Quarantine Cymru - day Five

Clouds, sunshine and a few early showers on this Day that the Lord has made. I woke up at five and thought it was later, as I felt refreshed, but I did go to be earlier last night, and am still sleeping well.

I said Morning Prayer, listened to the Sunday Worship service on Radio Four. It was a modern style service of the Word celebrating Father's Day (I'd forgotten), offering scriptural and personal reflection on fatherhood in a thoughtful rather than sentimental way. Then I read the Church in Wales Eucharist texts to celebrate being back home on a Sunday. 

It's the longest day today, and 95 days after imposition, the Spanish government Estadio de Alarma ends today. Powers to implement restrictions where these may be needed to control outbreaks passes back to regional governments, and free movement between regions is possible once more. Some parts of the country, like the Balearic Islands are almost virus free, whilst in others it persists, with new infections and deaths, albeit far fewer than a month ago. 

Now travel between EU countries can resume, there will be a slow influx of holidaymakers. German travellers are already arriving. Spain has conceded that UK travellers won't be obliged to self quarantine for two weeks on arrival, although they will have to if they return. No incentive here for short term holiday-makers unless they aren't returning to work. It will benefit Brits wanting to return to second homes and businesses, or to reunions with family members. 

It remains to be seen whether this movement of people triggers a second wave of contagion. Spain's hospitality industry is geared up welcome people with appropriate hygiene precautions. Let's hope visitors are equally cautious and not in denial about the possibility of a second wave. I wonder if local trace and track systems will serve when scaled up to cope with visitor influx, and contain any imported outbreak? Time will tell.

I'm not yet ready to dive into the Parish's Sunday offering of liturgy on-line, but  I could hear Clare singing along downstairs after breakfast. No, I'm using quarantine as a retreat, to adjust to being here where there's been a different approach to infection control. When I am free to go public in nine days time, I will indeed need to be alert to the differences.  I remember how I felt the first couple of times I ventured out legitimately during and after lock-down in Ibiza. It takes a little time to regain confidence. That's not a bad thing. It's a matter of looking out for others as well as yourself in the best way possible.

Finally, I started work on transcribing the travel diary Clare and I wrote on our first visit to Greece for a three week backpacking holiday in the summer of 1967. I took it with me to work on in Ibiza but never took it out of my suitcase with too many other things to think about. Now in quarantine, I have leisure and quiet. We were abroad for thirty three days. I had forgotten that ten days were occupied with travelling there and back by train and ferry. With good connections the same journey today could be done in two days, and ten hours door to door by 'plane. Will there be a return to overland travel with huge question marks over air travel post pandemic? I wonder.

I've had phone calls from Kath, Rachel and Owain today wishing me a happy Father's Day. It makes me realise how blessed I am to have such lovely grown up children and enjoy their company.

Walking after the rain

As later in the day more rain was forecasted, I went out early to get the duct tape I spotted yesterday in the Chinese supermarket to use for hymnbook repair. In a shop nearby I found and bought one of those metal veggie steamer baskets which open out like flower petals to accommodate variable size loads and fit inside a pan. Being economical on hob space as well as gas, it makes cooking easier to manage and more efficient, if I'm organised. We use a steamer all the time at home, but so far I've seen few of any design in the shops.

Sure enough, it rained most of the afternoon, and I did some more work on my sermon for Sunday, but then it cleared up, and the sky in the hours before sunset was on times dramatic and spectacular. I went out again and walked to the port, the pavements still glistening wet and strewn with puddles. Few people were out for their evening paseo and the beach was almost deserted. I spotted just one mum with her toddler, walking along the sea shore, and the chirungitos were all closed. Large grey and black clouds still rolled around across the bay, and I spotted a small chink in the clouds near the horizon where there was a near circular patch of rainbow colours. Sadly it didn't photograph well.

Down in the port, at the quay near the lighthouse, where the three ocean going tugs regularly dock, the naval coast patrol vessel stationed here was in port. As I passed by, a petty officer and a rating we standing on deck awaiting the order to begin the customary Retreat flag lowering ceremony that ends the ship's day.

