Winding up

A bright sunshine and clear blue sky day. Half the packing done after breakfast, then an early drive to San Miguel. I was relieved to find an empty parking  place close to the Plaza de Andalusia. It's been a worry every Sunday of my stay, as the streets are narrow, and empty spots few and far between, so it can absorb time when it's needed to help prepare for the Eucharist. There were only fifteen of us this morning, with several regulars away and several more leaving at the end of their 90 day stay. It was just John, Judith and I at Bar Atalaya after the service.

I went straight back to Church House, washed a shirt to travel in, confident it will dry in this heat and completed cooking lunch, having started yesterday to free up time today for packing and cleaning up. One more trip down to the rubbish bins. One more hill climb in the cool of the evening, then as much rest as I can get for a six o'clock wake up, ready for the taxi at 06.40.

In this sojourn in Nerja, I've not explored any new places, but visited a few familiar places several times with different visitors. For reasons I don't understand being so isolated has impeded me from adventuring. It's made me extra cautious and routinely careful, as I was on locum in Estepona two years ago. Driving there on unfamiliar congested roads was very stressful. That I believe was due to that not yet untreated left eye cataract. My left eye is fine now, but the right eye cataract has worsened, and I need to work hard to be sure I'm reading the road and everything else around me safely. I'm not sure if really bright sunshine is a help or hindrance. No idea how long I will have to wait, or where I am on the NHS list. One way or another, it will be a relief to get home, and have company again, and not have to be giving out to others all the time when I go to church. Time for a respite.

In an effort to use up all the remaining fresh veg, I stewed the remaining mushrooms, a red onion and a tomato, with a small tin of mussles. Then before going to bed, I made sandwiches for breakfast and the journey. A rye bread sandwich with pickled boquerones. Two delicious treats to send me on my way.  

Corpus Christi in Nerja

Another dull humid start to the day. though later in the morning the sky cleared and the temperature rose to the low twenties, but it was still humid. I arrived early at church. A group of local parishioners were busy setting up an altar of welcome under the trees in the Plaza de Andalucia in front of the church, ready for this evening when the Corpus Christi procession arrives from Iglesia San Salvador. Once the church was clear of worshippers, I went in and stated preparing for the service I was about to take. I didn't find it easy to preach this morning as the church doors were kept open throughout our service, as is the custom. The background chatter of people working hard to create an outdoor sanctuary was mildly distracting, and I wondered if the same was true for the nineteen of us inside trying to listen.

After a non-alcoholic beer at Bar Atalaya, I headed back to Church House and cooked the last remaining fillet of panga from the freezer, with steamed veg for lunch. Fortunately as it's so slim, it doesn't take as long to defrost as denser fish or meat would. I had some report writing to do, and that get myself back to Nerja for the evening Mass and Corpus Christi procession at six. I parked in the 'dust bowl', and on my way to Plaza San Salvador called in the open all hours Chinese tech' gadget shop and bought a USB flash drive to use to archive the content of the chaplaincy laptop in a form anyone can access if they bring with them a faster laptop than the one available.

The church bells rang at half past five as I was arriving there. A group was rehearsing the music for Mass and practicing with the accompanying slide show of hymns and liturgical texts displayed on TV screens attached to the pillars of the nave. No more hymn books! I can't say I was enamoured by the music or simple chorussy songs chosen. Not much content, and musically dull. By the time the service started the place was about half full and filled up completely by the time the Gospel was read. 

The three parish clergy concelebrated the Eucharist, and lay people did the rest. An appeal was made for Caritas, the Catholic social service organisation and a collection taken. A couple of dozen youngsters made their first Communions, the boys in sailor suits, the girls in white dresses. Altogether, there was a congregation of about four hundred. The town band played for the procession with the Sacrament after Mass, making a station for Benediction opposite the church at a spot overlooking Playa Calahonda, then made its way through the streets to Iglesia San Miguel, for another Mass to close the fiesta. Tiredness began to overtake me, so I didn't follow the procession all the way, and returned to Church House for supper, and a walk up the hill as the sun was setting and it was slightly cooler. Definitely feeling my age at the moment, so another attempt at an early night beckons.

Tale of the flying trunks

Despite getting late to bed, a decent night's sleep, rising late. Owain went for a swim after breakfast while I checked that had everything ready for church, and found that I hadn't printed a large sized font version of the day's Gospel, to make for easier reading, as I've been having trouble with the print in the Gospel book used in church. The printed sheet will fit nicely into the appropriate page, and I can relax when reading. I had to start the ancient chaplaincy laptop and network printer, which seems to take an age when you have a deadline for leaving, to obtain a copy. Then we were ready to go. Just in time. 

I was the first of our congregation to arrive, so I opened the sacristy and store room, to get preparations under way. John's wife Julia arrived with another full bottle of olive oil from their finca orchard in kind response to my request for more when I got to the last 10ml. More culinary pleasure ahead! Several people were away today so we were nineteen for the Eucharist, and half of them were at Bar Atalaya afterwards. Several people took a friendly interest in Owain, as they did with Kath when she was with me.

We had a drink and then drove to Maro to have lunch at the Balcon de Maro restaurant, my third visit with a different family member each time! We both had the dish of the day paella with a mixed salad. It wasn't quite as good as hoped for. Owain compensated by having flan - a sort of egg custard, for postre, then we returned to Church House. He decided to go for a swim in the sea, but couldn't find the swimming trunks he'd left drying on the back of a chair furthest away from the balcony rail. After searching high and low, he spotted them on the next door neighbour's lawn. 

The house isn't lived in at the moment and the swimming pool is empty. There are high walls between each property and a high end wall beyond, 3-4 metres depending on where you stand. How to retrieve them without a ladder? In Church House garden are several three metre poles, one ending with a net, one with a brush, one with a scythe, and one plain, extendible to four metres. This we poked through the netting atop the wall, both standing on the steps down to pool level, taking turns to fish with the pole, with the higher placed one giving navigation directions. 

