Anniversaries recalled

An early start to get to the Ampolla golf club house for this Sunday's first Eucharist, on a bright cool morning. The roads were quiet, and this time I didn't miss my hard to identify turn-off point. During the service, we gave thanks for Robert and Gerda's 65th wedding anniversary, and I gave them a special nuptial blessing at the end of the service. I've been invited to their party at the club house this Tuesday morning. There were sixteen of us again, and this time, we finished early enough for me to be able to join the congregation for a coffee on the terrace before driving back to Vinaros for the second service with the same number in the congregation. 

Celebrating with Robert and Gerda reminds me that our golden wedding anniversary party is now only three weeks away. I remember attending my Kimber grandparents' golden wedding anniversary party when I was eleven, wearing my new Pengam Grammar School uniform for the first time at a family do. My Harris grandparents on my mother's side didn't have such a party that I recall, but their photo appeared in the local newspaper in Burton on Trent, where they lived until illness and infirmity brought them down to live out the rest of their days with us in South Wales, cared for by my mother in our mining valleys terraced house. 

Grandma Harris had a not too serious stroke, but it meant she was no longer able to look after my grandfather. He'd lost a leg through an uncontrolled diabetes infection. She lived only a few weeks after the move. I suspect the stress of having to give up her home and her independence was too much for her.  He lived a couple of years longer bed-ridden in our front room. It's no wonder that my mother also had a stroke several years after her father died. Her life was also made very stressful by the burden of caring for the infirm, and no doubt diet, and the fact that the men in the household were smokers also played its part.

Having said that, my only grandparent to survive into his nineties living independently at home, was Grandpa Kimber, who not only smoked a pipe and cigars for much of his life, but even grew his own tobacco in his back-yard greenhouse. Does anyone fully understand the interplay of nature versus nurture, constitution versus environment, in determining our length of days?

Clare was up in Kenilworth this weekend, and Friday night went with the family to see the Royal Shakespeare Company's new production of 'Midsummer Night's Dream' in Stratford. She was full of praise for it when we talked on Skype after her return. Missing events of this kind is the price I have to pay for being here, unfortunately.

   

Food memory

A late and lazy start this morning, with just one service in Alcossebre at noon. I drove there using the new N340 by-pass road, which opened last year, and has taken the heavy long distance traffic away from the existing arterial road, what may have been a by-pass road in its day, but since then, has acquired along most of its length through town, a succession of supermarkets warehouses and business premises. 

Nowadays this road has, for the most part just light local traffic, and is far less dangerous to use than it was last time I was here. Indeed, I notice a difference at night, as there's no longer the sound of heavy lorries slowing down to respect urban speed limits, half a kilometre away from the house. The new by-pass runs three kilometres inland across the coastal plain.

There were two dozen at the Eucharist and unusually, a third were non-communicants. Summer months are the quietest for church attendance here too, despite the influx of visitors. Afterwards we gathered in the 'El Camino' church shop just a couple of doors up from the church, a dozen of us, for drinks and a chat, and some of Doreen's special cheesy nibbles. Then I drove back for lunch via Lidl's, as I needed bottled water, fruit and some fish (merluza) for lunch.

I was a bit haphazard in timing the cooking, and started the rice too early, so it was ready before the veg and the fish. By this time I was hungry, and served the redondo rice - like an Italian risotto rice, to eat just with lemon squeezed over it. Not only was it delicious, but eating this awakened a lovely memory from nearly fifty years ago.

Clare and I spent the summers of '67 and '68 backpacking in Greece. Much of our time on both occasions was spent in Crete, where we were befriended by an olive farmer, and taken around to be shown village life in the mountains, and to attend festas attached to betrothals and baptisms. The first occasion, we were in a hill village, and served mezes to start with, then a large plate of rice with lemon juice squeezed over it. We were conscious of being welcomed by people who were far from prosperous, and blissfully unaware of local custom. (I should add, there were no guidebooks at that time. They had yet to be written.) 

