Viñuela revisited

Yesterday was another day of answering couples' wedding blessing queries. It's a bit like being a tutor on a correspondence course, you have to think long and hard to ensure there's clarity in the response. Also there was an email from Cardiff Area Dean Fr Bob Capper, asking me about August availability for locum duties at St German's, which means, sadly, Fr Dean may still be off sick. I had already offered Fr Mark my free slots for Canton Benefice, but conscious that he might not need me for all of them, I asked Fr Bob to liaise with him about free slots. So it looks as if I won't be short of ministry duties on my return.

Coming back from an evening stroll around town, I was surprised to hear the strains of Hare Krishna chanting coming from a small building which I think is a changing room for local tennis courts. I've not come across devotees singing on the streets of the town so far, but may have simply missed them. It's all part of the rich cultural diversity that's part of life on the Costa del Sol, as in any large city.

Apart from a morning walk to the supermarket, I spent the day indoors again, writing emails, but as there was nothing worth watching on telly, I decided to walk to Burriana beach in the dark, and then continued into town via the Playa Caribeo steps. Wanting to stretch myself a little, I jogged all the way up. It left me a little breathless, but recovery was quick. It's getting a lot easier to run since I lost about five kilos. The Balcon was fairly quiet for ten thirty at night, but there was a classical guitarist out busking, playing lovely romantic music, which I think was by an 18th or 19th Spanish composer. Perfect for a late Spring evening.

I had a drink at the Balcon Hotel with some people I knew who hailed me as I was passing, and then strolled home, tireder than I expected. I'm less used to being out and about late these days.

This afternoon, I drove along the coast road to Torre del Mar again, and further beyond for several kilometres to explore. West of the town, on a high promontory, partly cut away in quarried cliffs is a typical iconic Osbourne Bull wayside hoarding, and I wanted to take some photos.

Then I drove back to Torre del Mar, and headed inland, past Velez Malaga to Viñuela, which I'd passed through on a bereavement visit when I was here a couple of years ago. It's a spectacularly beautiful mountainous region and there's a lake named after the town, providing water for local agriculture and the coastal region. It's a big olive growing area.

Up to the right of the lake is the old slow road through the mountains to get to Granada, via the Puerto del Suspiro del Moro - the Pass of the Moor's last sigh - where the defeated rulers paused to look back at the city they'd lost to the army of los reconquistadores. This journey is a must for us, at least one way, when we make our third visit to the old capital of Al Andalus in a few weeks time. It's twice as long as the Autovia journey apparently, but you can stop and rejoice in the scenery.

    

Mayday weekend

More time spent yesterday working remotely, and preparing my Sunday sermon, despite the allure of warm sunny weather. In the late afternoon I went for a walk, intending to pick up a few food items. I'd quite forgotten it's the Mayday fiesta here in Spain, so most shops were shut, like on Sundays. I found a small shop open where I was able to buy some bananas and an aubergine to tide me over. The centre of Nerja was noticeably busier and more crowded than previously, suggesting that there were extra holiday visitors around, enjoying the sunshine, eating out, relaxing.

This afternoon I drove the car out along the shore road through Torrox as far as Torre del Mar. This area of coastline is known as the Costa Algorrobo, thanks to the proflieration of Carob trees in the local environment. I was surprised to discover the town was the birth place of the Andalusian sugar refining industry. Several nineteenth century buildings and power house chimneys survive as historic artifacts among modern apartment blocks. The first refinery's office building has survived and serves in part as the Mayor's office and as the town's music conservatory. Outside the entrance to the latter is a sculpture of the head of the conservatory's founding father, and next to it a tree, whose trunk has been sculpted into an art work, although it is still alive and growing.

There's a 21st century tramway linking Torre del Mar with Velez Malaga, 4km inland, but services no longer operate. It closed for business after six years of operation in 2012, following a change of regional political power. The competing bus service survives. Who benefits? One wonders.

This area of coastal plain, fringed by mountain ranges, was first settled by Pheonicians nearly 2,800 years ago. The Romans had settlements here, but Velez Malaga as a centre of regional government for the comark of Axarquia was built by the Moors in the 11-12th century, then taken over in 1487 during the reconquista.

I didn't venture into the city on this occasion, as my attention was drawn to the tower on a hilltop overlooking the old town. A by-pass road took me up to the site of the Moorish castle. 

Most of the fortifications are now ruins, but its magnificent tower is in excellent repair, framed by a landscaped garden. The view of the city from 150 metres above the coastal plain is remarkable

 

The ermita on the hilltop to the north of the old town is dedicated to Nuesta Señora de los Remedios. One fifteenth century church in the old town, St John the Baptist, is built on the site of the main mosque, the tower started life as a minaret.

This morning's second Sunday service started late again, as for the second week running a group of children were admitted Communion. Fifteen children each week, and on each occasion a full church, of family and friends, taking more time to empty than usual. After the Creed we had the 'swearing in' ceremony for Judith and Bill, re-elected as churchwardens last Sunday. In the Bar Cuñejo afterwards I chatted with the woman I met last week who'd grown up in my home town of Ystrad Mynach. We shared memories of growing up amongst remarkable people in a village mining community, nowadays transmuted into a up and coming suburban commuter dormitory. How the place has changed over the past half century since the pits closed.