The last time a saw this was on board the minesweeper HMS Monmouth on her visit to Cardiff when, as local Vicar I was United Services Mess Chaplain, and an invited guest. That was much more formal, with a band too, but it's a recognisable navy ritual that transcends nationality.

Docked at the Palmeria de las Sorpresas quay tonight is the MV Corinthian, a hundred berth cruise ship which not only travels the Mediterranean, but also itineraires around the British Isles, Arctic Circle and Great Lakes, and even some river cruises on different occasions.

As I walked back to the apartment through the Old Town, the restaurants and bars were starting to fill up with evening visitors. As it was cool after the rain, however, the atmosphere was subdued. More rain to come tomorrow, alas. Even so, I hope cruise goers will disembark for a look around and not just get taken up to Granada or Ronda for an outing. If it rains down here, it's more than likely to be raining even more inland, and the won't know what they've missed.

  

History puzzle solved

Today is a national holiday in Spain, so shops and banks are shut. It's also been overcast and dull, so little incentive to get out and go anywhere special. I took time to write my Sunday sermon in the morning, and after cooking lunch, I settled down to see if I could find out anything about the very large mysterious ruined building by the coast road outside Garrucha.

Eventually, I tracked down an old website, many Google search pages deep, recounting the history of an industrial railway line, built around 1890, running from lead mines 17km inland at the small town of Bédar, down to the shore at the southern end of Garrucha. The site has photos taken at the turn of this century of the ruins of what had been a lead smelting plant. Its product was loaded on to boats on the sea shore another hundred meters away. The mines closed in the 1920s and with them, the railway disappeared. 

The land above and beyond the smelting plant had other industrial buildings on it, now long gone. A large area of old industrial land has cleared, maybe with housing in mind in the long term. What remains of the old smelter has been been tidied up, and enhanced with gardens. But curiously, no easily available information publicises this aspect of the town's heritage, whose wealth creation, over a century ago, helped transform a small fishing town with a mineral shipping business into a stylish resort with reputable restaurants and small hotels.

I'm so pleased to have solved this little puzzle. My initial conjectures about a vaulted roof were far from the truth. The neatly laid stone blocks over the site behind the standing end walls were most likely to cover a mound of rubble from the demolished side walls of the building - perhaps cheaper than the cost of taking away the demolition rubble, but maybe also securing toxic waste contamination from furnaces originally housed there. Re-purposing land after industrial use is just as complex and potentially expensive a planning issue as any other form of waste processing with environmental impact.

When I went out at tea time to get some fresh air, I found there'd been light rain. Pavements were still drying, and the air smelled fragrant and fresh. I went down to the beach and walked around the periphery of the nature reserve, exploring paths through the bushes and tall grasses surrounding the lake above the sea shore where the Rio Aguas stops, and seeps water through the sand into the beach. I've come to the conclusion this uncommon environmental feature is not entirely natural. 

If it was there originally on its own, it's been enhanced by constructing two metre dykes along a kilometre of its length inland. On the beach itself the sand bar rises only half a metre from the water level. But this has been sufficient to foster vegetation growth in an extensive area of beach around, thanks to colonising plants. I noticed among the tallest grasses and canes growing shore side, lots of pebbles, washed up with sand at high tides in stormy weather, helping to re-enforce the enclosure of river water to create a lake.

On the north side, I found a path beneath the road bridge over the lack which led through the vegetation to the water's edge, under the bridge. A man was fishing there. There was no need to acknowledge each other as we both needed silence. Then a host of egrets returned to roost for the night, attaching themselves to waterside rushes where they could, hundreds of them. Hordes of swifts came, bats as well, to feed on myriad insects, while coots fought over space in the water below. I realised that in the evening and early morning, days earlier, I'd been mistaken about the waterside plants, viewed from a distance. They were not exuding any white cottony substance. All the white blobs on reeds which were in my field of view in low light were birds roosting, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. Well, they fooled me.

While I was there, I heard several different bird calls I couldn't identify any more than I could see them. I got one new bird photo, however. I think, a reed warbler. If you know differently, tell me

     

Mojácar Pueblo

I completed my Sunday Eucharist sermon for Mojacar this morning, nice and early. There'll also be an Evensong inland at Aljambra. With plenty of leisure to think, I'll prepare something different to suit the readings for this occasion.

