Malaga Festival Saturday

It's been quite warm but overcast today, mostly spent indoors, with a sermon to write and tomorrow's adult Confirmation class to prepare. Early evening I walked to Playa La Malagueta and was amazed to see huge waves breaking on the shore, as the tide was going out. There was no wind. Off shore I counted ten people in wetsuits attempting to surf the waves, a lots more on-shore watching or trying like me to take photos. They were rather far out attempting to catch a big breaker, and the light was not quite adequate for good action shots, but it was good to witness nevertheless. Almost all the sun worshippers had already left. There was, however a large oldish man lying on the foreshore, reading and eating a snack, oblivious to how close he was to being covered by incoming waves. He seemed to leave it to the last minute to move to drier ground. So strange. was he drunk, or crazy or what?

From there, I walked across the port and into the Old Town, drawn through the streets to the Plaza de la Merced by the sound of a heavy rock band in the open air. A stage was set up and several stalls had been set up around one corner of the square. One was a booking office for Firm Festival Tickets but the rest were part of an espacio solidaire de mujeres. promoting organisations concerned with protecting women and children from domestic violence and exploitation. The band was performing in support of this. I stood to take photos near the statue of Pablo Picasso seated on a bench. He was born in a house nearby. It's often surrounded by people who want photos taken featuring this lifelike work of art. For a few moments it was clear enough of people for me to get the urge to take a photo. As I was getting the camera out, a burly man stepped forward, caught hold of the statue's head and planted an affectionate kiss on its forehead. That was a surprise. Just sorry I missed a great photo opportunity.

I walked on towards the Plaza Cevantes, to find it cordoned off by the Policia Locale, attempting to control of crowd on cinema fans and celebrity watchers thronging the periphery to watch the arrivals for a gala night film performance at Teatro Cervantes. The telly people were there, projecting key scenes on to a large public screen on the forecourt above the huge red carpet leading to the entrance. No doubt it was a special moment for anyone who knew who's who, but hardly so for me. I didn't need an excuse to head for the apartment as hunger reminded me that supper time was near.

    

A saintly parochial doctor

Today was another day of lying low, avoiding the heat, reading and writing until early evening, when I ventured out to Muelle Heredia bus station down the port to book a bus ticket to get me to Maro and back, to see former Nerja Chaplaincy Church Warden Judith Austwick. Moored in port was a 19th century two masted sailing ship, Jersey registered 'Eye of the Wind'. I think it must have been a promotional visit, to advertise sailing holidays as a crew member for the select few who are fit enough and can afford the experience.

Then I walked through the old town to visit the 16-17th century Church of Our Lady of Victories, a big prestigious looking building on a hillside with a grand patio of steps ascending to its main entrance. It's said to have been build on the site where King Ferdinand set up camp in 1487, to lay siege to Malaga during the reconquista campaign. It's a remarkable building, highly decorated and endowed with artworks, and an elaborately sculpted crypt, worth a separate visit some time maybe.

As it was late enough in the day for it to be open to visitors, I thought it would be worth the effort, even if the road leading to it out of the Old Town is noisy and polluted. Indeed, it was open, and a few people were gathered in the entrance porch, embracing each other. The Mass was about to start and when the priest appeared in purple, I realised it was a requiem Mass, and didn't stay. 

I had long enough however to look around breifly, and learn about a devout 19-20th century parishioner, Dr Jose Galvez, a gynaecologist and health care reformer who worked among the poor in the area, especially lepers, and developed a large hospital on the hill above the church. He's known as 'Gálvez Ginachero'. Only later did I realise 'Ginachero' is Spanish for gynaecologist. It seems the Spanish, like the Welsh, can nickname a man by his profession. A framed photo of him hangs on the wall near his tomb in the crypt. An enquiry process to lead to his beatification has been started by Málaga diocese with the Vatican Congregation for the Causes of Saints.

