Spring ends, Summer comes

The longest day, traditional beginning of Summer, warm enough for the fans to be running during the Almuñecár Eucharist, making enough background noise to encroach on the peace and quiet normally enjoyed at this relatively early morning celebration. A holiday making couple joined us. The husband said he'd been in Llandaff Cathedral Parish Choir when he was a boy. A lovely little link with home. At San Miguel later, we had Canadian, French and Norwegian visitors in the congregation. 

There was a Catholic locum priest in the sacristy when I arrived, from Antequera. We chatted briefly before our service began. He hung around discreetly while we worshipped. After half an hour of socialising at the Eucharist, I returned to the church to collect my new hat, forgotten, but still there on the sacrsity table. The priest was busy with a pre-lunch baptism service. I wondered what time he'd get to eat today.

When I got back to Church house I was incredibly tired, not so much physically but drained more in mind that body. I slumped in a chair for ages before getting a snack, and it was evening before I got around to cooking a proper meal. One intense day on top of another it seems saps me of more energy than I'm used to. At seventy, I've already learned to adjust my pace in everything I do, but it seems my reserves of energy fall short of expectation. Another lesson about ageing to be learned.

Last night, I watched the Cardiff Singer of the World Song contest, a marvellous experience. Tonight it's the grand final, with a terrific orchestra and huge enthusiastic support from audiences. To think this was all happening the other side of Working Street from St John's, all the time I was Vicar there, and I never found time to watch, or get audience tickets, my attention being focussed elsewhere. It's a superb celebration of musicianship. The emerging generation of young singers is every bit as marvellous as those who thrilled us before.

       

Village wedding

Most of the morning was spent carefully preparing for this afternoon's wedding in Frigiliana, making sure I could pronounce correctly the handful of Spanish biblical quotes I'd added into the text. After an early lunch, I drove to the village and arrived at San Antonio Church an hour early. The choir were already rehearsing, getting used to the fine acoustics of the building, just right for the mostly baroque music to be sung. The groom's spritely 99+ year old abuela was among the first guests to escape from the fierce heat of the afternoon sun into the cool calm of the church. I was pleased to welcome her in Spanish, and made an effort to include a few Spanish prayers in the liturgy for her sake. Afterwards, she asked me what Order I belonged to. I think she understood when I said I was a pastor anglican.

Everything for the service went according to plan, well just. The youngest of the couple's children was rather clingy, and definitely a Daddy's boy. Quite naturally, with their parents enthroned in front of the assembly, the children wanted to be with them and so they were for the first part of the service. When it was necessary for the couple to make their vows, abuelo came forward, collected the toddler, who broke into disgruntled tears and had to be taken out. Smiles all around. A wedding for the couple, but in every sense a celebration of the family they have made, loved by all.

After the service, the guests went off ahead of the couple to the reception. In the square outside the church, a suitably decorated horse and carriage awaited the couple driven by smartly dressed caballeros in traditional garb, to take them to join their guests. I slipped away, quite drained of energy by leading the celebration, relieved to return from romance to domestic solitude. I think everyone who was involved made the effort to make this the special occasion it was intended to be. 

I hope it makes a difference to the couple, and inspires them to continue the path they have set out on. Sad to say, I'm unlikley to know the outcome, not because I'm that old, but because celebrations like this, in which so much gets invested, seem no more than ephemeral pastoral encounters, like so many funerals of strangers I've done over the years. It's very much a product of living in a transient mobile society, where the old traditional continuity of relationships in community life hardly exist any more.

All of this raises one question for me - are church communities and their ministers speaking to the condition of people in this changing new world in a way that is faithful to the Gospel? On this I think I could really value a quiet chat with the admirable Pope Francis, who has his finger on the pulse in a most impressive way, to ask him what he'd do if he was still out there on the pastoral front line.

 

People on the move

I had a meeting yesterday morning with a couple whose wedding I shall be blessing on Saturday at the church in nearby Frigiliana. Bride and groom live in Britain, but the bride's English parents live in the village. The groom's family are Mallorcan and they'll be coming from there. It's another reminder of the movement and settlement of people made possible by the existence of European Union. This is valuable, not only at the political and economic level, but at the personal, domestic and social level, in the exchange of tradition and custom, and the shared pleasures this brings.

Just as we get used to the new kind of normality that ease of international mobility gives, the influx of hundreds of thousands of refugees and economic migrants from third world countries, makes huge demands on resources, and seems uncontrollable, driven as it is, by need, or fear of violence. It's generating new anxieties, xenophobia and racism, and is a real challenge to all E.U. countries to deal with in a just and humane way, that curbs the threat of increased criminality, either among migrants or among those wishing to exploit their plight. 

Despite being resource rich, African and Middle Eastern countries are still plagued by problems arising from the seemingly unbridgeable gulf between powerful rich minorities and the majority poor. Injustice breeds violence, but the impact of climate change places everyone under additional pressure as environmental impairment reduces the possibility of countries being able to sustain their growing populations. 