I've been meaning to do it since I arrived, but finally this afternoon I drove up to Mojacar Pueblo, the hill town sitting 150 metres above the coastal plain, nestling on a promontory beneath jagged sierra peaks. The site's history of occupation dates back 4,000 years, but the present layout of the town, like so many other historic villages in Spain dates from 11th century Moorish occupation.

In the 19th and early 20th centuries its ancient prosperity diminished greatly, as did its population, but it was then 'rediscovered'. It became a centre for artists from the 1960s, and after that grew as a tourism destination, with the development of Mojacar Playa on the coastal plain, during the past thirty years. The old town has decent approach roads, modern parking facilities, several plazas and small retail areas equally modern, yet exploiting its steep hilly environment without detriment.

It was quiet, and there weren't many people about during siesta time on this autumn afternoon, but I could imagine the place welcoming large numbers of high season visitors. There are spectacular views over the plain to the north towards Vera and Garrucha, with a walkway following the line of the ancient town wall, no longer visible, showcasing the view.

The Parish Church of our Lady of the Rosary and St Augustine, dates from 1560. It stands at the edge of the upper plaza. It has a plain fortress-like exterior, and a squat bell tower. The interior is a simple high round arched unvaulted nave without apse or aisles. The west front is also plain with a single round arched entrance. Classic forms, but with no renaissance or baroque portal to boost its status as a church building post reconquista. It was built on the site where the mosque once stood. I wondered if the unadorned simplicity of this building bore witness to the town's history, in which Jews, Muslims and Christians had lived peacefully together, and won respect from Ferdinand and Isabella when citizens of all faiths united in pledging loyalty to the Crown without surrendering the status quo they'd developed.

Although it was siesta time, the church was open to visit, and a gentle stream of recorded plainsong offered a calming welcome to all who entered. There seems to be no Catholic place of worship in Mojacar Playa. There's an Assemblies of God missionary congregation, and the Anglican presence, but no Mass centre advertised to cater for visitors down on the seaside. I wonder why? This Friday is the patronal fiesta of Our Lady of the Rosary, so there'll be special events up in the old town, but not at a time when I can make it, unfortunately, as I have a prior engagement with the Anglican congregation out at Aljambra.

After a couple of hours up in the old town, I returned to the apartment, and then went out for my daily walk. This time to the Mercadona and back, eighty minutes exercise, and some fish for supper as a reward for the effort.

My photos you'll find here

  

Dawn delight

I woke at first light, aware that Clare would soon be on her way to the Heath hospital for day surgery eye appointment, thankfully with support from a good neighbour, with me so far away, and only able to message her good wishes. I couldn't get back to sleep, so with a little effort, I got up, dressed and made my way to the road bridge overlooking the nearby Rio Aguas nature reserve, to watch the sunrise, and anything else that might happen.

It seemed that there were even more coots out in the open waters of the lake than I saw last night, dozens of them, dabbling, fighting, calling to each other. Then there were bats on their odd jagged flight paths just over the water, with occasional intrusions from more elegantly aerobatic swifts. The big surprise was fish 20cm long jumping clean out of the water, several times in a row. Also insect hunting I wondered. A spectacular morning twilight dance. 

There were several kinds of birdsong unfamiliar to me coming from tall grasses either side of the lake. I caught sight of a reticent Purple Gallinule browsing for food among waterside reeds, then a few egrets appeared, then a few more, then a lot more as the sun appeared over the horizon. At first, they attached themselves to reeds or nearby trees, and roots for a while. Then without warning, groups of them would take to the air and fly west inland up the valley, to wherever they expected to find their next food. At a guess, there were several hundred birds hiding overnight in the surrounding reed beds. 

At this time of year reeds produce a white cotton like puffball on the stem. I think it may contain seed. At a distance in the half light, there could be no better hiding place for the egrets. Although larger than the puffball, they are equally as plain and white, clinging to a reed.