Neither of us had much faith this would succeed, but working together with as much patience and care as we could muster the trunks were retrieved, after about twenty minutes. After congratulating ourselves, Owain went off for his afternoon swim, happy not to need a shopping trip tomorrow in order to swim again before he leaves on Tuesday. "Next time", he says, "I'll use the draw-string to tie the shorts to the chair when I dry them!" Sadly, the sea was too rough for more than couple of minutes dip.

We had an indulgent supper with dried meats, stuffed olives and mixed salad, accompanied by a bottle of youngish Ribera del Duero Tempranillo rojo. By the time we finished, the sun had set. I went out for a twilight walk up the hill. Around ten I heard again the strange gutteral call of the large tailed nightjar in the vicinity of Alcazar #1, but initially no sign of it. Then I saw it land on the antenna at the top of the roof, and call again. It flew up and circled, only to be joined by a second bird of similar size and shape, judging from their shadowy profile against the twilight sky. So there's a pair of these birds in this area, as there may have been for ages before this wild hillside was infested with seldom occupied human dwellings. Unless our greedy intrusion into their landscape kills them all off, they may well be here long after we have made our species extinct.

I remembered to post this week's Pew sheet on the Chaplaincy website, And then it was time for bed.

Ascensiontide Christian Aid Week

I slept surprisingly well, considering how late I got to bed after travelling. Another warm day and a slow start, driving to church with time to sit under a tree in the plaza in front of Iglesia San Miguel. Others had arrive before me, and were already busy setting up for the service. Altogether there were twenty six of us. 

In Bar Atalaya afterwards, I chatted with a couple involved with the 'Friends of Palestine' humanitarian agency, and the Amos Trust, a human rights NGO working in the West Bank. As well as talking about the war on Gaza, we reminisced about our visits to the Holy Land places we'd visited. They're also still active in running the Greenbelt festival, which they've been involved with since its early days in the seventies. All this, plus working abroad for many years. Characteristic of people who spend time in Spain as visitors or settlers with full and interesting lives behind them.

It was gone three by the time I'd cooked and eaten lunch on returning to Church House. Then I listened to Choral Evensong on Radio Four and fell asleep half way, much to my surprise. To stretch my legs, I then walked as far as the bus stop by the Marinas de Nerja. Owain called me and we chatted. The bus arrived and I got on, still chatting, and walked from the penultimate stop to the Plaza del Salvador, still chatting. After finishing the call, I wandered aimlessly for a while, enjoying the crowd and the atmosphere, then ended by taking the next bus back.

A suggestion was posted on the Daily Prayer WhatsApp group to incorporate into this week's offering a devotional extract from the annual Christian Aid prayer leaflet. A bit too spontaneous for those of us who need to plan and record in advance. We're not as good at team work and consulting as we think we are, unfortunately. Anyway, a challenge is a challenge! 

I re-recorded the start of my weekly offering using the material provided for this Thursday, and edited the audio into the track recorded and archived. It meant trimming my own weekly reflection, but making it more concise is fine. The video making file was also stored in the Cloud, so it was a matter of swapping audio files and adjusting the timing of the slides displayed. Simple steps, done methodically, not difficult when there's no deadline. It was gone ten when I uploaded the new version of Thursday's video to YouTube and deleted the original. All I need to do is edit the text to be posted on the day to match the audio. And so to bed.

Sunday frustration

A warm sunny day but with high cloud in fascinating slow changing formations during the day. We drove to Iglesia San Miguel after a long slow breakfast, and arrived early to help set up for the service, not that much help is needed as the team are efficient at getting everything ready in the twenty minutes before the service is due to start at noon. There were twenty six of us today, and some hearty singing, but by the time we got to Bar Atalaya after the service, the regulars had gone, leaving a family of four from North Wales that regularly comes and goes during the year.

When we returned to Church House, Clare didn't feel like eating much as she was feeling nauseous, so I cooked half an aubergine with some onions, courgette and potatoes for myself. Finally this morning I acquired boarding passes this week's ida y vuelta home and back. Annoyingly Vueling's system wouldn't let me acquire the first pass alone on Thursday. I had to wait until today, to receive both passes in a two page email.  Why issue the passes jointly and not separately? 

Adding a digital version to Google Wallet as stated, produced a QR code of the first pass only and ignored the second. I had to edit the original pdf, and extract the bar code into a jpeg image, to get Wallet to add the second boarding pass - in the form of a bar code, not converted to a QR code. Not that it matters, both work with airport scanners. What a frustrating waste of two hours time this was. The rush to innovate digitally on so many levels isn't going early as well as its authors believe it is. 

We went for a walk up the hill, and then down to the sea early evening, intending to dine out, but the Mirador de Guilches restaurant was again closed, and when we reached the restaurant by the Playa de Vilches, we were told the kitchen was closed. No more meals, alas! 

We trekked back up the hill, and I improvised a dish using the other half of the aubergine plus an onion, with an 'emergency' can of lentils cooked with a tiny amount of veg for flavour. Accompanied by some judia redonda (aka French Beans) and carrots, it turned out to be quite flavoursome much to my relief. It was such a disappointment not to be about to dine out in view of the sea and setting sun. the Mirador restaurant is usually open on a Sunday, but last week and this it's been closed Sunday to Tuesday. Here it's still low season, with insufficient passing trade to justify staying open.

I spent the rest of the evening reading the seemingly anomalous last chapter of my Spanish novel that starts in an unexpected situation, but turns around half way and yet again confronts the reader with the subject of the novel 'La nina mal' - the bad girl, up to no good again, a charming attractive woman from the impoverished Peruvian barrio of Miraflores in Lima, who knows how to exploit the vulnerability of rich men and her forty year long relationship with the narrator, a school friend who also flees the barrio to Europe, through education and hard work. A remarkable portrayal of different ways in which poverty affects people's lives and destinies, making one person generous and compassionate, and another greedy ruthless and deceitful. It's still slow going due to the register of the narrative language and liberal use of Latin American words and slang, but the essence of the story, its humour and sadness shine through in any case.