African street traders have been a common feature of Mediterranean coastal life for more than the past decade, people in a position to take risky initiatives, work hard and patiently, driven more by opportunity than need. Today's population influx fleeing conflict is much more of a mixture of educated people and poor peasants, all of whom may have good things to contribute once settled provided there is a will to make it happen. In the long term, Europe will be enriched by accepting them. It may help re-create relationships with Third World countries following the eventual demise of economic as well as political colonialism

It's so good that Pope Francis' encyclical on climate change pulls no punches, respects the science, challenges the dominance of modern consumerist culture and calls environmental damage 'a sin' - yes indeed - if the church's understanding of sin as anything which causes suffering is truly understood. He will come in for fierce criticism from those with vested interests in denying the seriousness of the environmental crisis we are facing. Church leaders internationally are applauding his bold stance. But will the captains of industry and their political supporters listen.

Today was pretty hot. I had a pile of work to do, which kept me in most of the time. For the second day running, I went out for a stroll after sunset, and got a few more photos of the thin sliver of a moon and a couple of bright planets before they followed the sun below the horizon. This is just one of several

  You can find more photos here
 

Protest, political change and redevelopment in Nerja

After a night of less sleep than I felt I needed, a brisk walk to the Church shop put me right for the time being. There were only five of us for the Eucharist as several regulars are away. After coffee and a chat, I went to the nearby health food shops in search of things Clare had asked me to look for to save her carrying extra weight, then headed back to the house on my ususal route. 

In the avenida de Pescia near the Iranzo supermarket is a large school in its own grounds the C.E.I.P. Narixa (this was its arabic place name in the days of  Al-Andaluz). It's a primary school with an international dimension, with English as a second language.  On my way down around nine the road crossing is controlled by a Guardia Civil officer to ensure the safety of parents and children at rush hour. The cop's whistle is still much used. It's going to be quieter when term ands and routine traffic duties change.

Normally I walk up the sunny side of the street, but today took the shady side, where the school is. The hundred metres or so of its external walls were covered with handwritten messages in Spanish on sheets of paper, some large, some small, some in a child's hand, all protesting about a  budget cut to staffing imposed by the Generalitat of Andalusia. This concerned the loss of a monitor, which I looked up later and found to be a coach or instructor. Later I returned with my camera, re-read the posters, and gathered the protest is concerned with learning support staff to help students with disabilities or learning difficulties.

Some of the posters quoted the Bill of Human Rights on Education and children. I was pleased at how much I could read and understand. Considering the number of contributions to the writing on the wall, it represents a substantial well organised local protest. How civilised! No graffiti, no vandalism, no mess on the pavement.

I looked on-line, but found no local news report on this in English so far. But I did discover there was a change of power in Nerja's town council last weekend. Rosa Arabal of the PSOE has forged a working coalition with all the other minority parties to act as Alcalde (Mayor). The PP Mayor of 20 years standing, José Alberto Armijo was just a couple of votes short of retaining office. So, there are echoes in Nerja of the shift away from centre-right government nationally.

Also in local news I saw publication of the plans to redevelop the Playa de Calahonda, and re-instate footpath access to neighbouring beaches, destroyed by cliff erosion. The Papagayo beach restaurant, which has been looking tatty for ages, and closed for a couple of years, is now to be demolished. A new chirunguito will be built at the base of the cliff, with a terrace and sunbed area in front, enlarging and enhancing the beach. There have been protests about the changes, doubtless relating to the beach becoming a building site for a while, but would work start mid-high season anyway? 

The end result will certainly benefit more sun-seekers in due course, and do good business for the town, which will in future own the beach hospitality business. It's all part of the continued drive to improve the quality of the holiday offer the town makes. In the past couple of weeks the pavement area next to the ALSA bus stop booking office has been cordoned off and some large angled metal pillars installed along its length. These aren't new lamp posts, but supports for a canopy to shelter travellers waiting for  buses that stop there. It's not a full bus station, but from now on, the added street furnishings will proclaim elequently that this is the place to wait. 

Talking of which, I wonder what Cardiff's city centre will get by way of a new bus station in the outcome of the redevelopment of  Central Square?
   

Me and my hat

I like my straw sombrero, but it's not that comfortable, and it has a life of its own on a breezy day. So, I walked into town this morning on a mission to buy a nice cool white cotton sun hat I'd seen in a shop outside the main retail thoroughfares at a half of the price of similar products elsewhere. Best of all, it was pure cotton, rather than cotton-polyester. I spotted it Friday evening, but didn't bother to buy then, just took note and decided to return.

Yesterday afternoon, I walked past, but the shop didn't re-open at the hour scheduled. I waited for a while, just in case, but nobody came. In the mean time, a man came up from the beach carrying a guitar, sat on a nearby doorstep and began practicing some flamenco riffs. I don't think he was busking, but sitting in the sun enjoying himself in the best way a guitarista can. It took the edge off my purchasing disapointment. 

Anyway, the shop was open when I arrived, and I found a hat that was actually large enough not to need squeezing on to my head. Once I done some food shopping, I had to carry the new hat, fitted on the crown of my straw sombrero to get it home. I must have looked an idiot, but frankly I didn't care. 

