Travelling to south east Asia...

After spending the first eight months of the year right here in Spain, tomorrow I leave for two weeks in Thailand. You can read more about that, including prayer pointers, in my August newsletter.

I don't know how much internet access I'll have over the coming fortnight, but I will post photos and news if I get the opportunity. Thanks for your prayers.

All's well that ends well...

The day has finally come: our very last day in Villa Rehoboth. Six of us were there to scrub and clean the house from top to bottom, and to eat the very last meal in the leadership retreat centre. (Eaten sitting on the kitchen floor, because there are no chairs left in the house!) We had our very last swim in the pool, gave away  a new fridge to our elderly Spanish neighbour, and took the last bits and pieces up to the rubbish dump... 
The end of an era; tomorrow we hand back the keys to the owner of the house.

Right up to the end, a main concern of mine was the fate of little Tommy, the retreat centre tabby cat. Despite all our efforts, we simply weren't managing to find a new home for him. I hated the thought of having to give him to an animal shelter, where he'd be subjected to a couple of horrible weeks in a cage with other cats, and then put to sleep anyway. Last Thursday, I created a couple of posters - in English and Spanish - and set out to drive to nearby towns where there are charity shops in aid of animal welfare. I hoped that putting up an announcement in that kind of place might catch the attention of the people who were most likely to want to adopt an adult cat.

Sure enough, at the eleventh hour, an English family phoned and came to see Tommy. It wasn't without some crying and scratching, but in the end, dear Tommy was packed into the car and taken off to his new home: a little"finca" - like a farmhouse on two acres of land, just about a kilometre away from Rehoboth.

The story of how it happened is quite interesting. The lady of the family had driven to a nearby town to visit a charity shop there in the hope of finding an exercise bike at a good price. It's an unusual item, so she didn't in fact find one, but she did spot the poster about Tommy. (This was probably the day after I had put the posters up.) Her attention was caught by the fact that I'd mentioned he was a good mouser, because they realised they had some rodents on the farm, and neither their small cat nor their several dogs seemed to have any success in dealing with the mouse problem. I'd also written that Tommy grew up with a dog, so that gave her confidence that he would hopefully fit in fine with their menagerie.

So they came to Rehoboth yesterday to get the cat and when they arrived, there, sitting right in front of the house was an exercise bike!! The bike is Andrew's, but he told them he wasn't planning to take it back to Scotland with him, and that they could have it for free in just another ten days time. What an interesting turn of events: to go looking for a bike and end up with a cat... and to go looking for the cat and end up with an exercise bike too.

I have to confess that, as time was running out, I'd been praying for a new home for Tommy. That prayer has been answered, and now I can only trust that he will settle in well to his new place and family.

Summer at home - and daring to live my own adventure

It's been many years - probably almost four decades since I last had a summer that didn't involve going on outreach with young people and families. It feels very strange to be spending summer at home this year. However, the closing of the leadership retreat centre, and all that this involves, together with the fact that we're not having our usual Planting Together trip to Africa this year, has meant that I've found myself at home for most of the summer.

Of course, I realise that "at home" for me is not too far from locations that other people head to for their summer holidays. As mentioned in a previous post, because my parents are not coming to Spain for holiday this year, I've decided instead to take a free day now and then to do something fun or to visit somewhere new.  Two weeks ago, for example, I took a drive to the pretty little mountain village of Istán, from where I also took a short hike to a local beauty spot where the Río Verde (Green River) forms multiple levels of waterfalls and pools that are ideal for swimming.

Towards the end of last year, I noticed this slogan on a journal when I was browsing in a shop. It means, Dare to live your own Adventure. As this was just a few days after we'd made the decision to close the retreat centre, I thought how appropriate this motto would be for me in 2018. It would be true at ministry level, because once we reached the second half of the year and the LDC was behind us, there would be fewer ministry projects happening at local level and more projects that involved travelling alone to other places. But I realised that it would also be true at a more personal level: there simply wouldn't be other team mates around who might be motivated to do fun stuff together or go off for a trip somewhere. Yes, there are my dog walking friends, some of whom will happily join me on a short hike or a "wild swimming" adventure, but I knew there wouldn't be a steady supply of companions to travel further afield and to explore the beauty of Spain with me. Most of my Christian friends do such travels or holidays with their whole family. I realised that if I wanted to get out and about, and see more of this country I call home, I'd need to dare to live my own adventure, even if that sometimes meant travelling and exploring alone.

Read on in the posts below for an account of my most recent adventures. (And I'm pleased to report that, since I've returned home again, a couple of people have said, "Oh, let me know if you're exploring again. I'd love to go with you.")

