Walls as media

Yesterday was hot enough to discourage me from venturing out until it began to cool late in the afternoon. I walked to the port, and out along its rather empty southern boundary, earmarked for fishing industry development, but currently housing a modest boatyard, and a vast vehicle parking area next to the harbour wall, occupied by just a handful of leisure fishermen. I noticed a couple of bus and HGV driver training vehicles parked there, but few commercial vehicles. I wonder if there are times when it fills with commercial traffic for any reason.

Walking back through the town, I noticed some interesting and well crafted graffiti amongst the run of the mill tags, and adolescent declarations of love. I was also amused to see a political rallying call against EU's TTIP legislation, which is causing widespread concern internationally, because of its potential to undermine workers' rights. This was written in Valenciano or Catalan. Not sure which, so close to the border. 

As I was taking this photo, a young man stopped and asked me keenly if I knew what it was all about. I assured him that I did, and then we got into conversation, which give me a good five minutes of live Spanish practice, before we parted company.

In one of the main shopping streets there are two quite large toy shops next to each other. On the wall between them is an ingenious example of slick commercial advertising in graffiti style. I though this too was worth a photo.

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.

 

A difference in rites of passage

This morning we held a memorial service at Sta Magdalena Parish church near to 'El Portico', for Anita, who died unexpectedly last week. Fr Cristobel the parish priest came and opened up for us and made sure we had everything we needed for the service. It's lovely to receive such kindness and hospitality. The paschal candle was decorated with photos of the young Anita, and one taken a couple of weeks before her death. The urn containing her ashes stood on the altar.  Four dozen people came, and most sat near the front, which mattered in a church that can take two hundred and fifty.

This is the first time in both my visits to the Costa Azahar that I've taken part in the chaplaincy's bereavement ministry. Pastoral calls of this kind are fewer and far between here than they are on the Costa del Sol, where the expatriate population is much larger, and local customs are different. Also social conventions in this region are different. Here it seems to be normal that cremation follows death within 48 hours, making it very difficult to arrange a traditional funeral in the presence of the deceased. A service has to be arranged without the customary rituals of farewell people from the U.K. expect. I've been told, though I'm not sure I believe it, that the practice is due to civil society regulation rather than traditional custom.

After the service, I met with the four chaplaincy worship leaders for a training session. Hopefully this will encourage them to meet regularly for planning sessions, to strengthen their ministry through mutual support, an important engagement for them in the absence of a regular full-time chaplain.

After a late lunch, I walked into town and browsed the shops open for evening trading, in search of Christmas presents. Most often, I spend time in town during the afternoon, when people are at lunch, the shops are shut and everything is quiet. Things come alive in the evening, even though it's dark. Streets are tasteful lit with festive decorations. Vinaros town centre has many small shops, making for an enjoyable experience for a visitor like me, not much inclined to retail therapy outings.