Later in the day, after answering another wedding query with a long email, I took a longer walk in the sun with the newly purchased hat. It's perfect cooling headgear - not stylish but very functional under these bright sunny skies. I'm hopeless at shopping, except for food and tech' bargains, but now and then, something goes right, and there's no indecision left.

Talking of straw, there's a man around town who weaves esparto grass into baskets and other things. He works outdoors at different sites in and around the town centre. I saw him first four years ago in the Plaza San Salvador, and took this photo.

Today, he was in a shady corner just outside the square - understandably, given that the pruned trees in the square haven't grown enough to provide much shade so far. 

Later, I saw him in the shade again, further away from the centre, in the barrio where the Parador Hotel is located, this time weaving bottle covers. A beautiful everyday craft practised the same today as it has been for thousands of years around the world. He doesn't have a banner, nor does he hand out business cards. He just does something he loves. Next time I seem him I must try and chat him. Sad really that I have need to buy things he makes, as I'd have no use for them here. Getting them back to Cardiff as a locum souvenir would be too much of a problem. What fascinates me is his story. I wonder what he'd make of that, in my broken Spanish?

    

Early start on next Sunday

Monday mornings, I seem to wake later, or at least get up more slowly, when there's nothing in the diary. After a leisurely start however, if I'm not distracted, I get curious about next Sunday's readings, and what there'll be to preach about. From this a train of thoughts develops and a draft text to ponder on and tinker with for the rest of the week. I have immediate access to my internet archive of twelve years worth of sermons. Retrievable less quickly, another eight years of sermons are digitally stored. I reckon I've gone through the three year lectionary a total of six times, since I introduced it in Geneva, ahead of the publication of the Book of Common Worship.

Trinitytide in Year B of the lectionary using the thread of continuous rather than theme related readings is a sequence I haven't done before, or so I discovered, looking back into my archive. The decision to use this thread was taken before I came, and it offers an opportunity to write something fresh each week, rather than hunt the archive and decide if material from previous years can be used as a starting point and adapted to a different audience and setting. This involves just as much thought as writing from scratch, but isn't so stimulating. The lectionary is not an easy resource to get used to, as it's quite complex, offering many possible options for Sundays in any year. This particular set of Trinitytide readings is one I've not worked on before, hence the added pleasure in engaging with scripture afresh for the Ministry of the Word.

Sunday encounters

A cool and cloudy day, considering we're only a week away from the longest day. Even on sunny days this past week or so, there's been a pleasant cooling breeze off the sea when you're outdoors, though the sun really does warm up the houses and they stay like that until late evening. But so far. not warm enough to justify using air conditioning. The car is another matter, and I'm thankful that it has air conditioning, as otherwise journeys from morning until evening would be uncomfortable.

I noticed more traffic on the Autovia during my run up to Almuñecár for the first Eucharist of the day. Now that schools are out in many European countries, it's not surprising that families are now making their ways to the coast for the summer. More traffic in Nerja on the return trip, although I was very lucky to get a parking place just around the corner from the church as soon as I arrived.

As we were singing the 'Alleluia' to welcome the Gospel, a small child about two years old, stood in the open doorway with her grandmother behind her. The child was joining in the Alleluia, with help from grandma. When I announced the Gospel, I saw grandma gently take the child's hand and help her to trace the sign of the cross on her forehead, mouth and chest. How many grandparents have helped a grandchild learn to pray and participate in worship like that down the ages? I wondered. How many will do the same in the future? A moment to treasure.

Among visitors to San Miguel was a folk dance acquaintance of our friend Gail from Worcestershire, who'd been recommended seek out the Nerja Anglican service and say Hello. Also there was a young man, out for a weekend with friends, who found us. As an RAF IT specialist and an active Christian, he said how he enjoyed 'Church hopping' when away from his home base, and found the experience of worshipping in different places and ways an encouragement to his own faith. I enjoyed a spell of techie talk with him over a beer in Bar Cuñaos after the Eucharist. It's not often I get the chance to chat with someone who's worked in Helman Province on providing essential IT network services to all the 'boots on the ground'. It's wonderful, the variety of people you meet on locum duty.

After lunch and a dozy start to the afternoon, I found that 'Happy Feet' was playing on ITV2, a film I've heard mentioned, but never seen, although it's nine years since it first came out, so I watched it, with great pleasure. It's a well intended narrative, with messages about the impact on wildlife of pollution and over-fishing polar seas, but quirky in requiring a penguin survivor to wash up on a foreign shore thousands of miles from home, and end up in a zoo, from whence its ticket home is earned by tap dancing for a human audience.

A tap dancing penguin is an amusing enough device to drive a fantasy musical plot in the best Disney tradition, but the idea that such a bizarre media storming phenomenon generates a research project supplying the penguin hero with a ticket back to Antartica is less worthy of suspension of disbelief. Real science is always way ahead of media attentiveness. To imply science merely follows popular acclaim borders on insult. Like it or not, front line fundamental scientific research, driven by testable theory and data, insight and intuition, still carries the banner of real prophetic witness for this era. All other big opinions struggle to catch up.
 

