the urbanización was, but then Google Maps started to be most unhelpful, failing to acknowledge the name of the place I was looking for, and redirecting me to an urbanización with a similar name several kilometres away. Large areas of the coastal plain through which the Almanzora river runs are drained wetlands, intersected by modern infrastructure but still waiting for housing in-fill, covered with bushes and cane forests. No houses, no signage, much confusion.

After another phone call to the family, I was met by the son's father-in-law at the roadside overlooking the salinas lake nature reserve which I visited for the first time last Sunday afternoon. I learned that the couple had only made the permanent move from Lancashire to Spain in April of this year, after years of visits, staying in their son's apartment. Without warning, the future no longer has shape or prospects that make sense for them. I have the weekend to prepare a funeral service, to at least help the family face up to this untimely, unwanted farewell.
  

Sunday birding extra

This Sunday, the last in Trinity, or Bible Sunday, or Church Dedication Sunday, take your pick. After a good ten hours slumber, I drove out to celebrate the Eucharist with the Llanos congregation, fifty odd people, as I wasn't surprised that there was confusion around the choice of readings that were intended for use, due to a last minute change, not in my control. 

The Revised Common Lectionary as authorised by the Church of England, and broadcasted by its marvellous web app, provides for all three of options for use on this day. Making the decision and informing others about which set of readings to use is not straightforward. It relies on everyone getting and reading emails in the event of any changes occurring between different congregations and preachers. The complexity of the lectionary doesn't help everyone to keep up to speed. 

We're already messed about too much by having Continuous and Related streams of Old Testament readings to decide upon, let alone completely different sets of readings to choose from. It makes me long for earlier times and simpler schemes, much as I rejoice at the variety of scripture to reflect and preach on in the course of the year. Tolerance of so many choices speaks of committees unable to agree a clear set of objectives for each learning event for given Sundays of the year. The power politics of old fashioned churchmanship seems to be there somewhere in the background, plus we also have to cope with more Sundays designated as days of prayer showcasing special church social and missionary concerns. 

Do we need all this as a given of arranging liturgy? Are our ecclesial overlords experimenting with a 'Let the market decide' long term strategy? Given that next Sunday could be observed as Reformation Sunday, given that Tuesday is the 500th anniversary of Luther's 95 Theses, perhaps it  isn't such a bad time to ask the question. We've had forty years of liturgical enrichment on top of earlier reforms, so the basic regular diet of worship is now more complex than it need be, just as it was in pre-reformation times, occasioning radical revision and creative innovation. 

After church, I drove back, making a deviation to discover the town of Huercal Overa, in the sierras to the east of the A7 autovia, near the provincial border with Murcia. It's a town that sprawls over a plateau overlooking the Almanzora valley, having outgrown its ancient centre. I didn't find much there to encourage me to explore in detail, so I was soon heading back to Mojácar for lunch.

Later in the afternoon, I drove over to Villaricos, and discovered a large lake situated to the north and west of the watercourse of the rio Almanzora. Back in history, this might have been an ox-bow lake, but there is what looks like a 25m high spoil heap offshore, suggesting that in times past it had been quarried for gravel. But no longer. The westernmost end is elevated, and water gives way to salt flats, with all the interesting wildlife this harbours. The shallower end to the east hosts a variety of aquatic wildfowl, ducks, herons and egrets, even a grey coloured flamingo, a fairly recent arrival following storms. Grey coloured, because the local ecosysten doesn't contain the tiny shrimps which form the flamingo staple diet, and afford the unique colouration of its plumage. I was there too early to see returning hosts of egrets returning to roost I was told of yesterday . The ones I snapped on lake islands were those with no need to commute to feed for whatever reason, I guess.

From there, I drove to Vera Playa, parked the car and walked a couple of kilometres along the beach to Laguna Pueblo, where the rio Almanzora becomes a somewhat larger charco than the one in Mojácar, where it reaches the sea, extending back a couple of kilometres inland, surrounded by tall reed beds full of watland birds of every kind. Another amazing place, not far from Mojácar! The sun was starting to set when I reached here, so there wasn't much time to explore. So glad to have discovered it, however. I will return.

