Costa drive

A long night of undisturbed sleep did me a power of good after yesterday's early start. I walked to St George's for the midweek Eucharist, aware that two regulars would not be there, but a third did arrive, and we were able to celebrate together. While I was putting things away after the service, I had a phone call from Doreen the curate, asking if I could take a funeral on Friday, as it was set to take place in Velez Malaga, and it would take me a third of the travel time that it would take her. 

She'd been contacted by Nigel, the Chaplain in Nerja, who'd first been contacted about the funeral, as the family live in his pastoral area, but he's already booked for a wedding blessing that afternoon and so rang Doreen, not knowing I've just arrived and could provide cover. I contacted the bereaved family and arranged to visit them later in the day and was given travel instructions to find their apartment in Mesquitilla, a coastal resort about 9km east of Torre del Mar.

I returned, cooked lunch and had a siesta, then drove along the coast road to Mezquitilla. It takes twice as long due to traffic and speed restrictions, but the route is familiar from the time I spent last year, living in Rincon de la Victoria, and I needed an opportunity to stop at a Chinese Market store I know near there, to buy a coffee filter funnel, as I've not seen such a shop in the local barrio. It was also my first outing in a left hand drive car for six months, and gave me a chance to get used to local urban traffic and lower speed limits again.

It took me over an hour to reach Mezquitilla, and despite receiving good instructions to reach the destination apartment block, it took me a while to find the urbanizacion, due to lack of street signs, and knowing where to look to identify which apartment block it was out of several identical ones. Google Maps made up for lack of street signs, while being unable to provide the latter detail, so I had to call, to be met on the street and accompanied to the apartment.

After an hour's conversation and service planning, I returned to Malaga using the autovia as far as Benagalbon, then dropping down to the coast road to reach the Chinese store and buy the necessary filter funnel. It was gone nine by the time I parked at St George's and walked home after stopping off to get some milk. I had to repeat the walk to St George's to retrieve my earlier purchase, but the additional exercise did me good, as spending a total of two and a half hours in the car today. And now looking forward to another good night's sleep.

   

Viento y lluvia

I was once told that before Franco rebranded the Andalusia holiday beaches as the Costa del Sol, this maritime region was known as the Costa del viento, the windy coast. Today was such a day, with a 24kph wind coming in from the sea, driving big banks of cloud inland. Doors and windows rattled throughout the building, but the through breeze was refreshing.

I had some shopping to do, first thing, but then settled down, wrote a draft of my next Sunday sermon, and then tackled some office work. It was around four when I went to the beach. It was all but deserted, also the outdoor restaurants. The playa guardia platforms were flying red flags, and a couple of them patrolled the water's edge to dissuade the young and foolhardy from playing among the huge breaking waves. There were a few crazy folk swimming off shore facing off the breakers, plus a couple of windsurfers off Benagalbón playa. They were going at breakneck speed, where they were beyond reproach or rescue from the playa guardia.

The sand on these beaches is very fine, and blows up into a dust cloud, while the coarser grains whip one's ankles mercilessly. To avoid both saharan plagues, I went down to the shore line, to that point where the biggest waves have made the sand wet and firm so that it doesn't fly. There's sea spray but that's infinitely more preferable than dust.

There were small groups of pigeons grounded along the shoreline, their heads pointing into the wind, their tenure no doubt aided by their natural streamlining. They seemed un-bothered by the buffeting. It was an exhilarating paseo for a change. Just after I reached the apartment it began to rain fitfully bringing a new thread of sound into the apartment soundscape, as raindrops hit aluminium roofing over back yards in the street of houses below. And there's a little more birdsong than is usual around here at this time of year. I spotted two blackbirds on a neighbouring lawn, out enjoying the rain, foraging. 

At home, so much rain makes me shun the outdoors. I hate getting wet. Here, it's refreshing and drying off is rarely much trouble, except when its very humid.

The rain stopped an hour before sunset and the cloud began to clear, and this made for a spectacular sunset sky, full of oranges and yellow tinges to cloudy shades of grey. What a treat for onlookers. I saw people in the street taking photos with their phones, but not me, for once.

Early journey

I woke up at twenty past five, breakfasted, and then headed to out to find a bus to get me into town for the six twenty T9 to the airport. This bus arrived several minutes late, but arrived at the airport dead on time. There we no queues, and by five past seven I was settling down for the half hour or so wait until my flight to Malaga was called. This left on time and arrived five minutes early. Cardiff was mild and sunny, Malaga decidedly humid at twenty eight degrees. After an exchange of phone calls, I met up with churchwarden Rosella, who then took me by car to the apartment in Rincon de la Victoria where I'll be staying for the next four weeks.