Viñuela revisited

Yesterday was another day of answering couples' wedding blessing queries. It's a bit like being a tutor on a correspondence course, you have to think long and hard to ensure there's clarity in the response. Also there was an email from Cardiff Area Dean Fr Bob Capper, asking me about August availability for locum duties at St German's, which means, sadly, Fr Dean may still be off sick. I had already offered Fr Mark my free slots for Canton Benefice, but conscious that he might not need me for all of them, I asked Fr Bob to liaise with him about free slots. So it looks as if I won't be short of ministry duties on my return.

Coming back from an evening stroll around town, I was surprised to hear the strains of Hare Krishna chanting coming from a small building which I think is a changing room for local tennis courts. I've not come across devotees singing on the streets of the town so far, but may have simply missed them. It's all part of the rich cultural diversity that's part of life on the Costa del Sol, as in any large city.

Apart from a morning walk to the supermarket, I spent the day indoors again, writing emails, but as there was nothing worth watching on telly, I decided to walk to Burriana beach in the dark, and then continued into town via the Playa Caribeo steps. Wanting to stretch myself a little, I jogged all the way up. It left me a little breathless, but recovery was quick. It's getting a lot easier to run since I lost about five kilos. The Balcon was fairly quiet for ten thirty at night, but there was a classical guitarist out busking, playing lovely romantic music, which I think was by an 18th or 19th Spanish composer. Perfect for a late Spring evening.

I had a drink at the Balcon Hotel with some people I knew who hailed me as I was passing, and then strolled home, tireder than I expected. I'm less used to being out and about late these days.

This afternoon, I drove along the coast road to Torre del Mar again, and further beyond for several kilometres to explore. West of the town, on a high promontory, partly cut away in quarried cliffs is a typical iconic Osbourne Bull wayside hoarding, and I wanted to take some photos.

Then I drove back to Torre del Mar, and headed inland, past Velez Malaga to Viñuela, which I'd passed through on a bereavement visit when I was here a couple of years ago. It's a spectacularly beautiful mountainous region and there's a lake named after the town, providing water for local agriculture and the coastal region. It's a big olive growing area.

Up to the right of the lake is the old slow road through the mountains to get to Granada, via the Puerto del Suspiro del Moro - the Pass of the Moor's last sigh - where the defeated rulers paused to look back at the city they'd lost to the army of los reconquistadores. This journey is a must for us, at least one way, when we make our third visit to the old capital of Al Andalus in a few weeks time. It's twice as long as the Autovia journey apparently, but you can stop and rejoice in the scenery.

    

In remembrance

I drove to La Garnatilla in good time this morning to conduct a memorial service for a long standing English inhabitant of the village. It's something was I asked to do and prepared for a month ago, but this was the first time to meet all the family and friends, not just the widow. There were twenty of us in the simple, beautifully kept little 17th century cruciform church, dedicated to St Cecilia. The parish priest came to join us. His three main churches are down in Motril Puerto, plus this one. I was glad of an opportunity to converse with him in Spanish. As all the Catholic liturgy books were available in the sacristy beforehand, I was able to find a Spanish prayer for someone who'd died after a long illness, and I used it at the beginning of the service.

Afterwards, the gathering drove down to the coast road and along to neighbouring Salobrenia for a memorial lunch together, in a favourite restaurant right on the beach, full of happy memories, as guests of the departed. The closest family members slipped away together during the pre-lunch drinks to visit a cherished cove, and consign the cremated remains to the sea, in a specially designed urn made of salt, enabling it to dissolve and disperse the ashes in a measured way over a space of time. Such a nice dignified idea. Scattering ashes on the sea on this day would in any case have been out of the question

The food was very good and plentiful, and the meal was long and leisurely. We were all seated at a long table outside, but under shelter, and there was a lovely cooling wind. Salobrenia's old town is a spectacular sight being a hill town on a promotory in the coastal plain. 

It's somewhere to look forward to re-visiting and exploring fully with Clare when she comes, two weeks today.

Afterwards, I returned to Nerja along the N340 coast road all the way. It's the first time I've had an opportunity to do this, and it made the three quarters of an hour journey most enjoyable. I was struck by how quiet the old road is between La Herradura and Maro nowadays. It's only a couple of decades since this was one of Spain's key trunk roads.

 

 

Handover

Another Wednesday Eucharist at the Church shop, with coffee and conversation to follow, then back for lunch. Then there was an enquiry to deal with from a couple who've booked a wedding blessing, which involved careful explanation of what the conventional Church service offers. It's not unusual for couples to have little experience or understanding of Anglican liturgical custom and practise. If they did, after all, it's more than likley they'd want to get married in their Parish Church at home. Writing a simple account of what we do and why we do it can take ages, but I don't mind, as it's now pretty hot in the afternoons, and better to stay out of the direct sun. I've already got an embarrasing tan, and bothered about over exposure.

