St Luke honoured nevertheless

It's St Luke's Day, and I confess my sadness at not having an opportunity to celebrate this fiesta at Mass with a worshipping community. We know more about the kind of man he was from his Gospel and the Acts of the Apostles, than from any biography that might be constructed about him. I'd like to think that the attention his writings give to people, and what they had to endure in life, has had lasting influence on how pastoral care is  understood among Christians.

The morning's overcast weather turned briefly to thunder and rain by lunchtime. After rain, a fresh outbreak of birdsong from the trees in this neighborhood. The distinct voice of the blackbird among the hosts of starlings and doves. Once the skies began to clear, I walked out across the charco road bridge, then up and around the periphery of the Marina del Torre Golf course, where last year I spotted hoopoes and took several photos. No such luck this time. 

Rain threatened, which brought me back downhill quite fast. I hung around the area for three quarters of an hour, waiting to inspect the small array of shops servicing golf course apartments to reopen after siesta, listening meanwhile on my Blackberry to St Luke's Day Evensong, broadcasted on BBC Radio Three. It was strangely soothing at the end of a dull uneventful afternoon.

The shops, in the basement of an apartment block were half shoe and clothing outlets, most of the remaining space was taken by a Chinese dry goods store. I love the Greek term 'pantopoleion' which describes such comprehensive retailing. The corner nearest the street was a mini-market whose stocks reflected current lack of demand from holiday visitors. Few people I imagine, apart from staff live in this area out of season. Interesting to see, nevertheless. 

The economy in leisure resorts is by nature, cyclical. Only those who are good at long term planning will profit from investing in property and infrastructure here. There's always money to be made around the staging of big one-off leisure events, like festivals and tournaments, but those investing time and energy in those activities are not so likely to be there long term. 

It's interesting to compare different kinds of economic enterprise, with the diversity of inter-relationships between species in the natural world. Inter-dependency, balance and resilience under external and internal pressure enable all kinds of species to flourish. Disasters happen when any part of any dynamic system fails to take into account its connection to the whole. 

It's what see now in relation to brexit, and in America's relationship to everything which isn't of America, as defined by the Trump presidency. The world is in the process of re-learning essential lessons at the moment. The harsh way, unfortunately.

 

Caring for the watercourse

After a good long sleep, Monday began with a walk to Mercadona to shop for groceries. Then came a call about a funeral on Friday, another bereavement in the hamlet of Los Corrascos outside Arboleas, in the early 1990s urbanizacion I was called on to visit about a funeral last week. My tea time bird watching walk was interrupted by a call from Ashley. We spent a long time on the phone which led to me drafting a statement for publication about recent BCRP changes for emailing by Julie to the CBS user base not long before I went to bed. 

Today it's been mainly cloudy and cool, good walking weather. First I went to the nature reserve and saw an egret for the first time this year. Curiously, it was roosting in a waterside reed bed a couple of metres away from the one grey heron I've now seen a couple of times.

I continued walking up the north side track along the bank of rio Aguas. Where the river bed bends at the top of the valley, a large tracked vehicle with a mowing arm was attacking the tall thick forest of reeds and cane that has taken over the surface of the river bed where water runs underground. Last time I walked up here, I noticed that extensive clearance of the watercourse had recently taken place. 

Further up towards the pueblo, the dry river bed seems free of this kind of vegetation. Gravel bedding whether natural or artificial, I don't know, seems only to permit a scattering of small bushes there. It may be that subterranean water runs under bedrock or at least too deep for reed and cane to flourish in that section. It makes sense to clear the watercourse, as dense vegetation would impede the immense if occasional flow of storm water and cause a low lying area to floor. Prevention is better than cure. The marine wetland area will suffer damage any time there's a huge amount of storm water but as I've seen, following last winter's coastal floods, the ecosystem is indeed resilient.

I climbed up to the top of Mojácar Pueblo, right to the mirador on the site of the mediaeval castillo. The imposing 1970s hotel El Moresco dominating the north face of the hill on which the town stands has been 'closed for repairs' for the past seven years, its glass front entrance doors and walls have graffiti on them now. An early victim of recession, refurbishment fund-raising or investment beyond reach, it's slowly turning into an eyesore, in contrast to the rest of the pueblo, which looks well kept and prosperous.

When I was here mid November last, I arrived to find that the huge north facing mirador terrace had been closed and was being excavated. I believe the condition of the car parks underneath the terrace was the reason for this unexpected activity, at the end of the autumn holiday season. Sure enough, the terrace had been restored, and its neighboring restaurants were open for business. It looked, however, as if the car park restoration is still a work in progress. More parking nightmares for locals, sadly.

The walk back down to the apartment took another hour despite taking a shortcut on tracks away from the main road to Mojácar Playa, and I made it before twilight. A walk of about 10km in all. I'll sleep well tonight.

Finally, I got around to remembering to look back at blog entries made during my stay here last year, in an effort to recover the forgotten local Spanish word used to describe the nature reserve's water enclosure. It's charco which translates as 'puddle' rather than pool or pond, perhaps because by nature it may grow or shrink according to weather conditions, so its boundaries may be somewhat fluid. A nice little linguistic curiosity.