Coastal questions

The cloud cover is thinning and the sun shining more brightly today. It's comfortably warm, and when I hear the UK news and weather forecast, I realise how much cooler it still is back in Cardiff - ten degrees as opposed to eighteen, but a similar mix of clouds and sunshine as it is here. After breakfast and Morning Prayer, I drove to church early and was fortunate to get a parking place quite close to Iglesia San Miguel. 

With several regulars away we were only eighteen this morning, including a couple enquiring about a wedding blessing in October. John and I met them for a briefing in Bar Atalaya after the service. Among today's absentees was our organist so we sang hymns and the Mass setting unaccompanied. Quite well too. When we came to sing the metrical version of the Gloria in Excelsis, the tune went right out of my head and I had to ask for a reminder from the servers. Laughter ensued!

It was nearly three by the time I got back, and four be the time I'd cooked and eaten lunch. Then I went for a long walk in the Torrox direction. On my way down Tamango Hill, an open topped BMW sports car drove past slowly with a Swiss number plate from Thurgau. The person who wasn't driving was talking pictures on her phone of a couple of properties with noticeboards outside, advertising that they are for sale - one with a Swedish estate agent and the other with a Finnish estate agent. Hoping to invest in a luxury holiday home in a coastal beauty spot, I wonder? Or buying to invest in the holiday rental market? Who knows. It's a long way to have driven by car from the north eastern corner of Switzerland.

This afternoon, I walked past Playa Calaceite further than when I cam in this direction twelve days ago. There's an amazing variety of wild flowers in bloom along the verges of the road and on the side of the footpath. There was little wind but the waves breaking were big and unusually noisy like thunder, perhaps because the sea bed shelves steeply. 

Much work has been done to build sea defences to protect the N340 which is 4-5 metres above sea level. When the wind is up, water spills over on to the footpath leaving big salty puddles which dry out and leave their mark behind in the mud and gravel. I wonder how long it'll be until the rising sea level makes coastal erosion impossible to stop with a seriously expensive impact on the road. Although there are cliffs on the inland side of the road, their geological composition won't spare them from the impact of the sea in the long term.

Clare and I chatted for forty minutes after I returned. Then I uploaded the photos I took with the new Olympus PEN. Despite not having a viewfinder, only a screen, it's nice to handle and takes good photos. Its operating menu is the same as on the OMD-E-M10.1, which means no new learning curve. Though it was a leisurely paced day, earlier bed will be most welcome now.

View from above

I benefited from getting to bed a bit earlier last night and was up in time to prepare a leisurely breakfast, and ready to leave for church by a quarter to eleven. I found a parking place just around the corner from San Miguel church, and as the Parish Mass hadn't yet finished, sat outside in the shade of the trees in front of the church, where Kath and I chatted with a few other early arrivals for our service. There were twenty one of altogether, plus a couple with a small child who came in late, stayed for a while and then left.

Among this morning's worshippers was a retired priest and his wife of my era who'd done his final year at St Michael's Llandaff. He'd served in St Asaph diocese, and has known Bishop Mary and Fr Andrew for many years. There were several more Welsh people in the congregation as well, including the organist!

We chatted in Bar Atalaya afterwards, then returned to church house and cooked tuna steaks for lunch with nice Rioja to go with it. Both of us succumbed to a siesta after eating, and then walked up the hill, above and beyond the apartments, houses and huge block of apartments under construction to where the metalled road turned into a track. 

We kept on walking upwards even further and the view of the Mar Alboran, with Nerja to the east and Torrox to the west became even more spectacular. Just as amazing was the variety and colour of the wild flowers and grasses alongside the track. Twice we were overtaken by a mountain biking cyclist pedaling uphill, who then returned at breakneck speed downhill. I'm fairly sure it was the same cyclist, and this was his part of his training regime, to develop nerves of steel as well as muscles.

On return we had a drink and a snack, then walked down to the Playa Vilches and back. The sun was setting out of sight, somewhere beyond Torrox, but its glow as it reached the horizon cause a few white fluffy clouds in the bay to turn pink and produce a pink reflection of the cloud in the sea. 

The photos I took with my phone camera identified the place as the Mar de Alborán, the name given to this narrowing region of the western Mediterranean leading to the Straights of Gibraltar. Alborán is a small island half way between Morocco and Spain's Almeria Province I learned later - its name means 'The Storm'. Both of us were quiet tired when we returned, and after uploading photos, early bed again!

Church shop endurance

Awake at sunrise again. It's pleasant to lie there and look on days when the sky is bright and clear. After breakfast, I put a load of clothes through the washing machine and hung them out to dry on in the sun on the balcony, then decided to go into Nerja to visit the church shop, and get those few items I needed but failed to find or remember on previous shopping trips, namely small kitchen knives, hair shampoo and bars of soap. I walked as far as the nearest bus stop, about a mile from the house, but missed hourly Line 3 bus to the town centre. As I could walk all the way before the next one came, I walked along the beach instead, with a pleasant cooling breeze in my face.

The shop was quite busy, both with bargain hunting customers and staff busy with sorting out new clothes donations in a crowded space, I felt I was getting in the way, but the team were pleased that I'd come to check in with them. Nerja's church shop is a long standing ex-pat institution, which recycles a huge range of garments and accessories from top designer dresses down to kiddies clothes. 

It's been going as long as the chaplaincy has and survived the pandemic. It draws ex-pat volunteers from outside church circles too. When I was here before, there was a midweek Eucharist before the shop opened. During covid, a streamed service took its place, but since then, attendance dwindled, and there's been nothing midweek since the retirement of Fr Nigel last year. All the more reason a pastor to turn up on a Wednesday and loiter with intent in the shop. Inevitably books get donated as well. Holidaymakers come in, buy or donate. Sometimes the latest thing bought in an airport bookshop arrives, gets snapped up and exchanged among initiates, gaining even more readers than booksellers ever imagine!

