Home run for Ascension

There wasn't much point in setting the phone alarm for ten to seven. Both of us were awake before sunrise well before it was time to start the day. There were clouds but also sunshine after the sun emerged from the sea. Jorge the piscinero and Salvador-Jesús the taxista both arrived at half past seven. Jorge came to collect the house key I borrowed from him to give to Clare. We exchanged brief greetings, then I took the bags to the waiting car and forgot to collect a hat and the raincoat I intended to take with me to Cardiff. Still, the half hour after sunrise was enchantingly beautiful as we drove up to the A7.

Despite ten minutes worth of delays we arrived at Málaga airport Express Departures minutes before eight thirty. The check in counters had just opened and in ten minutes we were on our way through security. The new liquids in bags scanning facility is now working, so the throughput time is much improved. As I was depositing all my bits of kit in scanner trays, the lady helping people in the line I joined, noticed my cross and black shirt, and asked what I was. When I told her I was an Anglican priest she laughed and smiled and said jokingly "I could do with some help from God, with all the things that I get up to. Yet I'm always singing!" I told her I was Welsh and that we're all the same. She gave me a hug as I went to pass through the body scanner. That's never happened to me going through airport security before!

On the way to Departures we stopped for a drink and I bought myself another novel by Carlos Ruiz Zafón at the libreria, entitled 'Marina', after one of its main characters. Like many other paperback Spanish novelas, it cost only ten euros. The plane arrived and we boarded efficiently. I couldn't help noticing two teachers shepherding a dozen teenage students on to the aircraft taking selfies as they went, and wondered what they'd be doing during their stay. The plane was parked way out, so the bus transfer trip was longer than usual, and the time taken to taxi to the take-off runway was just as lengthy. The home bound flight time is two and three quarter hours, about twenty five minutes longer than the outbound flight. The average amount of time in the air is much the same unless there's a head wind, so I guess the length of time from departure gate to take-off accounts for it.

I snoozed a while after take-off, then started reading my new book, and got through four chapters before touchdown. The new electronic passport gates at Arrivals seemed to be working efficiently today, despite news of systems failure at other UK airports. Just before out flight landed another arrived from Málaga, and the baggage from it appeared on the conveyor belt as we arrived at baggage reclaim. The heads up display indicated the status of both sets of flight baggage at belt A, and continued to say belt A for our flight when belt B started to move.  I inspected one of the first bags off, and established that it was from our flight, so we waited ten minutes for Clare's bag, and were out of the arrivals hall heading for the pick up point just after half past one. Pretty good, about twenty minutes from 'plane to pick up. Ann found us easily and brought us back home, chatting all the way. Her mother Marlene wanted to come, but was still tired after travelling yesterday.  She'll come with son-in-law Paul to see me off on Saturday, with lots of questions to ask. Retaining such curiosity about life and other people in your nineties is quite something.

There were few birthday cards to open when we got home, plus lots of year end statements that will be of use when I get around to filling in this year's tax return. Clare quickly whipped up a homecoming lunch, from her existing food stock. I went for a short walk on the lush thick carpet of daisy strewn grass in the park. The trees are now in full leaf, with an abundance of chestnut 'candle' blossom. Such a lush contrast to the austere Andalusian coastal landscape with its much darker greens. In the front garden, a pot with a lily in it. Over the winter and into spring it seemed almost dead, but yet again it's sprung back to life and good health, with eleven flowering shoots. Amazing vitality!

Then a visit to Tesco's for a few necessary groceries before supper and the Archers. We're both pretty tired after getting up at the equivalent of five thirty in Spain this morning, so it's very early bed for us tonight.

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.

Coming home

Well, we laid in bed for about seven hours and slept fitfully, eventually getting up at four ahead of the alarms. Our taxi arrived at five to five and by twenty past we joined the check-in queue along with five hundred others taking one of four flights being handled by the Vueling desk staff all at the same time. The queue moved at a remarkably steady pace, with half a dozen desks open, and in twenty minutes we had deposited out bags and were on our way to the security queue, which took us another twenty minutes to get through. 

That was when I realised that I wasn't wearing my small wooden pectoral cross, bought in Thessaloniki in 1994. It has travelled everywhere with me since then, but this morning I guess it must have fallen on the floor in room 308 at Hotel Eliseos. There was nothing that could be done apart from phone the hotel reception desk, but I couldn't get through, perhaps because I was upset and used the wrong country code. I had to wait until we arrived home to call and leave a message on their answering service, plus a back up email.

The flight was full and twenty minutes late closing the doors. Perhaps because it was among the first out bound flights of the day, the pilot seemed to drive the aircraft rapidly along side runways where normally there's be a stately queue for take off. At ten to eight we took to the air, flying north west through mist and cloud as the sun was about to rise. Two hours and twenty minutes later we were touching down at Rhoose, having flown in to land from the West over St Athan air station for the first time I can recall. We phoned for a taxi from Dragon cabs in Barry, and were picked up fifteen minutes later. Home by half past ten, after a smooth journey, marred only by losing my cherished little cross.

I found two other small ones in my office drawer. With help from Clare and her jewellery equipment it was possible to enlarge a hole in the upper part of the cross, through which to hang a length of string. This for me isn't decoration but a statement about who I am and what my life is about. I'm not going to change this any time. I do hope the hotel gets my messages, and retrieves the original cross for me. 

We did a couple of loads of post travel clothes washing, responded to priority mail and messages, including a Windows 10 update for my office workstation, then after an improvised lunch, I went out and shopped for fruit and veg., then went into town to get a new CMOS battery installed in my watch, and acquire an new Post Office Money Card, as mine expires today. It only has a few euros left on it, but I found this kind of pre-pay currency card very useful this time around, and could afford to put fifty quid's worth of euros on it, from my recent earnings. 

After supper, we watched a 'Fake or Fortune' programme about the authentication of a Modigliani sketch  but both were rally too tired to take it in. How quickly the evening slipped by and left us ready for bed, 

Destination Estepona

I was up breakfasting at five fifteen. Richard arrived at ten to six to take me to the airport. So did a taxi, whose robotic calling system I fell foul of last night. It took my address, but not my destination, and did not confirm the pick up time. If only it had, I could have spared Richard this extra early morning errand. I explained to the taxi driver what had happened and asked if he would give feedback to the company's call handlers about their robot. By half past six I was waiting in the airport for the check-in desk to open, which it did, half an hour earlier than the time printed on the boarding pass. By just after seven I settled down for the long wait until boarding was announced at five to nine. The flight took off on time and landed twenty minutes early. What a great start to the day!