We were hungry and ate the rice heartily, thinking that was all they could afford to put in front of us. Then the roasted lamb appeared, and piece by piece, the whole animal was consumed by guests and villagers. We ended that night so full of food, and no amount of wine music and dancing could help us digest, and we lay awake groaning, regretting our enthusiasm. We still laugh about it today.

  

Costa Azahar Garden Party

Up early this morning, tidying the house, cleaning the garden furniture, getting tables and a gazebo tent out of the garage, ready for today's garden party. On the telly again this morning, an outside broadcast of the preliminaries for the St Fermin bull running fiesta, due to start at eight. I watched a little yesterday, as I did last time I was here, but it leaves me as bemused as ever. The style of the broadcast, with lots of vox pop interviews, statistics, glimpses behind the scenes, is much the same, whether it's a major sport event, a royal event, Semana Santa processions or other public party occasions. Being a TV spectator is boring if you've seen it once. The commentary becomes banal, even though the commentators make an effort to sound exciting and interesting. It's a second hand experience, so I soon settle for Radio Four Today programme, as usual, while I potter about or eat breakfast.

The team of four organising the garden party arrived at ten thirty to make sandwiches, and by lunch time the fridge was full of sandwich trays and cooling drinks. It was quite a hot afternoon, but we were blessed by a cooling breeze, flowing through the house, once all the doors were open. Altogether about twenty people came, from all three congregations. After socialising, drinking and eating, there was a prize draw, and then a game of 'Beetle' played, with bottles of Cava for six winners. When I wasn't chatting to people, I helped with serving drinks, clearing up and putting away, to de-clutter available space. By seven, everyone had departed, and the house was left clean and tidy. Having had my fill of sandwiches and cake, I felt no need to cook myself a meal, and was just able to relax.

BBC Four's Saturday evening Scandinavian drama of the day was about the hijacking of a Danish cargo ship by Indian Ocean pirates. It was scripted in a mixture of Danish, English and occasional Arabic, without subtitles too. and portrayed the difficulty and risk involved in communication both on board, and ship to shore in such a tense situation. Interesting too, that neither the criminals nor their victims knew each other's mother tongue, so they had to use English, imperfectly understood and spoken by most caught up in the crisis. Getting that right was a remarkable achievement for the script writer. Thought provoking stuff.

Train across Spain

After a refreshing relaxed nights sleep and breakfast, I left Hotel Don Paco at eight, and strolled over Maria Zambrano station, with half an hour to spare. Promptly at twenty to nine the AVE pulled out of the station and headed for Cordoba at speeds approaching 300kmh. It's a comfortable quiet ride,and after a while the speed is hardly noticeable. More amazing is the beauty of the summer countryside in the bright clear morning light, richer with colours than the last time I made this trip eighteen months ago in early November.

This time there was nobody checking passengers against tickets on board the AVE, which made me wonder about cut-backs. When we arrived at Cordoba however, there was a passenger steward waiting to escort across the station bridge those changing trains to the platform where the TALGO Mediterraneo to Barcelona was due to arrive. The AVE from Malaga linked to another from Sevilla, for its departure while we were going up the escalator to change platforms, making a long goodbye to Cordoba as it left, as well as faster train to Barcelona in half the time our would take.

Minutes after it left, the TALGO arrived already more than half full with holiday-makers, on their family discount tickets, going north to the Costa Dorada. There were groups of teenagers, amusing themselves, parents and grannies, striving to keep little ones amused over the seven and a half hours I was on board. It's such a lovely way to see Spain and Spanish people in their element.

Paul collected me from Benicarlo station and took me home for a splended welcome meal, prepared by Beryl. Their computer programmer son Duncan was there as well, about the same age as Owain, so I enjoyed conversing with him, as well as Mum and Dad. Paul then took me to the Vicarage, updating me on the way, and left me to sort myself out, and first get the house cool, as it was like a sauna, having been closed up for a few days. All was spic and span, and there was food in the fridge to tide me over until I can get to the shops. Great to be back again.

 

Ministry Sunday

My first duty today was a return visit to Alcocebre for a Eucharist with a congregation of two dozen. It was warm enough after the service to stand outside San Cristobal church for a drink and a few tasty Christmas shaped cheesy biscuits a refreshing change from the usual sweet 'n spicy kinds. Quite special for Sunday in mid-December.