As this explanation is for a couple to be blessed by my successor, I sent him a copy, and received an appreciative response, plus a request for a briefing about the ins and outs of locum ministry here. That set me thinking. A useful domestic guide for new house is available to look through when you first arrive, but there's no pastoral hand-over file, something I've come across and helped write in other situations, so in writing to my successor, I'll be starting to assemble a body of information that'll make it easy for others to settle into the role. I have an advantage as this is my fourth stay in Nerja. It will be a good thing to leave behind for others to add to.

     

Fruit in due season

A quiet domestic couple of days, mostly around the house, cleaning and washing, hunting down an original Spanish translation of Kahlil Gibran's poem of Marriage from 'The Prophet' to use at a  wedding, reluctant to proceed with the machine translation Google so kindly provides. Also adjusting to increasing heat and humidity, albeit from time to time we still get cooling breezes, strangely and  inconsistently changeable. Sometimes the sky is cloudy, and other times it's bright and clear. Nearby sierras go from being sharp and vivid to being wreathed enchantingly in mist. Photography cannot do it true justice.

This morning the weekly Mercadillo next to the urbanizacion. I meant to go early then go out for the day, but I slept late, then had an idea for next Sunday's sermon, which got written down after breakfast, so it was nearly lunchtime by the time I went out to see what was on offer. I bought a kilo of cooking tomatoes and one of unripe nectarines. The old lady who runs a clothes stall, with a sideline in fruit and veg was there again, shouting out her wares in an irresistible way,

She had ripe mangoes on offer. I fancied a couple, but she refused to sell me just two. Like it or not, I ended up with a bag of five very soft ripe fruit, and she accepted all my spare dineros, about €1.50 for them, about right compared with other stalls, I think. She's such a character, and I get to try out my Spanish on her. She ignores what I say, not because she doesn't understand me, but because she wants to get rid of all the fruit she's brought with her, ripe and ready to eat. It's always chancey, but great fun and worth the risk.

The kitchen filled with the heavely aroma of five huge soft ripe mangos. What to do with them? After nearly two months, I have a collection of clean spare glass jars. So, I cut up four of the mangos and fed them into two of the largest I had. to store in the fridge. When I walked out to the town, late in the afternoon, I bought a miniature of kirsch and another of Spanish brandy to add to the jars with the aim of preserving the mangos for a while. The kirsch seemed to go best with the wonderful flavour of fresh ripe fruit. I ate half the fifth mango for supper. The rest went to top up the jars, once the kirsch was added. That's a treat to look forward to. 

Then for supper, I cooked some not very ripe plums in orange juice with cinnamon and ginger, another nice summer fruity treat, and there are nectarins to cook tomorrow if they show no signs of ripening soon. So many possibilities given the abundance of good quality low cost fruit at this time of year. And it's such fun to experiment.

 

 

Corpus Christi Sunday

The usual Sunday morning routine of services at Almuñecár and then Nerja. At the end of the second service in San Miguel we were aware of unusual activity outside. Tables were carried into the street from the church's side rooms, several people were out with brooms, sweeping the street and the plaza in front of the church, and a muslin canopy was erected above an area where the two tables had been placed, next to the wall of a building. It wasn't clear at the time what was the purpose of this. It was only later in the afternoon, when I returned to the church to witness the Corpus Christi procession that it became clear what was the purpose of this. 

A temporary altar shrine had been created, to be the first stop for prayer on the processional route. The air was scented with mint, cut from gardens or fields, spread on the ground and trodden under foot. The Mass in church was half way through. I watched from the threshold of the church. Inside it was packed, and a guitar led choir was singing a Mass setting with a Latin American flavour. All the children admitted to Communion for the first time this year were present in their uniforms or dresses. They participated enthusiastically. Outside, the local band, mostly youngsters assembled in readiness, and the Guardia Civil's procession team waited in the background.

Rather than one of the two parish priests carry the Sacrament, it was mounted on a trona, carried high by a dozen people. The procession wound its way through the streets and eventually out of the barrio across into the central area of town and down to San Salvador, with several prayer and rest stops on the way, some in streets where there were other altar stations, and in those streets balconies were also hung with beautiful table cloths or counterpanes in decoration, to honour the Lord's passing by.

The last two stations were outside the clergy house of San Salvador and then one in the plaza outside the church. The children carried baskets of rose petals, and these were sparingly scattered along the route, until we got to the clergy house, where the red carpet, covered with sprigs of mind was further embellished with a generous dose of red petals, a lovely sight in the evening light.

Finally the Parish Priest retrieved the monstrance from the trona, and give Benediction to the five hundred strong gathering and took the sacrament into church under a processional canopy. I slipped in behind them to join in adoration as the Sacrament was being returned home to the tabernacle. The sacristan from San Miguel, to whom I'd spoken earlier in the day, enquiring about the start time, saw me and came over to greet me, with a look that said 'How did you enjoy it?' Estamos in el cielo, I responded. I found it very moving, such a relaxed cordial family yet devout occasion, involving people of all ages. There were people with walking frames as well as those in push chairs following in the processions, and people socialised as much as they prayed.