   

Birding update

The usual Saturday routine today, finishing and printing my Sunday sermon, a walk to Mercadona for a few items of grocery, a walk up to the bridge over the charco to see if there any new birds are to be seen. There were three egrets visible again. I think this is a nuclear family which has settled here rather than wherever else these birds make a home in this region.

On the bridge tonight were a couple about my age toting big long lens DSLR cameras, espying the waters. Eventually we got around to chatting. They were birders visiting from the USA, following any local avian intel they could find on the internet. They told me about the salinas near Villaricos, the other side of Garrucha, which was the current major overnight roosting place for flocks of egrets I'd seen here this time last year. It's the site where others have told me flamingos can be seen. That tripmsounds like it;s worth the effort to make. It's only ten kilometres away. Maybe tomorrow, but not tonight. The clocks go back, and I'm determined to take advantage of this and get a really long night's rest.

   

Catalunya crosses the line

It was good to learn that Clare and Kath were both safely home, despite a turbulent flight, and a sleep invading electronic buzz from a loudspeaker which none of the crew seemed able to suppress. Odd that the captain should apologise for turbulence, for which heaven and air traffic control routing are responsible, but not for noises off. Never mind, all's well that ends well.

Pam and Alwyn took me out for a meal at the Imperial Italian restaurant nearby this lunchtime. It's the first proper opportunity we've had to sit and chat, as they've been pretty busy since I arrived. Such a relief for them to know their new Chaplain will be in post by the time Lent starts.

I walked for a few kilometres along the Paseo de Marina as the sun was setting. The urbanizacion's gardener has been trimming the trees this past week, and has made good progress. Two thirds of the job is done already, and he's filled a large industrial skip with prunings. Along Calle de la Mata are a succession of sculpted trees, possibly of the laurel family, with laurel shaped and coloured leaves the size of dinner plates, plus palm tree fronds. The skip is very over-full. He stands the three metre long palm fronds close together vertically along the sides of the skip, which then means he can pile leaves much higher than the edges of the skip. I'd love to see what happens when the skip is collected.

I overheard him speaking with one of the neighbours as I started my paseo. The one word I caught was "Catalunya". Today the regional Parliament voted to declare independence, and the national government has voted to dissolve the Catalan parliament and impose direct rule from Madrid. I think a long slow political train crash has just started. I just hope and pray things won't get ugly. Catalan activists have promised non-violent action. This is going to divide the loyalties of civil servants, local government officials and communities all over the region. And, play havoc with the economy. As if Europe didn't have enough to cope with already, due to brexit, and the chaos it threatens to bring, at home and abroad. How easily people can lose any sense that we are all 'members of one another' as St Paul says.

  

Tales of wine

Another drive to Albox-Aljambra this morning to celebrate the Eucharist in honour of Saints Simon and Jude. There was a excellent shared lunch afterwards in church, and an opportunity to talk with people I'd not spoken with before. I had a small glass of an interesting Alto Almanzora Valley wine, named Este from a vineyard west of Albox. The label said it was a blend of 47% Monastrell, 23% Tempranillo, 12% Syrah, 6% Garnacha, 6% Merlot, and 6% Cabernet Sauvignon. Remarkable.

Using six varieties of grape is fairly unusual these days. One or two is more normal, although I've come across Valencian wines which use more. Some regions still have estates where traditional wine making recipes have persisted, or been revived and refined with modern brewing technologies. Using whatever kind of grapes can be grown rather than being so selective, in fermenting is the ancient way of doing it. With mixed results though, not to everyone's taste.

After the meal and clearing up, Lay Reader Duncan took me a cafe in Albox, much frequented by English speaking people, to meet a couple whose baby I'll be Christening at Aljambra in a fortnight's time. Their little eight week old daughter was born with a full head of chestnut coloured hair, and it hasn't fallen out yet. It's lovely to behold.