On my way home, I noticed that the Carrefour hypermarket on the edge of Vinaros was open, and I drove in, as there were a few things I'd missed on my weekend shopping list. When I was here first two years ago, Sunday opening wasn't normal. I recall a large advertisment on the side of the building facing the N-340, two years ago, promoting Sunday opening during the holiday season. I'm not sure if it's open Sundays all year round now, but it certainly is in the run up to Christmas. The majority of retail outlets remain closed on Sundays however.

We had Evensong again at the Fishmen's chapel tonight. Only nine of us, as several couples have left to celebrate Christmas elsewhere. Such in the nature of a mobile congregation. Even fewer will be around over Christmas and New Year. There'll be no priest, but wonderfully, our Catholic parish hosts have offered eucharistic hospitality to the handful of Anglicans remaining. It's all part and parcel of pastoral life here on the Costa Azahar. 

     

News from Fuengirola

I received an email from churchwarden Linda in the Costa del Sol to say that the 'preferred candidate' for the chaplaincy had visited and agreed to come. With all procedures satisfied, it means he'll be able to start at the beginning of Lent. I'm delighted. This is excellent for all those who have worked so hard there to maintain the church's lively ministry over the past year. The appointment will be announced in due course. Then, and not before I'll find out who's the fortunate guy. There's such a lot of variety and stimulus to ministry there. It's more populous with expats down there, and with the 25th anniversary of St Andrew's being celebrated in February it's that much busier than the Costa Azahar pastorate. Very much a full time job. I greatly enjoyed spending so much time there, helping them to do all they do best.

It's been a quiet Saturday, getting ready for Sunday, going for a stroll, observing the huge flocks of starlings that are such a feature of autumnal life here. Are they, have they been migrating from further north? I certainly don't recall seeing them in such numbers when I was here in the summer two years ago. The tree in the neighbouring garden was alive for several hours in the late afternoon with the sound of roosting starlings in conversation, then occasionally large numbers of them taking to the skies in a swirling dark cloud as busy as gnats. I captured a few moments with my DSLR camera, which give the impression, but aren't all that wonderful. Too many moving points to avoid confusing auto-focus.

    

Settling in

I slept well, noticing the cacophany of barking dogs dispersed around this neighbourhood. It is a lot quieter here, out of holiday season. The sound of barking isn't quite as persistent as the background roar of traffic from the N340-A7 was back in Fuengirola. The same N340 passes through Vinaros, 800km further north, but it runs nearly a kilometre away from the house. It's audible as a distant rumble. The sea is 300m in the opposite direction, and when the wind is in the right direction you can hear it breaking on the pebbled shore. 

I walked into town to visit 'El Portico' the local church drop-in centre, and catch up with the crew looking after it on one of its two open days during this week. I also needed to do some some food shopping. The fridge was generously stocked for my arrival, but I needed fresh vegetables, so a trip to the Mercadona was necessary. 

On the way home, I was struck by the presence of several large flocks of starlings, wheeling around, roosting in pine trees and chattering among themselves. On the Costa del Sol, there were hordes of swifts and swallows, always in the air or roosting on power cables, and small families of noisy parakeets inhabiting palm trees. Here it's starlings that make their presence felt.

After lunch I drove out to the Carrefour hypermarket in search of a few items I'd not succeeded in remembering in the morning, just to familiarise myself once more with getting around the town. I also went out looking for the Fishermens' Chapel, aka Nuestra Senora del Carmen, the patroness of fisher folk, but failed to find it, with insufficient information about where it was. It's been used in the past for occasional services, and recently the parish priest has offered the chaplaincy an opportunity for regular use. This means that for an experimental period, services will relocate there from 'Portico', and will take place at six in the evening. It'll mean the chaplain doesn't have to rush off to another assignment at the end of a service and can spend more time getting to know church members. It's a great initiative

By train from Fuengirola to Vinaros

Out of bed at six this morning, and buying my Cercania ticket at five to seven. The one minute past seven train didn't arrive - it's the Todos Santos bank holiday, and that means a Sunday timetable. The twenty past seven took me to Malaga Maria Zambrano station just after eight, with lots of time to check in for the AVE train to Cordoba, the second leg of my journey. Once we were under way, a steward came through checking people were seated where they should be. Because of the way the indicator at the train door switches alternately from showing the carriage number from left to right, travellers can get confused and take their seats in the wrong place. It didn't stop there. The steward's printout sheet told him I was bound for Vinaros, and he asked me to confirm this.