My passport was stamped for this first time in decades. The stamp is illegible, but apparently serves to flag up the fact that I have entered a EU country. My passport was scanned and the electronic date stamp entered in the system, on arriving and leaving showing how many of the ninety days allowed to stay without a visa in a hundred and eighty days have elapsed. Clever, but sad. Damned brexit.

Joseph and Anne greeted me at the arrival gate and took me to the Chaplain's residence in an urbanizacion named 'Beverley Hills', apt for a hilltop cluster of houses in an area where, like America, little walking is done and most people get around by car. Patricia welcomed me and briefed me about the house. The only food lacking in well stocked cupboards was bread, fresh fruit and veg, so Patricia guided me down the A7 expressway a couple of kilometres to shop at the most convenient Mercadona. The car, a Renault Megane is modern enough to have an electronic key system, which took some getting used to, plus the fact that it's somewhat bigger than a VW Polo. All part of the adventure.

Patricia left me for a tea-time cita, then I unpacked my laptop and completed this Thursday's Morning Prayer video with a selfie taken on the bedroom balcony, overlooking Estepona Bay, with Gibraltar on the near horizon and Morocco somewhat more distant, neither of them visible with the heat haze at the moment. Then I cooked a veggie pasta supper, making enough for two days. Afterwards I went for a walk and discovered that from the bottom of the hill entrance to the urbanizacion it's only ten minutes to the coastal sendero along a sandy shore. I also followed a path alongside a dry river bed inland, up a valley at the base of the hill. It doesn't take long to get away from roads and the built up area into the countryside..

I returned to the house at dusk, had a WhatsApp call with Clare, then unpacked, finally ready to slow down and sleep.

Another Boris crisis

After breakfast this morning, I completed the on-line check-in for next Tuesday's flight and downloaded the PDF of the boarding card to my phone. Then Clare reminded me of the need to carry a vaccination certificate as well. That was less than straightforward. Initially the NHS app failed me, as it's less than clear at the outset that NHS Wales is not served by the app. You have to look for the NHS Wales website and follow the procedure from there to obtain the vaccination certificate PDF, delivered by a mobile phone text message containing a web-link to the download. It could be more straightforward than it is. Anyway I have all the necessary travel documents now. All I have to do now is sort out travel money, and that's for tomorrow or the day after.

Clare had a dentist's visit mid morning, so I did the weekly grocery shopping trip to the Co-op, and then cooked lunch. I had chaplaincy emails to respond to after lunch. It sounds as if I will be collected from the airport instead of having to take the coach to Estepona. I'm grateful for this as there's likely to be a higher risk of catching covid on a crowded coach than on a 'plane with a much higher standard air conditioning system. One risk is better than two. I just have to stay away from busy crowded places this week. We won't see Jasmine as everyone around her has covid, but not her so far, but the risk she'll catch it and transmit it is still high. It's very sad but inevitable.

We went for a walk around Llandaff Fields and down to Blackweir for a drink at the TukTuk cafeteria, a motor tricycle equipped to sell drinks, which parks the other side of the bridge. The guy running it told us he's an architecture student, and we had an interesting chat, with him telling us as he lives with dyslexia for which he has developed a successful coping strategy.

There was a fascinating programme on Sky Arts this evening about the 20th century artist M C Escher whose extraordinary body of paintings and prints featuring unfathomable geometric patterns with tricks of perspective embedded in them. His art has been influential on designers as well as other artists since the sixties when he came to public attention by designing an album cover for a Rolling Stones LP.

Today's news centres yet again on a crisis around Boris Johnson's leadership and judgement in appointing MP Chris Pincher as Deputy Chief Whip when he was known to have a reputation as a sex pest. He's accused of two sexual assaults last week, and when this came to light he resigned his position and had the Tory Whip withdrawn. During the day Johnson has been openly criticised for lying by a retired senior civil servant, and lost two senior members of his cabinet. He's made excuses for his action in appointing Pincher that were hardly credible, and is coming for criticism from all sides. Opinion is turning against the Prime Minister in conservative media and among the public. There's no sign of Johnson resigning, so it remains to be seen if the Tory Party finds a way to dislodge him.

Nearly ready to go

Returning home from St German's yesterday passing the former St James' church building, I noticed the security fence enclosing the site on the  Newport Road side has been taken down to reveal the north face of the building for the first time since it was bought and the developers started working on proposals, thirteen years ago. A plan to convert the place into fourteen apartments has finally come to completion. Not long after the building was bought, the banking crash occurred and the flow of credit to all sorts of projects dried up, and work halted. Now there's a big sign outside and an advertisement for apartments for sale. I'd love to have a look what's been done inside the building since the Parish lost it in 2007.

Monday's housework routine was disrupted this morning by my urgent need to make an enquiry call about travel insurance cover, following up on last night's premium quotation obtained on-line. I had to wait an hour and then had a forty minute conversation enabling me to purchase cover for the next year. I paid £148 which is £37 more than the 2020 pre covid price, but then a big increase was something I expected. 

While I was waiting for the call, I worked on texts for the next Morning Prayer to pass the time, and answered a few emails about chaplaincy arrangements for next week. Clare was out at a Pilates class, so I cooked lunch. Then we drove over to Rumney for a hairdressing session with Chris - both of us. 

On our way home we called in Currys superstore to look for an electric waffle iron. It seems they don't stock them. In fact none of the big retailers of domestic goods stock them. If you want one, you have to go on-line to buy from Amazon. Is this a matter of something being out of fashion? No longer any demand? Incredible.

After supper I started checking in for my flight on-line, in response to a prompt email from Vueling, but I couldn't complete the process and get my boarding pass, as the free random seat assignation option doesn't start until tomorrow.

It's pretty certain we won't see Jasmine now, even though she's not yet tested positive for covid, but she's still in the company of people who do have it, and to reach Cardiff, whether she is driven all the way or driven to catch a Cardiff train by her covid stricken Dad, the risk of infection escalates. In my flight check-in procedure was quite a detailed notification about not flying if you've got covid or been in close contact with someone who has it within ten days. It's even stricter than I imagined, so there's no way either Clare or I should see Jasmine, just in case. So sad.