On my return walk I went along the Paseo de Malagueta, and saw that a couple of hundred plastic chairs had been laid out neatly on the beach in rows, ready for tonight's open air free cinema. The huge inflatable screen had not yet arrived, but the projection and sound systems were being tested. A French comedy is showing tonight 'Un hombre de altura' in Spanish, originally 'Un homme a la hauteur'. A Tall Man. It starts at 22.15. Too late for me.

Midweek pilgrim encounter

There were none of the regulars at St George's this morning, but two American women arrived for the Eucharist. They'd been in church last Sunday, learned of the midweek service and decided to come. Today it was my turn to celebrate St James the Apostle and pray for Spain, after last night's celebration at Santiago Parish Church in the Old Town and they were glad to share this.

I learned that they were related through the marriage of their children to each other. Both had been widowed in the previous year. They decided to take time out to travel, and to think about what they might do with their lives, post three score years and ten. Over the months past they had lived and travelled an unplanned journey in Europe, especially Spain, and felt much enriched by people they'd met and places discovered they never knew about before on their personal pilgrimage. 

They hadn't yet come to a decision about their futures, but both said they had experienced freedom of the Spirit in a new way, having sold up their homes before leaving, to make ready for whatever new life might lay ahead of them. I thought about T S Eliot's phrase in the last stanza of 'East Coker, which equally applies to women

'Old men ought to be explorers

Here or there does not matter

We must be still and still moving

Into another intensity

For a further union, a deeper communion...'

After we parted company I went to the bank nearby to cash a cheque I had been given by the church treasurer. Last time I queued for ten minutes, this time I was there for forty, chilled by the air-con, which didn't seem to have a de-humidifier setting. I was glad to get back to the apartment for a cold cerveza sin alcohol before making lunch. This week I have been winding down the perishable food stocks, as the apartment will be empty for six weeks or so. It means I have to think more carefully about what I need to buy, so there's nothing but rubbish to dispose of at the end of Monday, when I have to clean, pack up and wait for a 04.00am taxi to the airport. I'll appreciate a more temperate climate back home for a while, but soon start missing endless sunshine.

In the evening, I took a walk along the Paseo La Malagueta and around the port. At the moment no cruise ships are docked, just a few luxury sailing yachts, so it was quieter and less crowded than usual, and perhaps a little more hazardous to walk as more space makes pavement cyclists and skateboarders bolder in weaving their path at speed among walkers.

  

Noche de San Juan in Malaga

After a good long night's sleep and slow start, adjusting to the increasing hear, Owain and I took the bus from outside the apartment door to Atarazanas market again and bought a few gourmet delights, olives, ham, cheese to last us the weekend. After lunch we made our way on foot to La Merced and sought out the Picasso Museum. 

Pablo Picasso was born in a house on the corner of Plaza de la Merced nearest to the market hall, but the museum in his honour is establisehd in a classical Andaluz palacio a few hundred meters beyond the barrio parish church of Santiago where he was baptized in 1881. There's a collection of his work from each of the eighty decades of his life as an artist, including childhood works. The admission ticket includes use of an audio commentary on each room of exhibits and each period of his life as an artist. It was a remarkable educational experience, well thought out and full of insight to reflect upon. We were both mightily impressed.

In the evening we set out on foot to dine at a Guardian recommended restaurant, a little way out of town to the east at El Palo. Being the 'noche de san Juan', every beach and every restaurant along the N340 coadt road was crowded and busy. We were astonished to find the restuarant we sought was closed, and less astonished to realise that on such a night, every place was fully booked. So, we got on a very crowded bus back to La Malagueta, full of young people going in search of their mates for a night of partying, and ate an emergency supper, quickly assembled at home.

We then returned to Playa La Malagueta, which was thronged with people of all ages, gathering to celebrate the midsummer fiesta, and maybe get in a paddle or a swim, in between eating barbecue food and drinking, as is customary on this night. At the and of the beach nearest the port of stage was set up, for a big disco with light show for an audience of many tens of thousands. Hard to guess just how many people were there for fireworks at midnight, or camping around a fire on the beach to watch the sun rise. We didn't stay up to watch. Today, Owain managed a morning and afternoon swim. One way or another, a very full day.