When we arrived at Cordoba there was another steward waiting on the platform for those who were changing from the AVE bound for Barcelona direct at high speed, to the TALGO Mediterraneo train, taking the slower route over the high plains down to Valencia, and then along the coast, stopping at Vinaros just after half past five on its way to Tortosa, Tarragona and finally Barcelona, my route to the airport when I leave for home. It was a wonderful journey through remarkable countryside, rolling plains full of olive trees, vineyards in autumnal dress, pine forests, stark grey mountains, such a variety of differently coloured soils, reminiscent of unfamiliar named colours in a childhood paint box. Seven and a half hours travelling from Cordoba to Vinaros. Such a pleasure.

Churchwarden Paul met me at the station, and took me to his home near Peniscola, where his wife Beryl gave me my first square meal of the day - shepherds pie followed by apple pie and custard. It went down very well. We reached the chaplain's house just after eight, familiar from my first long locum here two years ago, which I blogged under the title 'Spanish Sojourn', perhaps thinking I'd never return. Here I am having so far spent half of this year in Spain, with another seven weeks of duties before returning for Christmas. What a privilege at my time of life!

Travel in mind

I went into Malaga today, to book tickets at the main train station Malaga Maria Zambrano for the journey to Vinaros when my work here is finihed. The Cercania line to Malaga from Fuengirola connects with the main station, now embedded in a huge modern shopping mall, so you emerge from an underground platform into a very busy posh retail centre. The station's name honours a woman highly esteemed as a Spanish essayist and philosopher, exiled from the country by the civil war until nine years after the death of Franco, when she was eighty years old. She was born in Velez Malaga 30km up the coast from the city. I wonder what Maria Zambrano would have made of this honour?

Early on November 3rd, I'll be taking the AVE fast train to Cordoba, change there for the Barcelona train that goes north east back down to the coast at Valencia, then on up the coast to Vinaros. An eight hour journey, arriving at tea time. I was delighted to pay just under fifty euros for my one way ticket, and to make the booking without needing to speak English. 

From the station I walked through the streets towards the old town centre and discovered a municipal market, dedicated to the Virgen del Carmen, patron saint of fishermen. The modern market building contained a majority of fish stalls, and this was reflected in the remarkable cafeteria, where there were two cold storage units on the counter, of the type normally containing prepared tapas dishes. These however, contained different species of fish ready to cook, sixteen containers, with several bowls containing prepared tapas and salads on top. In the corner was a hot plate, also several deep fry pans containing olive oil, two men cooking and two women serving. I ordered an Alhambra beer, one of the Malaga brews, and a meso racione of tuna fish, which was served up with pieces of white and brown bread, hot from the deep fryer, garnished with basil, a whole side plate full of pieces, right to the edge. So simple, so exquisite a taste!

After I'd wandered the streets and taken more photographs of things that caught my eye, I returned to get the Cercania train from Maria Zambrano, rather than the nearer terminus station at the top of the Alameda, as I'd made up my mind to have a day trip to Cordoba, camera in hand, of course, this coming Saturday. A seat on the AVE fast train ida y vuelta, cost me just under fifty euros. Affordable adventure!

When I got back, I had a call from Clare reporting a visit to her eye specialist. Her glaucoma condition now requires and eye operation which needs to be fitted in before shoulder surgery, and she's been given an appointment for day surgery on 2nd December, which means I'll have to fly back home for the inside of the week to see her through the day surgery and early after care. Vueling, by then will have stopped operating flights to Cardiff, so it's back to EasyJet to and from Bristol with train journeys at either end to Barcelona to take the flight. Fortunately, Rachel can come over from Arizona early for her Christmas visit, and is delighted to have the opportunity to look after her mum for a change when I've returned to complete my Costa Azahar spell of locum duty.