Such processions are less than commonplace in modern Britain in our era, despite efforts to revive the custom in some places. Really, the reformation robbed public life of this kind of religious and social ritual, with such power to bond people together in peace and love. We do very well with all kinds of carnival processions instead these days, but it's not really the same. It may mean a great party, but it's only a party. Making a sacred space out in the streets means so much more for the good of a society. You can follow the procession in photographs here.

 

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.

     

An unusually eventful day.

Eucharist at the Church shop with the faithful few this morning, then a wedding preparation meeting scheduled with a couple at noon, but they didn't turn up. Eventually I found their contact number and learned that it had accidentlly got booked in their diary for tomorrow noon, despite emails confirming today's date and time. The perils of digital diaries I'm afraid. We re-scheduled for this evening, and I confirmed by text message, reminding them to bring the wedding certificate with them for inspection. Crisis. They'd forgotten to bring it, despite reminders. I simply cannot proceed without seeing it. 

This also happened in Marbella last summer, and was resolved by someone in Newcastle sending photos of the certificate, once it had been retrieved from the couple's home. Fortunately, thee couple were able to arrange this quite quickly, and said the certificate would be on its way here with another of their 150 guests arriving tomorrow afternoon. Crisis ended, preparation meeting re-booked for this evening.

After lunch, Bill, Jo, Judith and I met the couple and their children for the wedding blessing at San Miguel. A lovely family they were too. Three daughters, two with boy friends, and two sons, except that the one son coudn't come because his girl friend was expecting a baby and couldn't fly. Rather than be left out, he joined in the service by means of his sister's smartphone - Face-time or Skype I'm not sure which, but we could hear him joining in and he was able to see them all and the church too. Well, we've seen it on the phone ads, and in reality, with a good phone and 4G roaming deal, it truly enhanced the occasion for an obviously loving and close knit family. It was a very happy half hour we spent together, and it offset the irritation of everything going haywire with the other couple.

After their service, I helped get things ready for the Mothers Union Cheese and Wine fund raising social evening downstairs in the catchechism room at San Miguel. Then, as they started I went off to meet the couple. By this time the photo of the wedding certificate had arrived, meaning that I could proceed with good reason, on the assumption that all would be in order by this time tomorrow. Then, back to San Miguel for the last hour of the social evening. I was quite tired by the time I finally got back to church house.

How nice that the vice consul from Malaga came and joined in. I asked about the new U.K. consular call centre for half of the world, now in its third year of operation. It employs forty odd people, and is adjudged to be working successfully, by the criteria set for it. What's not to like? I still think there's nothing to beat having consuls dealing with expatriate and visitor affairs working within local territory. But nowadays more and more admin is done by remote service providors. I should know. I've been working remotely from the CBS office at home and abroad since 2012.

 

Market day and Rio stroll

I went to the mercadillo to shop for veggies this morning, and for the amazingly small sum of €4.60 bought 4 avocados, 3 bananas, 3 nectarines, 4 large garlic heads, a half kilo box of cherry tomatoes, and 600 grams of French beans. The only disaster was the 60 cents worth of avocados which weren't up to scratch, as they'd not ripened properly, insufficiently watered.

Then, I walked down the rio Chillar to the sea, keeping an eye out for interesting birds. Yet again I saw a flock of goldfinches, but they rise and fly so quickly that snapping them is impossible when you're out strolling. I caught a swallow dipping over a river ford a few times, terrible small in the vast expanse, but so noticeable from their fast and gracious movement.

Further down the river, beneath the old town bridge, a got several good photos of a bird I couldn't identify, with a call that suggested to me that it could be a straying shore bird.

When I checked the RSPB website, the best match was the little ringed plover, a wading bird that isn't confined to the shore at all.

There was a tow truck on the beach, extricating a car that had driven quite a way on to the sand and was stuck up to its axels, heaven knows why.

 

At the moment, there's little or no water running over the surface as the rio Chillar approaches the sea. Possibly, at wetter times of year, the saturated sand is firm enough to prevent a car from sinking right it. If the driver was familiar with this, an expensive error of judgement had been made.

Happy family meeting

Having spent yesterday morning preparing a brief order of service to show, I walked into town at lunchtime to meet a couple from South East London. They've asked to renew their wedding vows at San Miguel on Wednesday. They've been married for twenty three and half years, and they'd planned to do this for their twentieth anniversary but a couple of family bereavements led to them postponing to a better time. 

Rather than delay any longer they decided that now is the opportunity to take, so they've brought four of their five children, and a couple of boyfriends to celebrate. So, it will be a small gathering to plan in a large church, but I have ideas how this can be nicely done.

They told me how they'd been led to buy and renovate a holiday cottage in a rural Bulgarian village long before the country joined the E.C. - for the price of a small car - they said. Over the years since then, they've visited several times a year, learned the language and become welcome visitors in a simple community whose way of life has hardly changed in centuries. Going off-grid regularly has provided them with a needed respite from the demands of metropolitan living, and no doubt has helped bond them together as a family.