After supper, I finished my share of the housework and then watched this week's episode of Blacklist. It's an extremely dark and violent mix of criminal conspiracies and spy fiction in which vengeance is the persistent threat and the message seems to be that however nasty, the end justifies the means. A bit like Putin's mob, only these are all American Feds verses a cosmopolitan global underworld, or something. I watch to see if there'll ever be any point to the series of case stories making up the episodes.

Flight purchase hassles

Warm and sunny again today. I woke up in good time to post the Morning Prayer link to WhatsApp before Thought for the Day. After breakfast I went to St John's to celebrate the Eucharist with eight others. After cooking lunch, I went for a walk in the park. When I  returned, more emails from Costa del Sol prompted me to book my homebound flight, and a return flight for Clare. 

It's not as easy to book a flight nowadays as the pricing structure is more complex and granular, laced with options for other travel requirements pushed into the course of the booking process. I came unstuck on booking Clare's outbound flight making a series of errors with the payment verification process before getting it right, I think, but am not sure as the confirmation email is still awaited, instead of arriving within minutes. Our on-line bank account is not yet up to date, so we don't know if the flight booked has been confirmed. 

The problem for me is the secure transaction confirmation applet window, in which a texted one time passcode must be posted. Its size is too small for easy reading and it's possible to make a mistake by pressing the wrong button to send the passcode, as the correct one is on the same line as the request for a re-send is right next to it. My eyesight is not as sharp as it needs to be for such difficult interactions. If the payment issue isn't resolved in the morning, I'll have to go in to the main Santander branch in town to check, and tell them what I think about this readability issue.

I edited my biblical reflection for next Thursday's Morning Prayer, then recorded the Office and edited  it, but didn't get around to recording the reflection. That can wait until tomorrow. This evening's episode of 'The Art that Made us' was the only programme worth watching on telly tonight, dealing with the art of the twentieth century, how literature and visual art responded to the violence of the age, calling into question its meaning and purpose. Interesting.

The UN World Food Programme is voicing concern about the world wide grain shortage resulting from the Russian invasion of Ukraine. The whole of the 2021 wheat harvest is still in storage there, shipping it out from Odessa has been made impossible by the war, and this year's grain harvest is due to take its place within the month and there is nowhere to keep it. Not only is the huge increase in the market price of grain boosting inflation globally, but it's hitting poorer nations hardest of all, and limiting the amount available to aid famine stricken countries. An appeal is being made to Russia to un-blockade Odessa, but this is likely to be used as something to bargain with for concessions Russia needs. With climate change leading to extreme weather events resulting in more places being afflicted by famine, this is troubling news indeed.

State of Alarm - day Eighty Eight

Another blue sky sunny day. BBC Radio Four Sunday Worship was from Westminster Cathedral this morning, Mass offered by Cardinal Vincent Nicholls with two socially distanced assistants. It's such a huge church building, that with a priest at the altar and assistants at lecterns on either side, there could be ten metres between each of them! Previous recordings of the Ordinary of the Latin Mass sung in situ by the Cathedral choir made it special, and the Cardinal preached well, remembering the victims of the Grenfell tower tragedy on this the third anniversary and reflecting on the shared experience of doing without the Eucharist and Communion over the past three months, just as the churches are allowed once more to be open for private prayer.

Rosi came around for a farewell chat at midday, reminding me that hereafter I will be known as the 'Lockdown Locum Chaplain', whether anyone remembers my name or not. I cooked curried chicken and potatoes for lunch, and made a starter using mussles, olives and chopped apples. Interesting!

After siesta I walked down to Cala de Bou again and along the shoreline to Cala des Torrents. After some days of absence the little colony of cormorants was back on their rocky outcrop in  the sea. I photographed them just before lock-down three months ago, and now again on my farewell visit. Clare sent me a photo showing a cormorant on a stony shoal in the river Taff, plus the Goosander family which lives there, near the cricket ground, if my memory serves me right.

I completed and printed off the UK government form required for entry at Heathrow so I can be traced in quarantine. The instruction says you can keep it on your 'phone, supposedly if you can't get a print out. Three sheets of A4! It's illegible on anything but a tablet to anyone checking at Border control. Why on earth the can't reduce the essential details it to a QR code that can be scanned from your phone or a piece of paper, like with an airline ticket, heaven knows. A nicely laid out Web 2 style form, leading to a finish that's more trouble than it's worth. All I need now is my boarding pass for the UK bound flight, available tomorrow morning I think, then I am fully ready.

I've made up two thirds of a loaf of rye bread into jamon and hummous sandwiches to sustain me during my sojourn, then I don't have to go out and look for food, effectively quarantining myself in Barcelona to be on the safe side. Then there was the food cupboard to sort out, so unopened packets can be kept in store and opened ones given away. The house is going to be shut down until the next locum can arrive safely, probably in the autumn. Such a strange turn of events.

State of Alarrn - day Eighty

Another hot blue sky day and windy. As the new set of antibiotics took effect overnight I was awake hourly and going to the toilet, which left me very tired and stressed. I also had a nose bleed, which threw me off course. I was meant to go walking with Solveig late morning but I just couldn't gather my wits to meet the rendezvous, so in the end I didn't go. 

It's not physical incapacity or confidence, but rather my mind is overwhelmed and preoccupied with surviving this infection and getting home. This last few weeks it's become harder and harder to manage changes and take on new things, as if I have aged a decade. It's all about the stress of not being where I need and want to be, I know that. I'm in survival mode, desperate not to break under the strain and become even more of a liability to others. But I am grateful that I can still do as much as I can without messing up.

I walked down to Cala des Torrents again when it cooled off late afternoon. The beach was crowded and the beach bar was open and with a dozen or so customers sipping Mohitos. On the way back, I had a phone call from Kath telling my that my Ibiza-Barcelona flight on 16th has been cancelled. I've not had any notification from Vueling, and she only spotted it when she was reviewing the work she'd done on my flight bookings. The sixth cancellation, and without notification. I was too numb to react.