Ninety percent of the books donated are in English. I checked the foreign book shelf to see what I could find. Ninety five percent were in Scandinavian languages or German! Nevertheless, I came away with two books in Spanish; one a novel by Umberto Eco, the other a story woven around exposing the sordid side of the lives of political leaders during the Second World War by Juan Eslava Galan. Reading these over the next nine weeks will be quite a challenge. They are too think and heavy to fit into my tightly packed travel bags.

I bought the small kitchen knives I needed in a labyrinthine Chinese emporium, and soaps from the Mercadona whose entrance I didn't find yesterday. When I got to the bus station, it turned out that I had missed the returning Line 3 bus and would have to wait three quarters of an hour, so I walked back. Although it was midday, the cooling breeze made walking the extra miles tolerable, and I was back at the house cooking lunch by two. 

On the way, I took a photo of the Line 3 timetable at the bus stop, to study in detail, and memorise the times in order to plan better my next trip into town. I reckon it's a half hour walk to the nearest bus stop to be certain of not missing one. Much to my surprise, I learned that Line 3 first point of departure in town is not actually at the bus station but at the bottom of the street in which the church shop is located. If only I'd realised this before!

I spent the afternoon making the video slide show for next week's Morning Prayer and uploading it to YouTube. The sun casts a long shadow down the middle of the valley from mid afternoon onwards so I went for a walk down the hill at tea time in the sunlight that remained, just for the pleasure of it.

In the chaplain's office downstairs is the 17" Acer laptop I remember using when I was last here. Since then it's been 'upgraded' to Windows 10, and now runs so slowly you need a lot of time, patience and confidence that it's not dead, when it's simply loading an app and processing data. A couple of days ago, I nursed it through a major update. When it finally became responsive I found its  Google Chrome housed the memorized credentials for the Chaplaincy website, and editing app. I was concerned when I looked at the site a couple of months ago to discover it hadn't been updated in the past three years. Finding the means to update the site gave me a job to do I wasn't expecting, but I feel happier to think now that potential Sunday visitors for worship won't now give up in despair on the Parish website.

After supper I chatted with Clare. She already has boarding passes for her trip. I tried to obtain mine but couldn't, as I can't be allocated a seat until the week before the flight as I chose the low cost no baggage option for a short trip home. Discrimination against those with less money to spend. What else can you expect from a system destined to destroy this world?

So ends my 79th year on earth.

Settling in

After a fair night's sleep in a different bed and different place, I got up late to a grey morning, though not as dark grey as Cardiff under cloud. Hazy mist persisted most of the day, diluting the sun's rays, but it was at least warm enough to shed a pullover in the afternoon. After a slow breakfast of porridge, bread with olive oil and jam, John arrived by car to escort me to San Miguel for the Eucharist, a kind reminder of the route from the new chaplaincy house on the outskirts of Torrox, the neighbouring coastal municipality to Nerja on the west. Inevitably in the neighbourhood of Iglesia San Miguel, finding a parking place wasn't easy. After parking his own, John took the chaplaincy car and parked it so that I could go into church to brief the assistant ministers of the Eucharist and prepare for the service.

There were twenty of us, all above retirement age, a congregation with fewer visitors this week as a wave Easter holidaymakers return home. There were several people I remember from last time I was here, but maybe a few more who remembered me! San Miguel has had a make-over since I was last here. The ceiling has been lowered, and now acoustic tiles dampen the reverberation which used to make the building sound a bit like a warehouse rather than a church. It all looks very fresh and clean. 

After the Eucharist I went to Bar Atalaya, a few minutes walk up the street on the main road, to join a group of half a dozen having a drink and a chat before going their ways - some returning to UK, others with an hour's journey to make. It struck me how committed people have to be to make the effort, and how important it is that services are worth the effort to attend.

When a went to pay for my 0% beer, I discovered it was cash only payment, and had to ask John to pay for me. I only brought digital money with me and not had an opportunity to withdraw cash. I forgot how the UK is ahead of other countries in going cashless, like Scandinavia, so I've got out of the habit of carrying notes and coins. Lesson learned. Returning from the bar, I had to search streets in the vicinity of San Miguel to reach the car, though I had seen where John had parked it. I need to familiarize myself with the grid plan street layout once again.

Once back at church house, I cooked pasta and a veggie sugo for a very late lunch. Then I walked down Tamango Hill, under the N340a to the lay-by overlooking the sea which was part of the original road before it was upgraded. Motorists stop and park there to take in the view, visit a clifftop restaurant, or to walk down to Playa Güilche, a grey shingle beach with a restaurant of its own. The clifftop grass verge and other grassy slopes are full of yellow and violet wild flowers at the moment, a delight to see. Within a few seconds I saw two pairs of goldfinches chasing each other around in a courtship ritual. Lovely.

The kilometre walk back uphill to Church House was quite demanding as the road is steep and winding. I didn't get too out of breath, but my legs need to get used to hill climbing again. I haven't done much since I was in Los Boliches last spring. I chatted with Owain on WhatsApp, and after a light supper of bread olive oil and tomatoes, I listened to 'The Archers' and then chatted with Clare. Uploading the day's photos to Google Photos was slow. Download speed is significantly faster than upload with the house internet unfortunately. Only then did I start remembering and writing about yesterday's journey, and it was much later than I thought when I called it a day. My photos can be found here.

Better late than cancelled

Up at seven thirty, out of the house by eight twenty to walk to the coach station for nine o'clock coach to Bristol Airport. Slower than usual, due to heavy backpack and dragging wheeled cabin bag. The bus was on time, and I was in the departures area within fifteen minutes of arrival. 

Getting through security despite the volume of early travellers was efficient and swift. The flight was 45 minutes late arriving, even later departing, as the disruption to airport ground traffic from a late arrival led to extra waiting time for the bus transferring us to the aircraft. It was gone two when we were airborne. The pilot told us that the headwind of 120 mph which shaved 20 minutes off the flight arrival would add even more flying time to its return journey - nearly three hours in the air. I read my Spanish novel for much of the flight, and dozed a bit, so the time slipped by hardly noticeable. The same weather front disrupted air traffic in some parts of Europe and flights were being cancelled. Nothing to complain about here!