Sunday Geneva connection

I didn't prepare quite well enough for today which I got home last night, perhaps because I was still bussing with the stimulus of such good company. It was only when I was packing and about to leave for Almuñecár that I realised I'd forgotten to photocopy the week's bulletin, which I'd already printed off for this purpose. In haste, the photcopier jammed when I was looking the other way. Thankfully I unjammed it and completed the print run, leaving the house ten minutes late. Driving with a little less leisure than ususal, I arrived with under ten minutes to spare. 

We started and finished on time, and a little normality was restored. When I got back to San Miguel in Nerja, I had trouble finding a parking place, and ended up a long way from the church. Not that I was late arriving, but it was rather afterwards that it took me the best part of half an hour to find the car, as I couldn't recall my route from parking place to church through side streets and alleys. When I did, I was able to drop off a crate of glasses for a social evening in the church room on Wednesday this week, and finally sit down, drink a beer and chat with visitors.

There was a woman with an older companion in the congregation, and I thought her face was familiar but couldn't figure out why. When we chatted in Bar Cuneo over a drink after the service, it turned out that Michelle spent a few months in Geneva during my time there as chaplain, and became involved with the church's women's craft group, one of the great pastoral outreach ministry groups of Holy Trinity Anglican Church there. 

I remembered that she'd trained as a commercial photographer, and indeed she talked about her work, as it has developed in the seventeen years since her sojourn in the city of Calvin. Much of it involves photographing costumed actors in stage musicals for publicity material. She showed me some of her portfolio on her iPad. It was of impressively high quality. You can get an idea of what she does from here. She'd lost contact with Ann-Marie Hester who still runs the craft group, because of a digital data loss at some stage. I was pleased to be able to provide her with an address from memory, and then later an email address and phone number, so she could get back into contact. What an amazing coincidence, that she should be here on holiday with her mother.

I didn't do much for the rest of the day. After so much intense socialising I needed some down time and was glad of it.

   

Saturday nuptials

This afternoon I officiated at another wedding blessing at San Miguel. Sixty friends and family members came to join them. In addition to Jo one of Nerja's organists playing hymns, they had a local classical guitarist Nicolás Leguizamón to play during the ceremony. There was a delay in getting started due to with transport problems, so the guitarist took us through some of his concert repertoire. He was very good, and I was delighted to listen to him play while we waited.

Most of the guests came from Northern Ireland, except a few from England and Scotland, and one from Canada. I'd been invited to join them for the reception afterwards, and transport to the venue was provided. We were all meant to be shipped out by coach, but it didn't turn up, so an emergency fleet of taxis was arranged instead. I was under the impression that it wasn't far from the town centre, and soon discovered it was in the hill country to the north west of Nerja. 

We went out of town, as if making for the Autovia, and then off down an old country road I didn't know, which leads to a small hill village, in order to reach a small country hotel and restaurant with an expansive terrace and a swimming pool overlooking a valley full of orchards leading down to the sea at Nerja Ouest, visible in the distance. The weather was good with a cooling breeze, a perfect late afternoon and evening for outdoor socialising and dining. I met many interesting people and had some good conversations. I got the impression they were from communities still used to having a priest in social gatherings. It's an unusual experience for me these days attending gatherings where few seem to know how to make a cleric feel included. I just enjoyed being a pastor at the party.

The guitarist showed up again and played even more of his repertoire, without repating himself during the pre-supper drinks. I was still listening with delight. The best man's speech was hilarious and had everyone in hysterics. The groom was funny and eloquent in paying tribute to his bride. He mentioned they'd received a good wishes card for the day from his beloved Nan, who died last year. She wrote them something special in advance, knowing she'd be unlikely to make it. It's the sort of thing grandmas do. There were lots of young children there, and in between eating and drinking they all played together, happily running around barefooted, mostly freeing their parents to enjoy each others' company. Both bride and groom are from large families, and this double gathering was an occasion all were enjoying.

Once the sun began to set, and the dancing started, I took my leave, having ordered a taxi to take me back to Nerja, crossing my fingers that I'd have enough cash on me to pay for an evening ride, as I'd neglected to top up my wallet. In the event, it wasn't a problem, as I got the driver to take me just as far as the bus station, so I could get some exercise walking off the fine festive food and drink. I even managed to converse with the taxi driver in Spanish without difficulty, which felt like a triumph, and arrived home before ten, in good time to ready myself for tomorrow's services.
  

Another Velez visit

This morning I walked into town to take a photo of the old market hall. Then on the spur of the moment, I took the bus to Velez-Malaga, as I'd promised myself that I'd take a look at the old town, going by bus rather than car to avoid navigation and parking hassles. The one way trip cost me €2.20, for an hour's journey along the coast road to Torre del Mar, then up to the Comarcal Hospital along the defunct tram route, and on to Velez bus station, next to the town's wholesale food market, part of which has been converted into a bus waiting room and ticket office. It doesn't yet seem to be functioning however. Four of the six advertising panels by the various bus shelters seemed not to be in use, and there wasn't a single bus timetable posted anywhere, even though there are a dozen buses an hour stopping there to pick up or deposit passengers. Work in progress, I guess.