Quick thinking Kath had already booked me on an afternoon flight to Barcelona on 15th. I'll have to stop overnight, to get the regular scheduled flight to London Heathrow on 16th. It does seem to be running every day. She'd already found me a stopover hotel in El Prat de Lobregat nearby, with an airport shuttle service, so we booked it straight away.

My sister Pauline is slowly deteriorating, and I think of her saying she's ready to go, but lingering on still, and the distress of Nicky who's with her and Jules who cannot get out of Dubai because of covid-19, and may not be able to get to the funeral, because of the time taken to obtain necessary visas if he wishes to return there to his job. Heart breaking it is.
  

Travel plans in place at last

My Llandaff diocese CRB check certificate arrived in this morning's post and was immediately sent of to the Provincial office for inspection as required. That won't be necessary next time round in five years, as the Church in Wales as well as me will have recourse to the full on-line service by then. It's a shame the Province is that far behind the CofE, which went digital five years ago.

I called the EHIC Plus help-desk after breakfastt and discussed my travel insurance premium. I found out that the standard rate could be applied if my condition awaiting the final operation was exempted from the policy. This seems reasonable to me. I am managing things well, and bearing in mind what happened in Montreux 18 months ago, would rather fly home and go to the nearest A&E, if anything threatened to de-rail my progress than seek surgery abroad. Follow through specialised treatment in situ would be impossible as a temporary resident. I believe the risk of anything going wrong is very low, both surgeons and my GP didn't seem to think so, and I can't be the first and only person to be in this position before. I paid over the phone and within minutes the policy documents arrived by email.

With that done, I set about investigating travel arrangements. The only outbound EasyJet flight to Mallorca from Bristol in the first week of March leaves at seven in the morning, so I'll be obliged to take the 02h30 coach from Cardiff to the airport, something I've done once before, though I can't remember when. When I get to Palma, I'll be able to visit the local branch of the Ministry of the Interior and apply in person for the Spanish police check. This may take a day or so to see though properly, so I'll stay at least one or two nights in a Hostal, and then take the ferry to Ibiza. I may even get to do some sightseeing!

I couldn't find a direct return flight, but there was an 08h40 Vueling flight to Barcelona, and another EasyJet flight to Bristol three hours after landing. I believe (I hope) they use the same terminal. KLM offered possibilities of a flight to Cardiff or Bristol via Schipol, but their website is pretty unfriendly compared to Vueling and to EasyJet, so I soon lost interest. I was amazed at how much time it took to do the research and book the flights. It was late by the time got out for a walk. I set out in the dry but got drenched by a heavy shower toward the end, so I covered the shortest distance of the week.

I am so looking forward to resuming pastoral ministry with one community for a couple of months, as opposed to being on call by the Cardiff Area Deans or our own Team Rector to fill in wherever the need exists. As it's Lent and Eastertide, this measure of continuity is mutually beneficial. I can maybe plan with the church pastoral team how to go about the teaching side of ministry over that period. I'll have an opportunity and time to prepare fresh material to use as well, which I find stimulating. Even so, I can't help but feel nervous about getting started again, and perhaps that nervousness added to the difficulties I had with travel planning. Being stuck at home and so vulnerable for such a long time has left its mark on me, over and above physical injury.

Today, priority booking for the 20-21 WNO season of opera performances opens, so I went down to the Millennium Centre and bought the selection of tickets which Clare and I had decided upon before she went to Arizona. Not only do we get seats in the row we want, but also at a 15% discount. It's one of the special things we enjoy about living in Cardiff, just a short journey away from a world class opera house and performing company.

Travelling home

Having readied the apartment for the arrival of the next locum, and needing to get up at four, never an easy thing for me, I slept uneasily on the sofa in my travelling clothes. At three fifteen, I had one of those 'checking everything, something's missing' dreams, featuring this Chromebook on which I write. Mercifully, I woke up realising that I hadn't packed the charger, still connected to a bank of sockets in the study. I retrieved and packed it, thanking my digital guardian angel, and went back to sleep for another thirty five minutes.

This time around I proposed not to book a cab or hail one, but to walk over the Calle Maestraza just behind the Plaza de Toros, where I'd noticed taxis park and wait by day and night. By twenty five past four I was on my way to the airport, and joined the dozen other early birds in the check-in queue at a quarter to five, and quarter of an hour before it was due to open. One desk was already open to receive bags. 

By ten to five, three desks were open, as the influx built up behind me. There are four early Vueling foreign departures, and the queue in the first hour of opening is very long. But the system is very well organised, as I found last time when I arrived over twenty minutes late at the end of that long queue and found eight desks open. Just before official desk opening time I was on my way to security clearance, through by five past five, and starting to relax into the wait, expecting to fly at seven thirty. 

Thanks to another French air traffic controllers' strike however, we left at five past nine. I'd made a picnic breakfast to eat on the 'plane, but ate it at the departure gate. Even cheese sandwiches can be a consolation with a three and a half hour wait to board the flight. Also Vueling's phone app proved to be a consolation, as it gave flight info updates on the delay every ten minutes, and a nine thirty departure time crept forward by twenty-five minutes. Heaven knows how that was managed!

I slept for most of the flight, but returning from a visit to the toilet, a fellow passenger called me out by name. It was Fr Stephen Ryan, recently retired as Team Rector of Neath, returning home from a month's in Torremolinos, a nice way to recuperate from all those fond farewells. Arriving in Cardiff at half past eleven, I didn't have long to wait for the two buses that would get me home by a quarter past twelve, in good time for lunch.

As ever, the first job was to start the two computers that need to run a backlog of three months Windows 10 updates, so many of them requiring checks and oversights that it took the rest of the day. By way of contrast, the Chromebook, likewise tablet and phones just functioned and instantly updated, save for resetting the time zone manually. There is a possible automatic adjustment, but I'm not sure how long these devices take to identify their new location in relation to the internet time server. 

Manual resetting allows one to keep the clock in a time zone in which you're no located at that moment. I believe there's an option to display more than one time zone too, but don't know how it works. Such things are possible, and for some users necessary for easily maintaining international communications. Google Calendar offers time zone options for engagement entries, but I still haven't figured out how this is meant to work, if you're entering data for use in another time zone. All this tech savvy business about keeping your life on track only works well if you have a real clue about how it works.

The weather here is fairly warm, but will get colder with rain to come. Time to hunt out a pullover. Opening three months mail will have to wait until tomorrow.