Exploring the frontiers

I've always been a bit puzzled by the many towns down here that have de la Frontera as part of their name, because it means border or frontier, but the nearest border, with Portugal, is hundreds of kilometres away. I only learned this month that the frontier it refers to dates back several centuries, to when the Spanish were winning their territory back from the Moors, the North Africans who had occupied Spain for seven hundred years. I visited four of them this week: Castellar de la Frontera, Jimena de la Frontera, Conil de la Frontera and Chiclana de la Frontera. Two are inland and still have their fortresses on the hilltop, while the other two are nearer to the coast and have reinvented themselves as seaside resorts.

The "official" reason for my trip was that I was going to deliver some things to Gibraltar. Our Finnish friends, who coordinate YWAM's ministry to refugees in the Mediterranean region, recently moved from Alhaurín to be based in Gibraltar. With the retreat centre closing, they were keen to have some bedding, towels and kitchen stuff, but they're in Finland at the moment, and so I said I'd drive along to Gibraltar and drop off a box of goodies for them. And I decided to take advantage of the trip to take a couple of days' break and live my own adventure by exploring some places I hadn't yet seen in Spain's two southern provinces of Málaga and Cádiz.

The first destination on my list was the little town of Castellar de la Frontera. I had spotted it in a list of "Spain's prettiest villages to visit," and as it's only about fifteen or twenty miles from Gibraltar, it seemed a good place to start. As you can see in the photos above, the old part of Castellar is a tiny little village of white houses, all contained within the fortified walls of the old Moorish fortress. It is very possibly the most quaint and authentic-feeling old village that I've visited since moving to Spain a decade ago.  The streets were so narrow, there was no question that the village had been built before the invention of cars and carriages. Less than a metre wide in places, and with many dead ends, there would be room for a horse to pass, but not much else. It was so quiet and peaceful, walking around the charming streets; none of the tourist hubbub that you find in some of the better-known pueblos blancos (the white villages of Andalucía.)

Another thing I liked about the Castillo of Castellar was the way that interesting views were formed within the frame of the archways of the old fortifications. Here, for example, is a view looking in to the white houses inside the ramparts, a view looking out and westwards to the huge Guadarranque reservoir, and a view looking out and southwards towards the Rock of Gibraltar, where I was going to be spending the night. (You can click on these three photos to make them larger and easier to see.)

Just six miles away, even the new town of Castellar - Castellar el Nuevo - was very charming, with its white houses, its fountains, its woodland parks and gardens. Perhaps the only not-so-pretty element was the strange, rather bare tower of the church... but its charm was redeemed when I saw that storks had been allowed to nest undisturbed on top of the tower. That was a real treat to see.

The other tower, here on the right hand side, is the old Almoraima convent, presumably built when Spain became Catholic again instead of Muslim, and now converted into a luxury hotel. (Again, you'll need to click on the picture if you want to see the storks' nest more clearly.) Castellar was definitely worth the visit, and I was glad I'd made the little side trip.
Read on in the post below for an account of Wednesday's second frontier town, Jimena de la Frontera.

Climbing to the strong tower...

If I discovered one thing while visiting the Frontera towns of Cádiz province, it's that visiting old fortified towns with castles is a real physical workout. Your lungs have to work really hard to climb up to those old towers on the hilltop. (Or maybe it's just me, because I have a lung condition, and the combination of lung problems with musculoskeletal challenges (arthritis and fibromyalgia) mean that uphill stretches are not exactly my forte.)

I had to think of Proverbs 18:10, a verse that often comes to my mind because I live in a town that has Torre in its name.  It says, the name of the Lord is a strong tower (or some translations say a strong fortress.) The righteous run into it and they are safe. Choosing to trust in God's character can be just as challenging as climbing to the tower of a Spanish fortress: it involves a choice of our will to believe that God is who He says He is, and not to doubt Him and complain when our life circumstances get difficult or challenging at times. Some people, even if they've been Christians for ages, never get really close to God, because they're simply not willing to put in the effort to run to Him and depend on Him in every situation.

My second frontier town last Wednesday was Jimena de la Frontera - just another fifteen miles inland from Castellar. The streets of the town were steep, but fortunately my tiny little car was narrow enough to drive fairly high up before having to ascend on foot the rest of the way to the old fortress on top of the hill. But wow! What a view once I got there: not only of the town down below, but also of the stunning rock formations in the mountains and valleys round about.

And I had to think that it's just the same when we choose to trust in God. Getting there might not be easy, it might involve steps of faith, but once we're close to Him, we have a completely different view of things; we begin to see our life and our situations from God's perspective and not just from our own.

