Getting out and about

Up with the sun, but after a chilly night and a few gusts of wind the air warms quickly to around 15C and even more for a while mid-afternoon. Time to inspect the car and give it a trial run. It has just one locking door. The rest unlock and lock automatically with the drivers door. It's a smallish Dacia Sendero Stepway four seat hatchback with a diesel engine, which is comparatively noisy and not terribly powerful, but it's good enough to get around in. First I drove up to Mijas Pueblo and back down into the centre of Fuengirola to experience demanding hill driving and urban traffic conditions. I felt a lot better for having done that. I put it off yesterday to avoid overstressing my dodgy ankle, but it was fine today.

I returned and reheated yesterday's remaining pasta and sauce with chorizo picante sliced into it. In apple crumble was waiting for me in the freezer, along with a cauliflower cheese bake when I arrived. The cauli can wait until someone comes to join me who does eat cheese. The crumble I microwaved, and made up some custard with oat milk, as my secret chef had kindly included a portion of custard powder to use. That was enjoyable, and I certainly needed a good walk to digest it all. Clare and I talked before she went for her siesta. 

I also had a surprise call from John Duncan. He and I were colleagues together in Birmingham University Chaplaincy work fifty years ago. He decided to respond to my Christmas newsletter by ringing me up on his mobile, delighting in free wi-fi calls! He still plays golf twice a week and still has an active interest in good things. He didn't know I'm in Spain, and was quite surprised when I told him. That made my day!

Having finally completed my Sunday sermon, it was time to try out the chaplaincy house printer, hoping that it would behave for me and not force me to visit the office and print it off there. The last time I had used my laptop with a new printer was Estepona last supper. Windows recognised their Epson with ease and it was still set as the default printer. Within a minute or so of attaching a little Samsung lazer printer (a good choice for longevity sake), the laptop recognised it and all worked perfectly. When I think back over the decades, and recall what a task it used to be downloading and installing printer software, and now the whole process has been radically simplified, and made printing a lot less haphazard for all.

Job done, I went for that much needed walk, taking my time, along the road that runs beneath and beside the Metro, all the way to the terminus in Fuengirola. Nine years ago, I bought my Tarjeta Dorada 40% discount rail card there, I had hoped to do it again, but alas the ticket office is long gone. I need to go to Malaga's Maria Zambrano main station to find a ticket office. The terminus has had a makeover, and is equipped with ticket gates, that allows you to tap and pay for your fare, or use your phone, or a paper ticket from the usual machine. And there's a ticketing app for your phone as well. Just like in London. Ah well, at least I know. It's not a priority to get one for the moment.

While I was down that part of time, I found the only branded Banco Santander ATM in town. You can do everything with your account in their centre there, at an on-line terminal. I wonder if they have real people to talk to as well. One day I must go in office hours and find out. The ATM took my card and greeted me as an English client automatically. It only gave me the option of withdrawing €140, unless I missed something on the screen display. It was a maximum of €200 I could withdraw last time I tried in the summer. I paid £133 for this, but there's no exchange fee but a set rate of €1.05 to the pound, which is less than the current €1.11 rate on the street, but banks can add transaction fees which ends up costing just as much. 

Owain says it's cheaper to tap and pay for everything, as it's on the cumulative spend in a banking cycle that the currency conversion is worked and one's account is charged. It means that we're being charged more for using physical money than digital. Covid drove the change to cashless purchase in Britain. Other EU countries and Scandinavia have been way ahead of us. For better or for worse? We'll see.

I walked back along the beach promenade, visited the little shrine of our Lady of Fatima beside the storm drain that runs down into the sea. It's strange that it's quite close to the large statue of Our Lady Star of the Sea. There must be a story behind these local devotions. I'd walked over eleven kilometres by the time I reached Casa de Esperanza. I haven't walked that far for a good while, and my ankle didn't really complain.

A light supper after a big lunch, then photo uploading, and writing this cloaked in a large counterpane I found upstairs, just about enough to enable me to sit and write without being unbearably cold. And now to early bed to be sure that I'm on my best form when I drive to Calahonda for tomorrow's first service.