I was in the second row of seats, and among the first to disembark and get to passport control, a long walk through empty corridors and spaces, it seemed. I passed through without a hitch, no questions asked, and was quickly spotted by churchwarden John on my way out into the arrivals area. We reached Nerja about seven thirty and went straight to a Chinese restaurant for a meal - spicy duck for me. It was getting dark by the time we arrived at church house in a seven house terraced row half way up Paseo Tamango Hill about a kilometre from the sea in a steep verdant valley whose slopes are covered with avocado and aubergine bushes, I think, though I can't be sure as they're not yet showing.

The house is puzzling at first. As you enter from the street you go straight upstairs to the bedrooms and downstairs to the lounge and kitchen with a balcony, then downstairs again to another suite of rooms including an office and a shower, and a terrace overlooking the small swimming pool each house in the terrace possesses. It'll take some getting used to. 

The fridge has been stocked with veggies and the means to make a pasta sauce for tomorrow. There was a freshly baked loaf and amazingly, a bottle of unfiltered oil pressed from olives grown on John's finca, which is an hour's drive away to the north east in the mountains of Granada Province. And the oil, poured on to fresh bread to be consumed had a flavour like nothing you could but in a run of the mill supermarket. What a wonderful welcome. 

Despite a lot of walking today I made 90 percent of my daily target, before turning in, too tired to care about the rest.

Taking it easy

Another wet and windy day under a grey sky, but an unexpected promise of warmer sunnier days to come. Having got into bed, I was about switch off my phone for the night and an email dropped from John, the churchwarden of Nerja Anglican Chaplaincy, asking if I would be free for locum duty from Easter onward as the second year of pastoral vacancy commences. How remarkably providential this is! Both sets of my locum duties in Cardiff conclude with the filling of all three vacancies I was involved in covering, and all this March. 

I had wondered if I'd be offered another euro locum, given my age, and the fact that below my generation of clergy there's a greater proportion of retirees who might be interested in serving. Thrilled to be asked again. Immediately I said that I'd be free and willing. When I was asked last year, there was so much to do here that I felt I had to decline. With the gall bladder no longer threatening to spoil my plans, and doubling my expenditure on travel insurance, there couldn't be a better time. John responded positively this morning and is looking for a Low Sunday start date. That means being there from April to early June, a lovely time of year. The next message to drop into my inbox was from Vueling, promoting spring flights. Amazing!

I now need to think about a handover for Parish newsletter publication responsibilities. A six month stint week in week out, has been something of a responsibility, and I'd been pondering on how I could let go of this once clergy vacancies are filled, and train up a successor. It's possible a different approach to sharing information across the Ministry Area will see the end of the Sway digital format at this point. The time to discuss it is now ten weeks before my departure. The handover of responsibility I received was more like an ambush, landing me with something I needed to learn to do from scratch  It turned out OK, but integrated communication between MA churches is too important to be done haphazardly.

I received separate calls, morning and afternoon from the GP surgery asking about my post- op welfare and need for support. It was good to share a progress report, albeit with two different members of staff, one in response to the paper letter from the surgeon, another in response to separate email from UHW. I joked about the paper one arriving first, and it gave me a chance to flag up the disparity in info about cocodamol not being on offer, and then being offered according to the post op protocol on paper. I will never know if this leads to action, but it needed to be said.

Clare battled out in the wind and rain to receive a pair of fine leather boots from Canton Cobblers, and I cooked a veggie butter bean casserole Andalusian style with quinoa. It was OK but lacked a flavouring ingredient I can't identify, but it would have been better with chorizo. Then Clare went out again by taxi to the UHW eye clinic, while I tried to work out from my photo archive when I was last in Nerja (without searching my blog!). Apart from a couple of day visits when I was staying in Malaga, the last locum duty I did there was June 2016. My stay was cut short by the arrival of a newly appointed chaplain, but instead of returning home early, I took the train on a ten hour journey to join the Costa Azahar Chaplaincy for spell, as their Chaplain had left. A marvellous set of experiences altogether.

I didn't have the energy to clad myself with rainwear and wellies to go walking, and stayed at home doing nothing much at all. Clare returned home from UHW on foot. It seems there's been traffic congestion due to the weather for much of the day. No point in waiting for a bus when the roads are that bad. After supper I watched another couple of episodes of 'Bones'. I didn't have the energy to look for a flight to Spain and book it. Nobody can say I'm not taking it easy at the moment. That's what everyone tells me to do after all.

 

Travel nerves

Up early, time to start tidying, extracting my things from all over the house, and packing them, also washing as much bed linen and clothes of my own. Then a walk down to the churhc shop for my

last Eucharistic celebration in Nerja, in honour of the apostles Peter and Paul. There were just half a dozen of us. Then coffee and farewells, followed by food shopping for the journey and cooking enough for today and tomorrow's lunch.

I've decided to travel into Malaga and stay in a hotel near the station overnight, if I can find one at a suitable price, or get a very early taxi in the morning to get me there quicker than the coach and allow me more of a margin for the unexpected, which I'm less in favour of. Playing safe is essential as there is only one suitable train itinerary a day to take me all the way to Costa Azahar with little effort. All I have to do is be punctual on Friday morning, and check in around 08.20.

Before I know it, Judith had arrived to take me to my last wedding blessing in Frigiliana. With lots on my mind at this stage, I was a little distracted, but in the end with a huge effort at concentration all ended well. It was sweltering hot, however, and everyone struggled a bit, especially stepping out of the cooling shade and fans in church into the direct heat of the afternoon sun shining down on the balcony entrance to San Antonio church.

Once back home, I consulted Booking.com, for the first time that I remember, and installed the app on both phone and tablet. I found a reasonably priced room at Hotel Paco, a short walk from the station, with air conditioning and wi-fi, at a reasonable price. What's not to like? Now I can pick and choose an afternoon coach tomorrow and check in at tea time.