It's a well appointed second floor apartment in a block, surrounded by other apartment blocks, three hundred metres from the sea shore. After unpacking, I first walked down to the sea, and then back through the streets to find a supermarket to shop for food. I hadn't eaten since breakfast, and by then it was siesta time, rather than lunch time, so I made an effort to start my stay by cooking a proper meal, and then go out for a proper walk, which I did early evening.

The beach is of fine sand and runs right along this coast, one of the first areas of the Costal del Sol to be colonised by holidaymakers.  Nowadays, Rosella told me, it's also a dormitory town for commuters to Malaga, whose town centre is just half an hour away by bus. It's a densely packed urban environment, with a great variety of small stylish modern shops. Logistically this is a good place to be, as it's half way between St George's in Malaga, and Velez Malaga, where the other Sunday service is held.

In the first half of the twentieth century there was a railway line between Malaga and Velez Malaga, serving towns along the route where the sugar cane industry powered the local economy. In the sixties, as the industry declined, the line was closed, and eventually re-purposed as a coastal path.

To the west of Rincon is a rocky promontory with its coastal watch tower, and beneath it runs the first of a series of railway tunnels running through deep rocky cuttings. The path is well lit and is used by joggers and cyclists, as well as pedestrians out for their evening paseo. There are also fenced walking paths with lots of steps along the ridges on the sea side above the cuttings, right on the edge of the cliff, with the sea 15-20m below. The coastal views are just superb. 

The chaplaincy has a non-stipendiary priest who lives half way to Granada from Velez. She lives near Salinas, and looks after a third congregation there, as well as taking services in the other two. There are also two retired clerics who help out with Sunday services as well , on rotation. As it happens, all three are female, and the good news is that the Archbishop of Malaga is a man of ecumenical sympathies, unlike his conservative colleague in Tortosa.  He is well disposed towards clergy of different tradition and genders, who share in Christian ministry across a region of Spain with a large population of ex-patriates from all over Europe, not just Brits. A fifth of Spain's UK citizens live in Andalucia, over 60,000.

Malaga, I am already acquainted with, so having an opportunity to discover Rincon, means discovering another slice of life here in coastal Andalucia. I am most fortunate.

   

Costa sunny Sunday

I haven't had any early Sunday service starts since I was here this month last year. It was pleasant nevertheless to climb into the car in the cool bright morning, to leave for Almuñécar at a quarter to nine. Outside the urbanización, the Sunday flea market was just getting started. Another car was stopped in front of the closed barrier, unable to get it to raise. It's been erratic lately, I've noticed. 

Mild panic set in at the thought of being too late to contact Judith and ask her to pass by and rescue, or turning up far too late to be of any use. My wireless key didn't work either, so I got out of the car, went up and touched the barrier tentatively, without applying any force. Immediately it started to lift. The two of us scrambled for our cars, in case it came down again on impulse and escaped the cordon, only to find that at the far end of the entry road a van was parked and blocking escape on to the exit roundabout, already busy with traders and visitors. Before we could start honking our annoyance, the driver appeared and made room for us to leave. On returning, in the afternoon, the barrier was still vertical, evidently in need of servicing.

There were a dozen regulars in the Almuñécar congregation and two dozen later on at the Eucharist in San Miguel, back in Nerja. Visitor numbers fluctuate, but long term regulars tend to flee extreme summer heat, making visits back home. Debate about the EU referendum continues here unabated, with the same mix of views as back in Britain. Some people have lost their right to vote as they are long term residents here without UK domicile, but others have postal votes arriving or already sent. People of all convictions are uncertain about the consequences of the referendum outcome, like it or not, this will affect economic conditions and few will benefit.

After the Nerja service, we had a drink and a chat with a handful of people in a different café just beside , but below the main thoroughfare at the entrance to the barrio. The previous watering hole closed permanently last year. The new place is a little further away and less easy to pop into before heading for home for lunch. I'd only been able to park at the far end of the barrio before church, so we had a five minute walk, before driving against the beach traffic back to the house. Lunch, siesta, idleness, an evening stroll around the perimeter of the urbanización, some photos uploaded, family phone and Skype conversations, and Sunday slipped away less tensely than it began.