Upheaval day

I was delighted to see this morning the return of the organic farmers' street market across the street beneath the trees lining the pavement outside the bullring, as it gave Clare an opportunity to explore what was on offer, and buy a few extra special things to eat while she's here. After this, we went to the beach for her daily swim. Although the sun was high in the sky, there was a cool breeze which made it tolerable to spend an hour there in the shade of a tall palm tree.

On our return, the man living in the apartment underneath ours approached me and asked if I was aware of a leak, as he was trying to work out where water was coming from into his bathroom, right underneath ours. There were no surface symptoms in our bathroom, and nothing was flowing down into ours, so we closed the stop-cocks we could find, and I reported this to churchwarden Rosella, who talked with the neighbour on the phone. The building's maintenance man was summoned and expressed the view that there was most likely a problem with the supply of water to the bathroom hot water tank, as the leak was of clean water, not sewage.

Rosella sent me to the church to consult the files of essential documents kept in the sacristy, which include church and apartment insurance policies. I was able to tell her by phone from church the policy and phone help line numbers for MAPFRE, the insurance company, for her to pursue the necessary arrangements to commission an emergency plumber. By half past two, said plumber was ringing the doorbell, and after completing his diagnostic, he broke through both the wall and floor tiles in the corner where the pipes supply the heater, uncovered the source of leak and repaired it. By four, he was on his way out, repair done, hot and cold water supplies restored. Amazing, and quite a challenge for communicating with neighbours and plumber in Spanish. My new word of the day? What else but 'fontanero' - plumber. 

As I'd been due to leave for the bereavement visit to Torreblanca at four, I left later than planned. It was twenty five to six when I arrived at the house in Puebla Blanca, a charming collection of houses on a hillside, with a communal swimming pool and its own small bar. I learned that the man who died had been a footballer on a modest weekly wage from the late fifties, and had spent his working life and some of his retirement in the profession. Best of all, he'd played for Bristol City, around the time when we were at University there.

Thanks to the marvellous Cercania rail link with Malaga, I was home again by eight. Moreover, this time my tarjeta dorada worked as intended. After supper, I set about preparing the order of service for the funeral, ready for approval and printing, with the sound of the Queen Symphonic Rhapsody concert in the bullring booming all around us. This time, for real. No escape - four hours of it, with intervals.

A welcome, not without travel hassles

I spent Monday getting ready for Clare to arrive, with an evening paseo to the port and back. Before bed, in case I forgot, I sent a message to Kath and Anto, to congratulate them on their 25th wedding anniversary which is tomorrow. How quickly these amazing years have passed.

Since Clare's Vueling flight from Cardiff was scheduled at 12.45, but is often early, I left much earlier than necessary, walking first to Maria Zambrano station, renew my Tarjeta Dorada train discount card. Just as well I had plenty of time in hand, as I was directed to take a ticket and wait. I took one for 'ticket to use on the day', as I intended to claim a discount on the trip to the airport. When I arrived at the desk to be dealt with 20 minutes later, I was told I had the wrong ticket, and should have taken a queuing ticket for 'advance bookings', and had to queue all over again, half an hour this time. 

Queue ticket numbers were separate numerical streams. I noticed that, depending on how busy each queue was, and how many counter clerks were on duty at the time, clerks would swap from one ticket stream to another, indicating there was no technical difference between a book on the day counter and one for advance booking. I'd received no explanation about where and how a Tarjeta Dorada should be purchased. There was no information displayed to say which queuing stream an applicant should join.

The Tarjeta Dorada, duly purchased, delivered a discount fate to get me to the airport, and I got there just at the right time to meet Clare. It wouldn't, however, deliver a discount fare for the return journey. The reason for this, I guess / I hope, is that registration took immediate effect on the computer network node at the station where it was issued. Updating data to thousands of other network nodes that serve the entire RENFE transportation system would take longer, perhaps the rest of the day. If this is the case, all that's needed would be a notification at point of sale to say 'this discount card will take effect from .... hrs, today or tomorrow. Good enough reason to inform those hunting for a Tarjeta Dorada to queue only for future tickets. 