It's very hot tonight, and I'm still wondering if I've covered all the things I needed to, before I pack everything away. At lunchtime, I'd packed my alb away, and then needed to unpack it again an hour later when I realised I still needed it for the wedding blessing. Put it down to travel nerves.

Oh yes, I forgot to say that the outcome of Spain's general election on Sunday revealed little or no change in the deadlock between the centre right Partido Popular, and the coalition of others bidding for power. Nobody seems to be talking about it. I haven't heard what the turnout was either. And we may think the UK has troubles!

   

   

End of a locum chapter

My last visit to Almuñécar this morning, and the last service there until September, as the regular schedule is suspended due to the demands on chapel time from Catholic holidaymakers as visitors arrive in their tens of thousands, and parking becomes even more impossible. There were the usual dozen faithful worshippers there, and afterwards some appreciative farewells over a cup of coffee. The same at San Miguel too.

In the afternoon, I led a family celebration in El Salvador church for a couple who'd been civilly married 32 years ago and wanted to give thanks for the many blessings they'd received. It was a relaxed informal occasions, with the entire assembly gathering around the couple in a circle while they renewed their vows. After their photo-opportunity on the Balcon, there was a gathering for pre-supper drinks on a rooftop terrace nearby, with fabulous views - but I hadn't taken a camera with me. Never mind. It was just enjoyable to chat with friendly people having a happy time.

Judith and I were invited to join them all for supper at Number 34, but we were both pretty tired after a busy Sunday. As churchwarden, Judith had been with me at all three services. Both of us just wanted to head for our respective abodes and relax. This has been my 22nd Sunday of duties here, and from September the new Chaplain will be in post. Nice to think that I've worked myself out of a job, as a missionary pastor should.

A day of preparations

Yesterday evening Judith called me with a funeral booking for this Thursday morning for a woman who'd died this morning. As usual, the time is short between death and funeral. I was fortunate to make contact with the bereaved husband straightaway, and visited his later in the evening, in their home just above La Torre de Capistrano restaurant, about fifteen minutes of a stiff climb uphill from the chaplain's residence. Being a cool evening the brisk walk there and back an hour later was welcome exercise, after moving slowly in the intense daytime heat. Not that I am complaining about the heat! I feel so much better for continuous warmth and blue skies. My eyes seem to work better and physical activity is not nearly so much hard work getting going as it is back in Wales.

I haven't timed walking down to the church shop to celebrate the midweek Eucharist, as I did again this morning, but it still takes me 20-25 minutes, and I arrive so much fresher in mind than if I had to drive in and find a parking place. There isn't a regular frequent bus route into town to tempt me to hop on and cut down journey times here as in Cardiff. The feel-good benefits are tangible.

There were seven of us for the Eucharist. After coffee at Rosi's, I had a meeting at the Balcon Hotel with Damian and Clodagh, here for a wedding blessing with their families from Galway and Sligo, West of Ireland. He's a sheep farmer, and horse breeder. She's been caring for her mother through two years of cancer treatment, now declared successful. This is an added element to their celebration. Her father died some years ago, and I was touched by ways they wanted to include him and other departed relatives in their fiesta. It's a wholesome ancient attitude to life, which Protestantism and Rationalism failed to destroy, a sense of continuity between this world and the next that's part of Celtic spirituality. We Celts are original European migrants, from the Indus basin all the way to the extreme fringes of continental Europe. In this present era of mobility, a wedding far from home is not so unexpected. Many of those whose weddings are blessed here are Irish.

After lunch at home, I prepared a bi-lingual funeral service leaflet with hymns in for tomorrow. Then, it took me ages to acquire accompaniment for two hymns from the Web. It's not something I do often, and the Windows software on the office Win 7 laptop was unhelpful or invisible to me. Amazingly my trusty Chromebook got me what I needed, and enabled me to edit the files in a web app called 'Twisted Wave'. It's simple, but impressive in what it delivered - a couple of files I could burn to CD to play on the Thanatorio CD player. But there were no spare discs to be found in the office, so I popped down to town to a small digital accessory retailer, selling burnable CD-Rs and printer inks. I place I've used before, with the same young woman in charge I recall from last year. For 60 cents, she sold me two CD-Rs. One to use, and another just in case... Much nicer than trawling supermarket shelves for a 'mini' pack of 25, I may not need. 

After burning the audio CD successfully, found a portable CD player in the office cupboard and tested what I'd made. It worked and sounded fine, but it all depends on what equipment the municipal Thanatorium has. I remember a disaster of this kind in Fuengirola Thanatorium where the state of the art sound system was dead, and in need of repair, and the little portable CD player offered was hardly audible in a huge chapel. At least the Nerja chapel is a quarter of the size, so fingers crossed.

  

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.

Adjusting lifestyle

We appreciated the fact that it's still considerably cooler here at night time, and enjoyed a good long sleep, followed by breakfast on the terrace, just as the sun appeared over the roof of a neighbouring house an hour after dawn. Judith picked us up and drove us to the Church Shop for the celebration of the midweek Eucharist. Six of us were present. After a cup of coffee at Rosie's bar next door, we went shopping for a pair of pyjamas, as that was one thing I'd forgotten to pack. So now I have an ensemble consisting of a lightweight blue sweatshirt and red knee length shorts. Not exactly my kind of slumberware, but they'll do.

After the service, I went to the car rental depot in town to pay for this month's hire. The chaplaincy car was a write off earlier in the year, when a third party drove into the side of it, giving the locum priest minor injuries, and upsetting the routine pastoral life. Thankfully, another retired priest was in the vicinity on holiday and was able to give support until normality was resumed. I now have to get used to driving a small Nissan town car, although my use of will be limited, since walking as much as possible is the fitness priority while we're here. There aren't so many convenient buses to take us about town, as in Cardiff, so time saving excuses are removed from our more relaxed schedule.