Travel - expecting the unexpected

Clare's time with me here in Malaga has passed all too quickly. This morning, after packing her case we went for a walk, bought and then some fish for lunch before setting off for the airport. She is ever keen to allow more than enough time in getting started on a journey, so we left the apartment at two for a three thirty bag check-in rendezvous (according to her Vueling flight notification on the digital calendar she doesn't use). Normally three quarters of an hour is enough for a walk to the Metro stop on the Alameda and taking the thrice hourly service to the airport. 

Lately I found that the number three bus from the stop outside the apartment stops not only at the Alameda, but goes on to stop outside the side entrance to Estacion Maria Zambrano, very close to the second Metro stop on the airport line, more convenient, a little less challenging if you're tugging a case behind you and the same fare cost either way. Things didn't go according to plan, however.

The number three bus which arrived on time was packed to the doors. The driver let passengers off but wouldn't let anyone one. Rather than wait ten minutes for the next one, we walked over to the Paseo del Parque where there are several bus stops for service across town, including the number one, which also drops you outside the station. This deposited us at the entrance only five minutes later than planned. 

The Metro entrance has several automatic ticket machines and a wide entrance, so rarely is there a queue. On this occasion, the reason for this was that the ticketing network node has crashed and none of the machines were working! Fortunately, there was a real human being on ticket office duty, and we didn't have to queue. A competent human being is far faster than a fiddly slow automatic machine. We then had nearly fifteen minutes to wait for a train, and eventually arrived at Departures half an hour ahead of the recommended time. The check-in queue was relatively short processing thirty odd travellers in a quarter of an hour through half a dozen counters. Impressively efficient.

After a farewell cuppa, we took our leave of each other. An info panel display warned that a French air traffic controllers' strike might cause delays, but the Vueling phone app said Clare's flight was running to time. Not true. As the actual departure time approached, a delay of seventy five minutes was posted. Being prudent, she'd made a picnic meal to take with her 'just in case'. That's my girl, prepared for every eventuality. At nine, I received a text message so say she'd landed in Cardiff, and she was back at home three quarters of an hour later. 

It's amazing to be able to travel such distances with relative ease, despite glitches or delays which can add a couple of hours to a journey time. Such a complex, yet routine operation for millions every day. We are so spoiled. It's such a shame that some travellers seem to make no allowances for things going awry, and get upset about it on social media or in the press.

At our  age, we look back to early back-pack adventures in Greece, and having to wait an extra day for a ferry between islands, as schedules were rarely published and often elastic, according to the demand on local transport. To think - we were so young, but not in a hurry, just taking things as they came, no sense of entitlement, only of the gift of freedom to be and to travel, more or less in an organised way. In those far off days B.C. (before car), we were much blessed.

     

Getting started in Malaga

I was awake just before the alarm at five, and after breakfast, left in a taxi for the city centre to catch the ten past six T9 airport shuttle. There were fewer people than last time queuing at the Vueling bag drop when I arrived, half an hour later. Even so, the flight was full. I'm not sure if the incoming flight from Malaga was delayed, or boarding took longer than usual, as we were half an hour late setting off and arriving. We flew through cloud all the way. For a change, I had an aisle seat and with no opportunity to see very little outside, dozed most of the way.

St George's organist David met me and delivered me to the chaplaincy apartment, familiar from my summer visit last year. Straightaway, I two food shopping trips, one to the SuperSol nearby and the other to Mercadona. I then cooked a meal, and organised my thoughts for tomorrow, when I have a midweek Communion plus Bible Study in the morning, followed by an afternoon Bible Study out in Velez Malaga. 

Doreen the Curate was assigned these duties, but the past couple of weeks of very heavy rainstorms have made getting around up country by car a precarious exercise, due to floods and hazards from rock strewn roads, plus unpredictable cloudbursts to make driving risky. She was unable to make it to Malaga last Sunday as a result. The seventy odd miles of motorway into the interior are not a problem. It's the caminos rurales, and the track from her hillside home up to a metalled road. Fine for most of the year, but Spain has long been notorious for the impact of its extreme weather events.

According to the press, in the past month, Andalusia has gone from water shortage to having full reservoirs. That's unusual of itself, and unexpected, apparently. Today has been dry and overcast. I wonder what it'll be like in the coming week?

Snow day three - the melt begins

By the time we got up this morning, the outdoor temperature had risen to minus one, and during the day rose to three degrees. It remained overcast with little wind, and there was light rain. As snow on the street started to melt, it became a bit more slippery than yesterday. It's not forecasted to freeze fortunately. By Monday normality should return and the days of quietness resembling Christmas be replaced by the usual relentless drudgery of winter in the city.

Cardiff Airport website displays a departure board for the coming days, with some cancellations but the Vueling flights are all happening, albeit with some delay. There are fewer flights to Spain at this time of year, thus any backlog from the past couple of days of airport closure won't be quite so long. The airport is sometimes vulnerable to high winds, fog or extreme rain, exposed as it is to the Bristol Channel. It's rarer for it to be cut off by snow. Hopefully, things will be back to normal by Tuesday when I leave, unlike northern and eastern Britain, still crippled by snow.

We walked before lunch out to Llandaff Fields, then down to the shops in Pontcanna. The Co-op has re-opened, though it's not yet been restocked, and some of the shelves are unusually empty. The supply chain still isn't working as it usually does with so many roads still out of operation. I expect it's the same all over the country.

We had a delicious cup of Peruvian coffee in Kemi's at Pontcanna nearby before returning for lunch. It was busy with people returning from walks in the snow slightly damp from the drizzle. Yesterday's powdery snow is fast packing down and melting, as much from beneath as above since the ground doesn't have a chance to chill deeply enough to preserve snow after only a week of zero degree weather, as it would with a long spell at minus ten. Thank goodness air temperatures are set to stay above freezing, so we'll have to put up with slush in the streets for the time being.

Return to base

Monday morning, with departure tasks completed, ready to go, I had a farewell visit from Pam and Alwyn, and with them a tech' team to connect house cabling to a roof dish antenna. Had I requested, this could have been done when I arrived, but I've been content to live without telly here for the past couple of months as I did last year, and during my spells in Malaga. It started with that December I spent in Sicily four years ago, when I realised how much of a time waster telly can be. Choosing to watch programmes via the internet when possible means I'm much more selective and economical with time than I used to be. There's work to be done refitting the apartment kitchen before the new Chaplain arrives in February, and there's another locum between now and then. I wish the Warden well, in getting this done in good time.