I stopped at Lidl's in Garrucha on the way back for some food shopping. In the wine aisle I overheard this remark from a Spanish couple: "Si ese vino es de Catalunya, no debemos comprarlo." Mojácar is about five hours drive from the Catalan border, but it seems people all over Spain are unhappy about the events unfolding there. The company has over 500 stores in Spain but seems to be run from Barcelona. It'll be interesting to see what economic impact separatism has on this significant trader in the Euro-supermarket field.

    

Pueblo rendezvous

Late this afternoon I made the hour long walk on back lanes up to Mojácar Pueblo past citrous grenadine and fig trees in orchards at the foot of the hill on which the pueblo is perched. The aroma is enchanting. I had a rendezvous with Don Miguel, the Parish Priest to make arrangements for the bi-lingual ecumenical service of Nine Lessons and Carols, scheduled for the first Monday of Advent, just after I leave. It's an event that's happened here for over twenty years, and is popular with locals and expats alike.

When I arrived at the church. he was sitting at the front, with a small group of women, playing the guitar and singing in a lovely tenor voice. Then the women sang something they knew, and discussed a little, as if they were working on a common song repertoire. I wondered what they were preparing for. Eventually he summoned me to join him in the sacristy, and then we worked on confirming the order of service and which language the readings would be in.

Don Miguel spoke a little English but was happy to let me work with him in Spanish, putting up with my faults and vocabulary lapses. It was a delightful experience with much laughter, plus the pleasure of being on the job with a ministerial colleague, and although the uphill climb had been quite taxing, I felt I had a spring in my step on the return journey.

Clare flies back to the UK from Arizona tonight. I was glad to catch her and Kath briefly on Skype before they set out for the airport, and wish them godspeed before the ten hour flight and then four hour trips back to Cardiff and Kenilworth. They've had a wonderful two weeks with Rachel and Jasmine. It'll be reassuring to have them back within a few hours flying time.

   

Liturgical karaoke

A warm and bright Sunday for the twenty minute drive to the Ermita de San Pascual de Baylon to celebrate the Eucharist and preach for a congregation of four dozen. We had no organist, but for the first time a new digital hymn reproduction system to use. I would have preferred to lead singing unaccompanied, being aware of the many pitfalls of recorded music, but agreed to go along with the proposal, having made a few adjustments to some hymn settings before we began. I guess people have to learn for themselves the challenge they take on, when they let themselves be led by a machine, however thoughtfully designed.

Instead of an organist accompanying a congregation, and adjusting to the variable pace of singing, a congregation must follow the music if they can. One can vary the speed and the pitch on modern equipment, use a musical introduction or not, but it's not straightforward. It works best with simple metrical hymns. Anything syncopated is a nightmare. In any singing group, people will have different ideas of rhythm and phrasing. Singing together coherently in a congregation can be learned with even modest musical leadership. Doing so from scratch, as happened this morning, was a hit and miss affair. Singing together with recorded music needs to be taught. It doesn't help if the music isn't audible to singers at the back. Operating the device, and how adjustments can be made to fit the natural pace of the congregation needs to be learned. It's not the quick easy solution I imagine it's marketed to be. But, with good will and good humour, we survived.

After lunch and a siesta, I walked along the coast road, eight kilometres to Garrucha and back. I needed the exercise after several days of relative inertia. On the way out from the charco bridge, I saw three egrets, two more than last Tuesday's sighting. I wonder if more will return, or if this is a stray family separated from the huge flock which was roosting here at night this time last year? 

I enjoyed the convivial buzz of people out walking along the Paseo de Malecon, as the sun was setting. It's a more compact town than Mojácar, and the walk along the sea front promenade is the most natural one to take for socialising during the paseo. 