We were saddened to discover that 'Modus Vivendi' the pioneering organic food shop that had opened this time last year in the street near the bus station was about to close, as part of mutating into an organic veggie box delivery service. The idealism of the young entrepreneurs who started this venture is indeed admirable, but it seems that trying again is part of their philosophy, so we wish them luck. So, we had to visit a greengrocers and a fish shop in a nearby street to provision ourselves before the long walk home.

Clare had a swim before lunch, and after a siesta, we walked down to Burriana beach for her to have another swim in the sea, then a drink before the long hill climb back to Urbanzacion Almihara. The entrance road is closed at the moment as Nerja's water company has excavated trenches to change underground pipework. Cars are diverted from the housing estate through the empty ground used for the town's Mercdillo, Tuesdays and Sundays, and motorbike driving instruction and testing several afternoons a week.

For supper we are a favourite of ours, swordfish - it's called Pez espada here, not Emperador, as it is in Alicante province. When we're out shopping on foot, it's convenient to buy this frozen, so that it survives the heat. But we can get it fresh as well, if we're conveniently out with the car and a freezer bag. It's wonderful to have so much fresh fruit too - figs, plums, cherries in abundance at this time of year, peaches. The challenge is not to buy too much at a time, so that nothing goes off before we're ready to eat. Those natural processes seem to speed up in this congenial climate.

  

Returning to Nerja

Having packed Sunday, there were only a few final errands to perform today, not even a trip to the office. I woke up thinking about an image that has persisted with me since our visit to Durnstein, of the chapel in the churchyard, containing the collected bones of soldiers who perished at a battle in meadows near the village in 1805. In the porch of the chapel was a large crucifix, and behind the pierced right hand of Christ was a birds' nest haphazardly constructed of twigs. I wanted to write about it then, but decided to mull over it for a while. Today the impulse was there, so I set to work, as I had time to spare, and ended up with a poem, which I've posted here.

Going to bed early is never easy for us but I made it by eleven thirty, and we were up again by five. I cooked garlic mushrooms on toast, plus boiled eggs for Clare, to fortify us for the journey, and our taxi arrived at six. As we got to the end of Llanfair Road, I realised to my horrow that I'd left my Blackberry behind, so we had to double back and collect before proceeding to Custom House Street to pick up the twenty past six airport bus. We checked in early, the flight was on time and our cases were among the first off the baggage conveyer at Malaga airport. Ten minutes later we were greeted by Judith, parking in the short stay departure area, and soon on our way to Nerja. I worked out that this begins my twentieth week of locum duty here over the past five years.

We're both familiar with the house and the town, and that made settling in quite enjoyable. A walk to the Super Sol for food shopping after lunching on food left by the locum who departed early this morning. Then supper, then a twilight walk to see the crescent moon setting. I remember having fun taking photos of this when we were here three years ago, and this time didn't bother to take a camera out with me, preferring just to savour the moment, before turning in early, tired but happy to be here again.

 

Another wedding and a reflection on marrying abroad

I didn't venture far yesterday, except to buy a printer cartridge from a shop on the way into town. I was expecting to meet with the wedding couple again in the evening to complete unfinished business from yesterday to enable us to get started properly, but the call came too late to act upon, and again we had to re-schedule for the day of the wedding - too close for comfort in the event of irregularities in my book. 

Anyway I walked to the Balcon for a ten o'clock rendezvous and all was quickly resolved. I then went to the church shop and hung around there and Rosie's bar for an hour or so. I bought a cool loose fitting tee shirt in the shop to exchange for my clerical shirt until it was time for the wedding, then went for a walk, then sat in El Salvador for a while, then sat in the shade near the sea for a while, passing the time until it was time to change back and go on duty.

There were a hundred and fifty guests for the wedding, with an unusual predominance of younger couples with children under ten, contemporaries, if not relations of the couple. So, by all accounts there were fifteen bridesmaids, mostly under ten, plus several page boys, who were especially good at  looking after the younger little girls, and four groomsmen. It was a mammoth feat of organisation, causing headaches for the wedding arrangers, but quite apart from the splendour of the occasion, it was a congenial and orderly family occasion with few tears and wails. Word had got out about the promise of a spectacle, and several church people turned up discreetly to watch, and I hope admire.

There was a twenty strong local community choir, which sang beautifully a classic repertoire of choral music, almost a dozen pieces, apparently chosen by the groom, plus three popular hymns. Mine was the only mishap as I skipped one choir piece, distracted momentarily, but the conductor was quick witted in concealing my error.

The best moment was when the six month old daughter of the couple was brought up to the altar to be included in the nuptial blessing. After the group family cuddle, the child gave me a huge beaming grin as I blessed them. "The Lord make his face to shine upon you ..." comes to mind. Yes, that open look of radiant love from the infant was like looking into the face of God. Exhausted though I was at the intensity of it all, this made my day. 

For many hard working people with cash to spare, sinking a large amount of money into arranging a wedding and reception in a place far from one's home base is an interesting phenomenon, facilitated by budget airlines, tour packages and professional wedding organisers. The wedding package is yet another commodity for well-off consumers that wouldn't have existed thirty years ago. A much older generation brought up in real austerity, often married on a shoe-string budget puzzles over this. What's the point and purpose, when the money (or credit) could be put to better use? Needless to say, I've been reflecting on this, and trying to evaluate the phenomenon.

First, it has little to do with traditional institutional religion. Yet, people alienated from the church and the demands they perceive it makes upon them and their behaviour, still find significance in making solemn vows before the presence of an Authority infinitely higher than the State. 

Secondly, far more couples want their families and friends to be with them, than want to elope and plight their troth in semi-privacy. The making of a bonding journey as family and friends, with all the costly demands this may entail, to celebrate a marital commitment, is a reflection of the value still placed on family life and dedication. Perhaps those taking it seriously are prepared to invest more, in  reaction against the perceived threat from all the forces that devalue traditional marriage and family life. It's not a political campaign, but a popular consumer response.