I said my Goodbyes at midday and drove to the Antas industrial estate adjacent to the A7 autovia, to meet with Tony and Janice for the trip to the town of El Altet near Alicante Airport, to stay at the Hostal Pensimar on the outskirts, which accommodated me overnight for my early flight home in November last year. I drove all the way there and enjoyed doing so. It's the longest drive I've done in Spain in recent years, 230km, just under two and half hours. I checked in to find my room was the same one I occupied last year, which was vaguely comforting. I told the desk clerk I'd stayed on November 14th last year, and he confirmed in a second that it was in their computer record.

Before parting company, we had a drink and a tapa at a nearby bar, then with a couple of hours of daylight left, due to an earlier arrival than last year, I went for an exploratory walk around town. I could see no evidence that was anything other than a late twentieth century development, established to serve airport workers and associated industries, built on a rectangular grid plan on the east side of the airport, closest to the sea coast, about 5km distant. The parish church had almost no distinguishing features, resembling a warehouse or a basic municipal community centre. I think it may have been built with  multiple uses in mind. It was closed, and  the exterior didn't look nearly as bright as in the web photos Its title written over an east facing facade is 'Temple de Sta Maria del Mar rather than Iglesia. I wonder why? 

On the way back to the hotel, I bought some food to supplement what I had brought with me, for a picnic lunch and supper in my room. Having no interest in going out again at night, I ready to sleep and was in bed by ten. I was up, and breakfasting an hour before the alarm went off, and took a taxi to the airport at a quarter to eight. The airport was still quiet and there were no queues to check in or to clear security, so I had a full two hours to wait in the departure hall.

The boarding process was chaotic. Another flight for Amsterdam was called, due to leave shortly after ours at the gate opposite. Passengers for both were trying to queues at the same time, with the Cardiff flight queue forming ahead of Amsterdam flight, snaking right across the gate used by the latter. There was nothing to partition the queues, no signs forestall confusion, and the Amsterdam ground staff turned up too late to avert ensuing chaos.

Adding to the chaos was the gate digital display panel, advising of the separation of Priority (rows 1-15) from Other passengers. A dozen mobility impaired passengers were queuing there. Some foot passengers occupying rows 1-15 were unsure whether or not 'Priority' meant them too, and didn't hold back. Mobility impaired passengers board first, wherever seated. Foot passengers occupying rows 1-15 sensibly with Vueling board last, but only if an intelligible announcement is made first.

Leaving it to staff inspecting boarding passes at the gate to separate and retain foot passengers for rows 1-15 is time consuming enough, even more so if an explanation is required. It's confusing and distressing if no explanation is offered, given a majority of passengers on this route are elderly occasional flyers. A clear large sized static boarding information panel at the point where passenger queue separation is required, giving the boarding order is all that would be required to eliminate herding chaos and anxiety. Once we were boarded, however, calm and order reigned and the flight was uneventful. I dozed fitfully, waking up just in time to see the Ebro Delta slipping away below, its huge rice paddies no longer a patchwork of greens and gold, but dark grey, hard to recognise in contrast. Memories of happy sojourns down there with the Costa Azahar Chaplaincy.

I was home by five to two, welcomed by Clare with a hot meal. After unpacking my case later, we found the the mains electricity switch had tripped. Nothing we tried could restore it, even with diagnostic help on the phone from our dear Greek electrician who rewired the house eight years ago. Eventually he came around, and methodically went through every appliance in the place narrowing it down to a multi socket board in my study. The most recent thing plugged in there was my laptop charger which normally lives there. Once removed, all was well. Whether it's a dying charger or one faulty socket, I don't know, but we were most relieved he saved the day for us. Funny, the charger was working fine in Spain until Sunday. If it's a problematic socket, has it killed the charger? That's for another day. Another long night's sleep now needed to recover from travel, and the traumas of homecoming, on this occasion.

Mojácar bound

I was pleased not to have to get up extra early for my Alicante bound flight this morning, and said goodbye to Clare at ten to nine. I was less pleased when no 61 bus appeared after twenty minutes waiting. I that time normally three should have appeared. Feeling desperate and furious at Cardiff Bus, I strode down to a bus stop on Cowbridge Road, and caught an X1 bus to the bottom of St Mary Street, after a two minute wait. As I boarded, three 61 buses came past on to Cowbridge Road within minutes of each other, one a double decker. What on earth is going on? What excuse can there be for this kind of unpredictability when buses now use digital scheduling mechanisms that synchornise with bus stop heads up displays?

Thankfully, a T9 Airport shuttle bus pulled in a minute after my arrival at the Custom House Street stop, the one after I had intended to catch. Just as I arrived at Vueling bag drop, the desks opened to receive luggage from a queue of about forty people, and I began to calm down and relax. Forty give minutes later, I sat and waited in the departure lounge for my flight to be called and drank a coffee. The flight left on time and arrived early. By half past four, I was being waved at by Tony and Janice who'd kindly come to collect me. My original plan had been to take a coach and be picked up, late evening, from Huercal Overa bus station, an hour from Mojacar, but anxiety about whether my back would cope with such a journey, when healing nicely after a treatment by Kay on Monday, led me to ask if I could be picked up.

Just after seven, we reached Mojácar. I deposited my bags in the Chaplaincy apartment, and was then taken out to supper at the Mediterraneo beach Restaurant at the other end of town. It was a very pleasant experience with a full view of the sea with an almost full moon, through the dining room window. Then, back to the apartment to unpack and get on line. It was easier said than done unfortunately, as the router was not functionng properly. 

It's a Huwawei 4G hub, designed to link to a carrier signal from a local cellphone mast, and deliver fast-ish broadband to any number of home devices. I discovered that it wasn;t working since it had hit its data cap. Interestingly enough, it has a second 4G PAYG sim for top-up purposes, arranged in a rather convoluted way by phone to the account managment call centre. I may be wrong, but having read the instructions provided about this, the device had the drained PAYG SIM card in it. I found the other SIM, inserted it and immediately had broadband wifi, since the previous months data cap had been replaced by the October allowance. The system had been idle over the week since the previous locum Chaplain left. 