Community in grief

Yesterday evening during the bereavement visit, the family agreed to let me lead the unaccompanied singing of 'Abide with me' during Mother's funeral service, rather than have a recording of the hymn played to listen to. It was going to be an awful lot of logistic fuss to obtain and distribute hymn books just for this, so I printed off the text, three to an A4 sheet, enough for three dozen people or more, if  they shared. I got all the necessary preparations done before bed, except for cutting the sheets. In fact, I only remembered just before it was time to go, and the job took me longer than anticipated. Even so, I arrived at Arboleas Thanatorium at one o'clock, exactly an hour before, and had all the time I could need to prepare before the mourners started arriving.

There were 12-15 family members present, including a babe in arms. I was amazed at the number of local friends and neighbours who turned out. The chapel was full, standing room only, and there were several people outside in the entrance hall as well. There were roughly three people for each hymn sheet, quite unexpected. Altogether, there were over a hundred people present. The couple are clearly well known and well loved by the expatriate community. 'Abide with me' went fine, and the recorded version was played at the end of the service while people were leaving. I cued it in a little earlier than I needed to, and as a result I had to pray the blessing over the music, which fortunately was at a low volume, and it worked quite well, though it's not something I'd normally think of doing..

Afterwards, Father and eldest son accompanied the hearse to the crematorium, while the rest of the congregation adjourned to the bar/restaurant of the nearby sports centre, colloquially known as the Pool Bar, because of its piscina. When I first heard it described thus I started looking out for some establishment on a street with pool tables, but thankfully, one of the people to whom I gave a lift had been there, and explained. Almost all of the congregation went there, socialized and offered their condolences to the family. I stayed until father and son returned, paid my respects and took my leave of them. Many of those remaining, I imagine, would be there until supper time. The good thing which expat retired communities have, is plenty of time for each other, and this was one of those days when time together would be healing.

 

 

Orientation

Yesterday was uneventful, just getting ready for Sunday and walking out, late in the afternoon, along the coast road in search of a pharmacy open for business. All three I identified were closed, as one may imagine on this Spanish bank holiday weekend, but none displayed information about any local 24 hour pharmacy which might be open. Ah well, nothing open. But, there must be a way of finding out where there is one.

This morning I drove to Llanos del Peral to celebrate the Eucharist. I had no trouble finding my way there, but was surprised I didn't recall the 5km journey from the main road up to the village in much detail until I drove it. I've noticed that I rely on visual memory and knowing where the sun is to take me places I've been before. I recall specific landscape features and navigate point to point between them. I was clear instructions to reach a coffee morning venue, except they didn't specify the starting point or general direction. Fine for locals who know where's where, but disconcerting for a stranger like me. No such thing as a stupid question however.

We were forty worshippers, in a chapel that holds fifty, with a positive receptive atmosphere in which to preach. Outside the chapel is a patio where umbrellas, chairs and tables are arranged for after-service fellowship. At this time of year the midday temperature is a pleasant 25C, so it's a pleasure to sit around and chat for a while before heading back to Mojácar.

Early evening, I walked along  the Camino del Palmeral, the back road leading to Mojácar Pueblo. I didn't have time to walk  all the way up there before dark, so turned back at the filling station towards Mojácar Playa, making a 6km circuit before the sun set. The last couple of kilometres I walked along the deserted beach for a change, enjoying the sound of waves crashing on the shore and gravel crunching under my feet as the sun set. A good conclusion to my second Sunday here, rounded off with an early bed-time.
 

Columbus Day

Apart from a walk up to the bridge over the rio Aguas to check out the evening wildlife, I stayed in, all day Tuesday and Wednesday, sleeping, eating and drinking Thyme Tea, to alleviate the symptoms of the cold. And it worked. By the time I woke up today, my head was clearer than it has been for a week and my chest was less sore. I wasn't concerned that another 45 minute drive up the Almanzora Valley to Aljambra would make me feel worse, and set off for the Midweek Communion service in the capilla with confidence. It was made a little easier by the lack of traffic on the roads, as today is Columbus Day, a Spanish Bank Holiday.