Just as I was about to leave, I spotted a group of six Mallards, and then tiny diving duck, probably a teal. I took a burred photo of this, plus a few more of Purple Gallinules feeding, and then, too quickly for me to react, the vivid blue flash of a Kingfisher, flying under the bridge, the length of the lake. Such a blessed morning hour. You can find my photos here

After breakfast I spent the rest of the morning editing and uploading photos, receiving and sending emails. I was ready for a siesta after lunch, but made the effort to walk later in the afternoon. This time I went south along the promenade, further than I went before, until I'd done 6-7 km or so. I was looking for a shop, well most probably a Chinese supermarket, selling cheap sun hats, as I'd left mine at home. I got lucky just as I was about to turn for home, and purchased a white sombrero, for 5€ a bit too small for my big head - it'll need stretching - but it's necessary. I've got used to wearing a hat this past few years, and even though the sun is less strong than it was last month, I won't risk over-exposure.

The south end of the promenade seems from its buildings to be the older part of Mojacar Playa, with many more smaller shops, restaurants and a few houses on the beach side of the road, and generally not looking as neat and tidy or as up-market as the northern reaches of the town. Around the junction of the road up to Mojacar's pueblo viejo is the most developed, with a shopping mall, some gardens, the Post Office, and some posh shops and bars. So, development seems to have extended a good 4km from the 'centre' to the north over the past few decades. Eventually, I guess, the entire sea front from Mojacar to the neighbouring mineral exporting port of Garrucha will be a built up area, but hopefully developed according to the same coherent planning concept that has made the north reaches of Mojacar Playa fairly pleasing to the eye.

Walking the streets this past few days, I've heard as much French spoken among holidaymakers as English. What I find puzzling is the large number of Italian themed eating houses, offering pasta or pizza. Few unashamedly English, French or Spanish for that matter, unless this exists as a default but isn't promoted. The built environment and landscape says 'Spain', but the cuisine less evidently so. I wonder what's the reason for this?

  

Visit to the Bull

One thing I forgot to pack when leaving Cardiff was the charger for my DSLR battery. When Clare got back to Cardiff, she found it and posted it to me. That was a week ago. Meanwhile, last Friday, after the post for the day had gone, I sent a birthday card to Amanda, and yesterday morning she sent me a text message saying it had arrived. Uh-oh? What's happened to my little parcel? How long may it take to arrive? Or, is it lost? 

Each day since Thursday last, apart from Sunday, I've made sure that I'm here in the morning to receive a delivery, knowing that the little parcel will be just too thick to pass through the letter box opening in the garden door. So far, nothing, and I've no idea how long it might actually take to convey a little package from Cardiff to Fuengirola, given that a little package is not a letter. 

The way the postal service works in any country, let alone between countries is a mystery, and it's admirable that it works at all, given the variety of regulations governing the terms and conditions for the delivery of letters and packages in different countries. But, for a newcomer like me, it's a matter of uncertainty combined with inexperience. So I stay in and wait, not knowing what else to do.

Yesterday, I didn't go out all day. This afternoon, I willed myself to go out for an afternoon paseo, as it had cooled pleasantly by a few degrees. I walked East towards Torreblanca, not on the promenade, but on a road which took me up into the urbanizacions surrounding a 70 metre high promontory that overlooks the coastal plan.

A rare instance of unmanaged wild area in the conurbation, hosts an old maritime watch tower and one of ninety examples nationwide of the iconic 1950's bull advertisement logo for Osborne's Sherry Brandy. It has become a popular symbol in Spain, appearing on flags and tee shirts, quite divorced from its origin in drinks marketing.

When faced with removal under revised planning regulations, some bull advertisements were locally adopted, retained by popular acclaim as an unofficial Spanish identity symbol. The present bull of Torreblanca appears to be the third on this site, to judge by the discarded and rusting remains of foundations at previous locations on the hilltop.

When I arrived, half a dozen teenagers speaking a Scandinavian language were gathered around the bull, taking photos and climbing, where they could, girls posing for photos swinging from the bull's cojones, which I observed has been graffiti'd over several times, making them less visible that the usual matt back which makes for such a distinctive distant profile. Scope for philosophization without limit here, which I shall renounce. The views from up there across the sea plain and along the coast in both directions are well worth the climb. Surprising really that it's not considered worthy of a few tourism signs to direct visitors there.