The concept makes sense, but it would be more effective if it was possible to augment the data allowance via a mobile phone. Perhaps you can, but nobody has bothered yet, as there's a different habitual way of getting things to work. It's just a bit disconcerting when arriving in a new place and having to troubleshoot before phoning home and going to bed. Ah well, never mind. It's good to be here again in a familiar place.

Home run saga

Most of Monday was occupied with packing, and domestic chores, so the furthest I want was to the rubbish bins on the opposite side of the road. At the end of the afternoon. I took a final paseo along La Malagueta beach promenade, around the port and through the Old Town, feeling that I'm going to miss this place rather a lot. In the evening I settled down early to sleep, and got about four hours, before rising at half past three. I was outside the apartment waiting for the taxi ordered to take me to the airport at four. Over the next half hour I was passed by half a dozen taxis. Only one stopped and the taxista was just hunting for a fare. He wasn't the one ordered to deliver me to the airport. It was clear something had gone wrong, so I then hailed another taxi, which got me to the airport five minutes faster than I could have driven the same route, but I had to pay €25.

Half an hour later than planned, meant that 200 people were queuing to drop bags and or check in. If I'd arrived as the first desks were open, I'd have been on my way to Security in ten minutes. It took 35 minutes this time. What was impressive was the way Vueling scaled up the number of desks open from four to a dozen while I was waiting. This speeded up the queuing rate considerably. As a result, anxiety levels gradually dropped among fellow travellers. People were queuing from the tail of the queuing control zone out of the airport doors by the time my turn came. In this early morning slot there are half a dozen Vueling flights all leaving within the same hour, so that's 1,500 people and luggage to process, given that all those flights would be full at this seasonal peak demand time.

It's a long walk to the Vueling departure gates, but I had enough time to walk at a relaxed pace, but not to stop for coffee. Boarding unusually began a little earlier than expected. I settled in my seat and sarted dozing while other passengers arrived. Then a steward asked me and the couple next to me if we would be willing to move seats, to accommodate a mother and two small children. I was moved up to 1A, on the front row nearest the door, a more comfortable seat, and free upgrade!

In the early days when we took EasyJet flights to and from Geneva and there was no seat reservation policy, I always aimed for a left hand side front row seat. This meant that I could get away first when we landed, and walk at my own brisk pace to passport control, without having to weave my way past slower passengers struggling to wheel their cabin cases. It's years since I sat in that position on any aircraft. On the approach ot Cardiff Airport we crossed the Seven Estuary and circled over Steepholm giving me the best view of it I've ever had, in the clear light of the rising sun. Wales, looking green and beautiful as ever, but ten degrees colder than Malaga, very noticeable as I've been fighting a cold since Sunday.

I received a text message while waiting for my case, to say that the taxista had gone to Calle Reding , a back street behind the main road, instead of Paseo Reding. Spanish postcodes don't have the same pinpoint accuracy as British ones, though there is a numbered bus stop outside the apartment, where I waited. This snippet of information would have forestalled the near disaster.

Anyway, by half past nine Clare and I were breakfasting together, and the rest of the day unfolded with usual post travel chores - looking at mail, updating the house Windows computers. They can't be relied on to do this without supervision. After two months off-line there are selected updates to complete, and this is done at a different pace on machines with different hardware. Sometimes they get stuck and need a nudge. There's also the latest edition of Libre Office 5.4 to download and install. It's always a pleasure to do this on any device that can take it, as the updating works so well.

Relieved to be home again unscathed. Only one glitch, however. I forgot to leave behind my spare set of apartment keys. They aren't the only ones available, but I'll need to send them back soon.

     

Night music

I didn't sleep much. Clare's alarm went off well before mine, so I cancelled it. We left the apartment to retrieve the car from the cemetery at four fifteen, and by twenty to five, after driving through empty streets with most traffic lights showing green, we were hastily kissing goodbye, whilst coping with new drop off parking arrangements I wasn't prepared for. 

Very short stay cars must now take a ticket and get corralled into the multi storey parking complex, level with the departure hall, and you get fifteen minutes for free, though the system isn't clear as to whether you must validate your ticket before leaving within the free time, as you must when you need to pay. I was able to drop Clare off as close as possible to the entry where Terminals Two and Three meet. This is convenient, as Vueling check-in desks are opposite this entrance. She had all the time to spare she needed, and texted me progress reports until she arrived in Cardiff.

As I drove back, still two hours before dawn, the new moon was rising over the horizon, an orange sliver of light in dust laden darkness, hanging above the Avenida de Andalusia as I drove eastwards back into the city centre. A wondrous sight. I went back to bed and made up some of the sleep I'd lost, though not enough, and passed the day pottering about until it was cool enough in the evening to do some food shopping, and then go far a stroll along the Palmeria de las Sopresas.

A bassist and a singing electric guitar player were busking at the start of the open air sculpture display. I think they were singing in Portuguese. On the open air stage of the 'Artsenal' art-space, a jazz quartet was busy re-creating the music and ethos of Django Reinhardt and Stephane Grapelly in the 1930s Hot Club de Paris quintet. The violinist, apparently classically trained, learning how to swing, was using sheet music when she wasn't improvising. The two guitarists and bassist were using tablets showing chord sequences for tunes. It sounded pretty authentic, despite lacking the third guitarist. Each evening I go down there, something different is happening live. What a treat.
   

A flamenco day to remember

I said Morning Prayer in St George's at the appointed hour, as nobody came for the Eucharist. There were signs the church yard hadn't been opened to the public yesterday or today. Once duty was done, Clare and I walked into the Old Town to visit the Flamenco Museum just around the corner from the Museum of Interactive Music we went to yesterday. 

The museum occupies the second and third floors of the Casa de la Peña Juan Breva. The word peña translates as 'rock' or 'crag' in English as in the dedication Nuestra Señora de la Peña, which shows up in Marian mountain sanctuaries. I came across this first in the parish of Mijas, not too far from Malaga. The word is, however, also used to describe a circle of friends who form an association, so, peña flamenca, are to be found all over Spain. These are associations of people who sing, play or dance flamenco, and enthusiastic supporters and promoters who want not just to preserve but also to promote this performing art.