But I still resent the way I was dealt with by an uncompromising counter clerk, who could so easily have understood and dealt with my traveller's lack of know-how, without giving me grief. In the end, discourtesy is not dependent upon the language used.

We took the train back to the terminus at the top end of the Alameda, then caught the 11 bus which stops outside the apartment. After unpacking, lunch and a siesta, we went to Playa La Malagueta for Clare to take her first swim. I don't think she really believed me how near the beach is to where we are staying, busy roads notwithstanding. After supper we walked into the port and watched the sun set over the harbour. How lovely to have my best beloved to share the experience of this special place with me at last.

   

Noche de San Juan on the move

Voting day in the UK's EU referendum, but not a concern for us as we voted postally before we left. We've heard of people here having problems with getting their postal votes mailed back to the UK, because some Spanish post office workers do not recognise or know about the international Freepost convention and signage, as it's in English and French, not in their official postal language. I don't know how true or widespread this is, but its a complication no voter wants.

I had a meeting at the Balcon Hotel with a couple whose wedding I'm due to bless next Wednesday in Frigiliana. Then, after lunch I drove Clare to Malaga airport for her flight back to Cardiff. There were huge queues at the baggage check-in. Not just because of summer holidaymakers, however. There are several Vueling outbound flights within an hour or so of each other, notably one to Amsterdam. The conjunction happens when these two cohorts of passengers are boarding early morning flights as well, as I recall from previous experience.

I left Clare in the queue and went over to the RENFE station to find out if I could purchase a new Tarjeta Dorada train discount card there. No luck. Purchase of this kind are only possible at Maria Zambrano Station in the city, or Torremolinos, or Fuengirola. Knowing how easily I could achieve this in Fuengirola, I went back to check-in, said goodbye to Clare and drove west, to a town that is still familiar and fresh in my memory, from having spent the best part of eight months there the year before last. Mission accomplished I tried to book at ticket for my long distance journey in eight days time. Not possible except at the main station, or on-line. Ah well, another trip into Malaga, this time by bus in coming days I think.

Rather than go straight back home, I drove on to La Cala de Mijas, and visited Peter and Linda in their lovely Casa Madreselva house. Linda was in the pool, doing her physio exercises, following last years joint replacement op. It was great to meet up with them again and catch up. It's a year since I was last there for their joint 145th birthday celebration.

I got home in time for the start of the referendum count, but then at half past eleven headed down to Burriana beach for the Noche de San Juan festivities, there being nothing to glue me to the telly until the results began to flow. It'll be a long night for all the pundits and politicos.

Homeward bound

When I got up this morning, the temperature in Fuengirola was much the same as that in Cardiff, but sunnier. Having packed and cleaned the apartment, I drove to St Andrew's where I met Ian and handed over all my keys and the chaplain's mobile phone. He took me for a parting glass  to a restaurant above the covered market, a short walk from the church. Above the restaurant, I discovered is the local public library and above that several rooms for community use. It's an impressively useful piece of municipal social architecture, and apparently, well used. As Ian lives a few stops up the railway line to Malaga via the airport, we travelled together and chatted about the way of life in these parts which both of us appreciate so much.

My tarjeta dorada railcard gave me a discount fare of €1.55 for a forty minute journey. I'd over-anticipated the time I'd need to check in and go through security by an hour, and had to wait half an hour for the bag drop counter to open. By the time I was air-side I had two hours to wait, which passed by quickly enough, nosing around the shops, and walking the considerable distance to the Vueling departure zone. Flying past the snow capped Pyrenees lit by late afternoon sun was a pleasant experience. The couple occupying the seats next to me were returning from a three month spell of mission supporting the Ark evangelical church in Fuengirola. Through the good offices of a friend they were introduced to the mission among Andalusian gypsies which has seen significant growth in Pentecostal churches serving gypsies in Spain, a group that has become alienated from Catholic tradition. So, the conversation on my return trip was just as interesting as that on the outward journey.

We arrived in the dark at five thirty and I was soon on the airport shuttle bus to Cardiff, and quickly on to a sixty-one, reaching home in time for the Archers, and a welcome home supper with Clare. And now, a month's mail to read!