In the same vicinity is the Plaza de Andalusia, a four hundred metre long avenue flanked with shady trees and benches, with both ends marked by massive baobob trees. You have to walk up the Plaza to enter the main street where the Ajuntamiento is found, and the casco antico stretches uphill behind it. To the left as you climb is the way up through ancient streets to the ramparts of the 11th century moorish citadel I visited last time I was here. Straight ahead and to your right are more old streets that date from the expansion of the town after the reconquista, with several old churches and convents.

Keep going and you come to the base of a hill. On the top, in the middle of a broad flat paved area, is the sanctuary of Nuestra Señora de los Remedios. 

The views in every direction, like those from the Castello are spectacular. The entire hill has been remodelled as a park with gardens and paths, one is wide enough to be a pilgrims' processional way. There's a tall statue of the Sacred Heart image of Jesus, with a fountain at its base that overflows into a channel that runs beside the processional way down the hill into another fountain at the park gate. 

It's such a simple and effective piece of religious symbolism fashioned into the built environment.

The largest church in the old town is dedicated to St John the Baptist, and is on the site of what was originally the main mosque, which was remodelled for Christian worship, and then extended in the nineteenth century to give it a more conventional shape. 

As I approached the church, descending from the hill, I saw three birds of prey circulating around and above the bell tower and calling out to each other. Occasionally they'd be mobbed by swallows or swifts, but they mantained their patrol regardless. Possibly they nest in the belfry, peregrines or hobbies I think, but the photos I took don't show up their true colours, as the contrast against a bright sky is too great.

After walking for several hours I had a very cheap beer and tapas lunch in a bar that wasn't on the tourist trails, then headed for the bus station, getting quite lost before finally ending up where I intended. I had a long wait for the bus. Although they are at half hour frequency morning and evening during the afternoon there is a long gap, so I waited an hour and three quarters in a bus shelter that was fortunately in the shade, exposed to a cooling breeze. It was just as well, because after a good three hours walking in Velez I was feeling fairly tired, and content to wait. 

Walking home from the bus at the other end was a bit of an effort. By this time I was ready for a full meal. I'd prepared two pieces of swordfish to cook for lunch, and ate them with new potatoes and green beans, followed by a Victoria Plum cooked in fruit juice with cinnamon and ginger. Just right, after an energetic outing to a most interesting town.

   

Nerja - from fishing village to prestige holiday resort

I walked to town and back this morning using a different route through the back streets interested in finding out more about the variety of shops tucked away from the main thoroughfare. There were just half a dozen regulars for the Eucharist in the church shop, no visitors. After a drink together, I walked back past the town's old covered market, now transformed into a small exhibition centre, and finally found it open at a time that was convenient for me to stop and take a look at the latest offering.

Jose Miguel Ortuño Rodriguez has published a book about how Nerja has changed in the past two centuries from a poor simple fishing village into an international holiday resort. This uses the work of an eminent local writer and historian Alejandro Bueno García (1851-1927), using quotations from his work about Nerja published in 1907, illustrated with photographs from the era.

The substance of the book is the subject of displays on a series of eight large wall mounted exhibition panels. One end of the building contains a collection of painting and furniture of the period, arranged into a writer's study, and there are display cases with artifacts from the period as well.

Now that I have come to the end of all the learning exercise  drills in the Duo Lingo language app, I thought I would make an effort to read all the texts as well as look at the many interesting pictures. This was not quite as daunting as I feared. With some gaps, I was able to follow most of the texts I read from start to finish. I still have a lot of work to do, topping up my memory and remembering verb declensions, but I begin to feel as if I have actually made some progress in learning Spanish since Kath introduced me to the app last Christmas.

Back at home, it was time to do a load of washing before lunch, but the machine wouldn't start, as there was no water supply. If it was scheduled and advertised, I hadn't noticed. Anyway, promptly at one it resumed, thoughtfully, for people starting to cook lunch. By mid afternoon the washing was done, dried and gather in, smelling all fresh and warm, baked in the bright dry heat of the backyard that gets the sun durectly above between two and six at this time of year. Then, time for a brisk walk to Mercadona to replenish some basic foods for the week. Domestic tasks complete, time to relax.

After supper I went out for a stroll around the urbanizacion, and came across a very excited white wagtail, flying around in circles, chirping madly for its mate, and returning to perch and chirp again, staying still long enough for me to get a few photos, despite fading light.

I found my way to Genesis Bar, the local hostelry in the urbanizacion, run by an English couple. It was very quiet. I had a beer and then made my way home.

Finally, I found out from a local English language website 'Nerja Today' news blog that Partido Popular's Jose Alberto Armijo Navas, el alcalde de Nerja, has been re-elected for another four years, albeit with a reduced share of the vote (42.62%), which means coalition negotiations, as elsewhere in Spain this week. He's been Mayor for the past 20 years, with a good development track record, so no doubt his team has a lot of experience of compromise as well as leadership at a local level.