It's not often I get to book two train journeys and two flights in the same day! More Malaga photos here.

Farewell Bishop Cledan

I went to Christchurch Radyr this morning to celebrate their midweek Eucharist, for half a dozen, as Jenny is on holiday. So too half the regulars of this congregation. After the service we sat in the side chapel, drank fresh coffee and chatted for half an hour before I returned home. After an early lunch I set out for town, and Eglwys Dewi Sant to attend the funeral of Bishop Cledan Mears, who had been one of my teachers what I was at St Michaels forty five years ago.

There was quite a full church, many of those present were clerics, retired or active, as well as Dewi Sant members. Cledan had been a regular worshipper here in his latter years, being a fervent enthusiast for the bi-lingual identity and character of the Church in Wales. Indeed, the prayers were in English and Welsh, and Archbishop Barry spoke the first half of his eulogy in Welsh and then concluded in English, making reference to this fact. At Dewi Sant normally, everything is entirely in Welsh, but this was an exceptional occasion, honouring an exceptional man.

I met up and chatted with Hywel Davies before and after the service. He's recently obtained his Permission to Officiate for the diocese in Europe, almost two years after he set out to do this after paying me a visit and ministering for a weekend in the Costa Azahar chaplaincy where I was doing locum duty. Knowing of the challenging number of vacancies in the Spanish archdeaconry at the moment I urged him to get in touch with churchwarden Bill in Fuengirola, whom I knew to be hunting for cover over the Christmas period this year, since I can't be there. 

If all works out well, he will come and replace me from November until January. I'd already agreed to curtail my stay until the end of October to allow this period to be properly covered by someone else. No sooner had I discussed this last week, than the church warden of the Costa Azahar chaplaincy contacted me with a cry for help to cover November and December locum duties. I explained I could only do until 21st December, but he was keen to accept this much, as it would allow time for him to look for someone to cover Christmas and New Year. So it looks like Hywel will get his first Europe locum experience, and I will get a return visit to Costa Azahar, which I'd been thinking I'd like to return to one of these days to see how they have been coping for yet another year without a full time priest around.

For quite a different reason I'm glad of this opportunity. I'll get a chance to re-visit the Delta del'Ebre during late autumn, at the time when mass bird migrations from northern Europe to Africa are happening. Wonderful things to see on days off work!

   

Cheque in

Monday was a day of clouds and intermittent rain, and I got pretty damp during my afternoon paseo. Apart from that, I passed the day writing in the apartment and later in the office, mapping out Lent Study events I'm proposing to offer on the interpretation of Semana Santa tradition, and writing copy for the welcome page of the Chaplaincy website, which is finally getting an overdue update. I had an email from one of the wardens of the Costa Azahar Chaplaincy asking if I could help them out in March, which I can't because I'm here. It seems they are coping with another interregnum. Following the death of his wife last Autumn, Fr Clem has decided not to return. It's sad news all round, and another long wait in prospect to recruit a successor.

This morning, I walked into the centre of Fuengirola to the bank used by the church to cash an expenses cheque written, not to me personally, but to el portador (the bearer), without an account to pay it into. I had one of those from a funeral director when I was here in November, and the treasurer took care of it. It's many decades since I last handled one of this kind in Britain. Cashing a cheque rarely a different experience. It seems this practice is still common routine here.

From the bank, I walked up to El Corte Ingles, then back to the apartment, a round trip of about seven kilometres, calling at the huge open air market at the recinto feriale on the last stretch to get some more olives, as I ran out last night. I got a mix of back and green, straight from the big storage tubs, and they were so much more delicious than the canned ones that I've been getting for convenience, I'll make more effort in future. I stopped next at a big Chinese supermarket and bought a couple of small food storage containers just for this purpose. The other thing I'm enjoying at the moment is luscious ripe avocados, small ones the size of an apple and a larger variety the size of a big grapefruit. Together with olives, and a dressing of garlic, oil and lemon, this is a truly enduring comfort food! One of things I love about Spain.