Thirdly, venues that conjure with the imagination - beaches, castles, terraces with grand vistas etc. - appeal more than many traditional sacred spaces which no longer inspire with higher thoughts the way they were intended to. God in the beauty of the ordinary wins over against God in sacred space. It's a symptom of priestood no longer able to commend what it exists to serve. The church senses that despite the questionable morality of conspicuous consumption involved in foreign weddings, there is an underlying affirmation of what matters most, the lasting bonds of affection we need inorder to survive in this mobile often impersonal world. Perhaps if we can let that teach us about what people really need and value, we can breathe new life into the same old social rituals on our doorsteps.

     

Shop Eucharist

A brisk half hour walk down into the centre of town this morning under a bright sunny sky, to get to the church shop in Calle Malaga to celebrate the midweek Eucharist. There were a dozen of us, and it was a nice quiet and relaxed occasion, with several faces familiar from my two previous visits. After a cup of coffee together next door in Rosie's Bar, I walked back to the house, uncertain whether or not the photocopier man had understood that I would be there if he came on Wednesday by eleven thirty. He didn't show up, but never mind. He was due to come from Cartama, which is a good hour's drive from here, so I wasn't surprised.

Walking the length of the main shopping street, I was struck by the large number of triangular white sailcloth canvases over the street, suspended from the building top storeys, 

I imagine this is to give shade in the really hot months of the year, but it's also attractive to behold. It could also be a way to deter the vast population of swifts and swallows I've seen on previous visits diving almost to ground level as they forage for insects in the streets. This could be most un-nerving to visitors. It's not that they attack anyone, but their high speed aerobatics must be very confusing for the unwary shopper. The last time I recall seeing streets shaded in this manner was in the Grand Soukh in Damacus twenty years ago, where the canvases had never been dark in colour to judge by the state of them. I wonder what it's like there now?

Surprise meeting at church

Saturday was cool and overcast, so there wasn't much incentive to do much outdoors, apart from a walk to the supermarket for fish and chicken. I spent most of the morning working on a sermon, and the evening in front of the telly. Just outside the barrier on the entrance to this urbanizacion, the road has been blocked off since I arrive, for the construction of a new drainage channel. This requires a tricky deviation through a large tarmacked open area occupied by Nerja's big mercadillo on Tuesday and the Flea Market on Sunday. Thus far I hadn't needed to use the car. I wondered if the work would be finished and the road unblocked in time for the arrival of Flea Market vendors. 

Untypically in this part of the world, there is no longer a permanent daily covered town market. The small late 19th century market building has been turned into a cultural centre, and currently displays an exhibition of large abstract canvases decorated with random paint splashes - the kind of thing you might see filling huge white surfaces in a modern corporate headquarters building. I lasted about five minutes when I went in to visit there, before losing interest at the sight of so many of them side by side, with no unifying theme, and no context to define their signficance.

This morning the exit road was clear, except for one barrier across half the road at the far end where one enters the roundabout, straddling my exit lane. This succeeded in disorienting me, as this was my first outing in the car. The area was still empty of activity and vehicle traffic to give me reminders of which way to go, so I negotiated the rounadabout the wrong way around. The only witnesses being two Guardia Civile officers who stood there and watched without responding. I realised my error and exited by the correct lane, feeling a total fool, and drove cautiously to Almuñecar for the nine thirty Eurcharist, wondering all the way if I would remember details of the route, as these were presented to me. I arrived without further mishap, and celebrated for a congregation of fifteen.

The pattern of local pastoral activity has changed. A small group of Hermanas have returned to work in the district. La Capilla de los Pescadores where our services are held is in the ground floor of a four storey community house, which was formerly their residence, and a place where social outreach activities took place. There's now a Mass beginning at eleven, so there's more time pressure now that there was on previous visits, to finish our service and clear up to make way for the congregation that follows us. We were joined by a Spanish man who arrived early, with his arm in a sling and a bump on his head, hoping to beg some money I think. He might have been a gardener or a farmer, as he told me that he'd been injured either by falling out of an olive tree, or by a falling branch of an olive tree. Like many others this would leave him unable to work with little social assistance or insurance. The plight of agricultural day labourers the world over. I got an idea of what he was saying despite his accent, and spoke a little to him in Spanish, and then introduced myself in Spanish to the Hermana who had arrived to prepare for the service.

Finding a parking place in the barrio de San Miguel on return to Nerja was quite difficult, although the town is not exactly bustling with tourists at this time of year. It turned out to be First Communion Sunday in the church, and there was a huge crowd in party mood greeting the young communicants, all smartly dressed, outside the entrance. The atmosphere was very happy, and our little flock of Anglicans were content to wait a little and enjoy the moment, until the crowd eased enough to pass inside and get ready for our Eucharist. We started a quarter of an hour late, with the diminishing buzz of a dispersing crowd in the background. There were thirty of us. 

In the congregation were several people from South East Wles including one from my home town Ystrad Mynach. Also in the congregation, to my great surprise, were Carol and Lawrence. Carol was an undergraduate in Bristol University at the same time as Clare and I were there, and we were all members of the University Church of England Society, run by the Chaplains. If my memory serves me right, this is the first time in forty nine years that we've met. She and her husband spend time in Nerja several times a year, staying within walking distance of Church House. I'm looking forward to a catch-up session on Tuesday.

Straight after the service, the chaplaincy's annual general meeting took place in the church undercroft meeting room, and there were two dozen for that. It was very well run, and a pleasure for me to be no more than an observer. This was followed by a splendid bring and share lunch, which I very much appreciated, as it was gone three by the time I got back to the house, to while away the rest of the day. I felt somewhat tireder than usual after Sunday duties in such a different context, so I relaxed and dozed while it rained and ventured out for exercise a couple of times in between showers. On one stroll I look down from above on a bird of prey, possibly a peregrine falcon, hunting for food out of the caves in the side of the Chillar river valley below the urbanizacion. But I was too slow getting my camera into action to grap a photo - this time.