During my two days of down-time, I wrote both a Thursday and a Sunday sermon using Trinity 18 Mass readings, but focusing on the Related for one and Continuous for the other. There are times when both are interesting enough to be worth exploring separately, which you can't do in one sermon. I continue to enjoy working on Jewish scriptural texts in a way I didn't when I was younger, when I would happily have done away with Old Testament readings on grounds that they lacked relevance to today. As I get older, many more of the Psalms seem to connect with how I experience what is going on in the modern world, and difficult though Old Testament stories and prophecies can be until their context is exposed, I can find contemporary relevance in them more easily than ever. Here's hoping my audiences agree!

After the service, David and Kath took me for lunch at 'Bistro Bonita' in in the country village of Oria on the plain north west of Albox. All shops close, and most restaurants are fully booked with families enjoying time out together. The restaurant is owned and run by an ex-submariner British chef, with his sister, since his wife died. It's a favourite eating place with expats as his menu is wonderfully unpretentious British 'home cooking', delivered with the highest quality fresh ingredients, and loving application of olive oil and garlic where necessary. The Aljambra congregation can raise forty for the annual Christmas dinner here, and it's packed to the doors. Salad, spatchcock chicken, apple and plum crumble with custard. It was most enjoyable, and the conversation over lunch was also a pleasure.

The journey on minor roads of the main highway took us past a huge industrial plant, whose purpose seemed to be the conversion of locally quarried gypsum into plasterboard panels. Trees and plants in fields for a kilometer downwind from the factory were coated greyish white with stone dust. It would be impossible for people to live in that zone. I wondered about the health of the wildlife too.

Much of the region's gypsum is exported from Garrucha Port in bulk carriers, for use in similar manufacturing plants in other Mediterranean countries where I imagine labour is cheaper. Last weekend I observed one bulk carrier loading on my way through Garrucha, and three anchored off shore. That's twice as many ships as I saw queuing to load up this time last year. Also I noticed a tower crane in action lately on the unfinished apartment buildings on the tall escarpment overlooking the rio Aguas. Small symptoms of an economy beginning to pick up? I hope so.

Worship travels

I woke up yesterday morning conscious that a chest cold was developing. Whether it's a late development of the bug that laid Clare low last week, or a bug picked up on the journey here is anyone's guess. The roads were almost empty as I drove the twenty minute journey to the Capilla de San Pascual de Baylon to celebrate the Eucharist there were over sixty of us present. I was glad the Chaplaincy's resident retired Church Army Captain Edwin Bates was there to assist on my first Sunday back here since this time last year. 

After stopping off for a drink with half a dozen fellow worshippers on the way back to the apartment, it was half past two by the time I was cooking lunch. Then I had an hour to prepare another sermon for Evensong, before setting off on the forty five minute journey to the Almanzora Valley to Aljambra, where there were fifteen of us for the service. Instead of going out for supper with members of the congregation at a favourite Chinese restaurant, I decided to head back to Mojacar and bed, as the effects of the developing cold became more apparent.

Sure enough I woke up with a miserable cough, and though it took me a while to get going, I knew I would be able to cope with another drive up the Almanzora Valley to Arboleas Thanatorium for the funeral at midday, this time a forty minute journey. There were about thirty mourners there, many of them from the neighbourhood where all had bought homes and settled in retirement back in the early nineties. Afterwards, the hearse drove the coffin to a crematorium on a separate site elsewhere. Mourners stood outside, and gave a round of applause as it went past them.

On the way back, I stopped at a hardware superstore in Los Galliardos and bought a small saucepan, one of the few essentials lacking in the apartment kitchen. Then, the week's main grocery shopping at Lidl's in Garrucha, before returning to the apartment to lie low for the rest of the afternoon. I did go out later in the evening, in search of something to take for my cold, and decided to try thyme tea, a herbal remedy much used in France apparently. It has a distinctive taste and a wonderful aroma. I hope it makes a difference, or I'll have to move on to something stronger. At least the 4km walk in the dark warm evening air (21C), didn't make me feel worse. We'll see what tomorrow brings.

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.