The ground floor of the Casa de la Peña is a clubroom bar and restaurant. I think the courtyard area is a performance space., but we didn't see that. We paid one euro each and were taken upstairs and shown around by one of the peña stalwarts, a man about our age. He spoke some English, perhaps an assortment of other European language phrases as well, but was pleased that we made an effort not just to listen but to converse with him about every aspect of the material on display. He spent an hour with us, explaining, telling stories at a pace we could manage, with such enthusiasm, it was a real delight, and not difficult to keep up with him either, when he speeded up.

The museum has artifacts belonging to the history of 19th-20th century Malaguenian flamenco heroes - photos, portraits, sketches, engravings, publicity posters, clothing, flamenco dancers' shoes, percussion instruments, and best of all, a dozen well worn twentieth century guitars, played by one or other of los maestros. The one that caught my attention quickly was a 1930s Valencian guitar, by Vicente Tatay. My first Spanish guitar was a 1960's instrument by the same luthier, so it thrilled me to observe the likeness, although worn and aged, I think mine is more worn, given so much less than expert use over the past 54 years. 

Enthusing about this in Spanish with our guide at the start really boosted my confidence for this little extra curricular learning exercise. I learned, however, that for the past 54 years I have been pronouncing the maker's name incorrectly. 'Tatay', sounds like Tat-ae (as in och'ae). I never knew, but won't forget what I've discovered in this amazing encounter.

We left the peña and went for a drink on one of the nearby plazas, discussing what we should do next. Clare was keen to see a flamenco show, and regretted that tonight's performance at the peña would start too late for it to be possible to attend with an airport departure at four in the morning. On our Museum of Interactive Music visit yesterday, people were queuing as we departed for an in house flamenco show. Clare thought it was a one-off show, but agreed we should return and check. Happily, we discovered it happens most days, and seems to make use of performers from an escuela flamenca in the city, and, the show was just about to start. Well, after fifteen minutes waiting in a chilly air conditioned performance studio, along with a couple of dozen others.

The forty minute show featured three high quality artists; a virtuoso guitarist, a singer, and a dancer. The studio has room for about thirty, so everyone sits close to the performers. It must be quite hard for them, as it's hard to draw in a formal audience of inhibited strangers, conditioned to watch, and not to join in, with no alcohol or camaraderie to help generate an atmosphere. I noticed advertising for the evening show at Peña Juan Breva, stated that the price included tapas and a glass of vino malagueño. That would do the trick for sure. Still, the lunchtime performance was excellent, well worthwhile, and it put us in the mood for lunching while we were out.

Just off the east side of the Plaza de la Constitución is a famous alley - paisaje de Chinitas, where there was once a coffee house frequented by artists and intellectuals, among them, the poet Federico Garcia Lorca. He immortalised the place with a verse which is displayed on a panel of tiles high above the fish restuarant which now occupies the buildings. Here we dined well, with fresh fired berenjenas Andalusian style with cane sugar garnish, a marvellous sopa de mariscos, followed by pascadito and salmonillas. It was quite hot in the alley, although we were shielded from the sun by a toldo, but we ate unhurriedly and made the most of this last opportunity to feast together.

We returned at tea time so Clare could pack her case, then walked to the cemetery to check that the church car parked there hadn't been blocked in by some unannounced vehicle arrival. Then we went to the beach, so she could have a paddle in the sea at sunset, before retiring early to bed, before the inevitable three thirty wake up call, heading for a six forty Vueling flight back to Cardiff. Once more my life will change its pace tomorrow, returning to solitude for the last eleven days of my sojourn in the wonderful city. 

Another locum adventure begins

I didn't go out at all yesterday, but spent much of the day packing my case and checking I had just the right things I need for spending time in Spain. It rained anyway, so I had no  motivation to take exercise. I got to bed by eleven, however, and was up and breakfasting by five after a fitful night's sleep, then on my way to Cowbridge Road for a bus to town to catch the airport shuttle by quarter to six. I was so grateful to see that normality had been restored to the city centre after the weekend's lock-down, so the T9 collected me at 06.20, as usual. Fifty people were already queuing to check in at 06.45 when I arrived. Not late home-bound hung-over footie fans, but families with pre-school children, and frail elderlies heading for a place in the sun, all suffused with holiday good cheer.

By 07.15 I was through security and doing my Duo Lingo daily drill in the departure area, quite badly, under the effect of a  poor night's sleep. The flight left a little late but arrived on time. For a change, I had an aisle seat, so couldn't gaze out of the window at the landscape from 35,000 feet as a usually do in between bouts of dozing. This time I read 'Ling' the airline magazine, produced in English and Spanish, but this time I read only in Spanish, only occasionally checking expression and words that were new to me. It's a lot easier since I last tried to do that, six months ago. Maybe it's a sign of improvement, despite memory lapses on bad days.

Rosella was there to meet me, and drive me into Malaga to the chaplaincy apartment, where I'll be staying, in La Malagueta barrio, 300m from St George's Church. It's on the second floor opposite the Plaza de Toros, overlooking a busy thoroughfare. It's a 1960's building in good condition, with high ceilinged rooms in a spacious apartment. It took me a while to find the kitchen, as I had quite forgotten that the layout of some older apartments puts the kitchen by the front door - from where a maid or housekeeper might run the place. 

I decided not wait for the starter food supply ran out to stock up, so walked to a Mercdona 500m away. In fact, I did the trip twice as I couldn't carry everything I knew I'd need first time around. I certainly needed the exercise after travelling early in the day. On one trip I popped into the church to chat with Rosella, who was hunting through old legal documents to do with the church. Given the chaplaincy's unusual history, I imagine there's a fascinating collection of material relating to it in the archives of the Diocese of London, of which European chaplaincies were part, under the former suffragan see of Fulham and Gibraltar, before the formation of the Diocese in Europe.

After supper I walked around the barrio and along the promenade of Playa la Malagueta, busier with joggers than with strollers, it seemed. I found the modern Parish Church and was surprised not to find an external notice board telling anything about it. Google Maps informs me that it's the Parish Church of San Gabriel. I wonder when it's open?

After Skyping Clare, I was ready for bed, surprised by how quiet the street below had become after the evening rush hour, and quieter still in the bedroom furthest away from the street.