The name Jimena, similarly to Simon or Simone, comes from the Hebrew or Arabic words meaning to listen intently. What a fitting reminder that we need to draw close to God and listen to Him if we want to be safe and secure, and to have a right view ("righteous" in Proverbs 18:10) of people and situations.

Having visited my second Frontera town of the day, I headed back towards the coast and, less than a hour later, I had crossed the border into the UK. I was going to be spending the night at my friends' home in Gibraltar. Read on in the post below for my second day of exploring the frontiers.

From the cork groves to the Atlantic

After a good night's sleep in Gibraltar, I set out north-westwards the next morning, driving through the national park and nature reserve of Los Alcornocales. It reminded me a lot of some long stretches of road in South Africa or Zimbabwe, and thus brought back memories from more than twenty years ago.

Alcornocales actually means cork oak forests, because the area is full of cork oaks (Spanish albornoque) - trees of which the bark is used to make cork goods. There were also lots of rolling hills, little lakes, and at one point I could even see Jimena's castle on a hilltop far in the distance. I was heading to a couple more Frontera towns but, before that, my first stop was going to be in a town that doesn't have frontera in its name, but was nonetheless an important fortress in centuries past: the hillside town of Medina-Sidonia. Medina, as you probably know, is the Arabic word for city. So the name means City of Sidon - quite probably named after Sidon in the Middle East/Lebanon. It's an interesting thing in Spain that when the so called Catholic Kings fought wars to win back their land from the Moors, they didn't rename all the towns, as has happened in other parts of the world, but basically kept the old names, or made them slightly more Spanish sounding. Many city names begin with Al, which is the Arabic word for "the." The town I live in, for example: Alhaurin means garden of God. You can discern the Spanish word for garden: jardin. And the Arabic word for God: Allah.

It was fun to walk around the old town of Medina Sidonia with its white buildings, its views of the surrounding territory and its remaining stone arches from the original fortifications. No castle this time, as it was completely in ruins and you could only see the archeological remains. However, I got brave and decided to climb up the bell tower of the old church... not to be done out of my exercise workout of the day :-)

Next, my journey took me towards the Atlantic coast. I was heading for the town of Chiclana de la Frontera, where the Iro River empties into the sea. I discovered, though, that Chiclana and the nearby Conil de la Frontera had not retained the olde worlde charm of the hillside frontier towns, but had reinvented themselves as thriving coastal resort towns with luxury hotel complexes, beachside apartments and the like. A totally different kind of beauty, but not one with a sense of history behind it.... except for the fact that the coastline of the Bay of Cádiz/Costa de la Luz is dotted with old fortification towers, as is the Costa del Sol. There are some 63 coastal towers in Málaga and Cádiz provinces alone, as well as many more, all the way up the Spanish coastline. Built after Spain was won back from the Moors, these coastal watchtowers were the first line of defence against pirates and attackers from North Africa.

Further down the coast from the well known resort towns, there are still many of Cádiz's playas vírgenes (literally "virgin beaches") - beautiful stretches of golden sand, untouched by the trappings of tourism. I stopped at one, just outside Barbate. You can park your car very close to the beach, walk across the dunes and arrive at a stretch of beach that is occupied by only twenty people and half a dozen dogs. It reminded me of childhood holidays in Northern Ireland or Scotland. As I live near the Mediterranean, it seemed fitting that I should take advantage of this first "wild swimming" opportunity in the Atlantic. I was even joined by a friendly dog who wanted me to throw his ball for him.

After passing some beautiful stretches of unspoiled coastline, it was time to turn slightly inland and drive just a little bit through the Straits Natural Park. Here again, I was reminded of nature reserves in the Cape Town area, so it seemed fitting when I was approaching the town of Tarifa that I could see the mountains of Africa, less than ten miles away, across the water. From Tarifa, it's not very far back up the coastline to Gibraltar. My second day of adventures had included a lot of driving, but some stunning scenery along the way. 
Read on below for the last day of adventures in my three day break.

Homeward bound...

On Friday morning, I left Gibraltar bright and early. It was time to head home again. Some of my other team mates had also been away this week and in the evening I was going to be picking two up from the airport and a third from the bus stop.  My first little side trip was to the hillside village of Casares. Over this decade of living in Spain, I've often seen it on postcards or featured in lists of the prettiest "pueblos blancos," but I'd never been there before. It had felt like a long way to drive to visit a small village that I could walk round in no time.

But I made the detour last week, and it was certainly worth it. It was a pretty little village and the drive up to it was also very scenic, with unusual rock formations a little bit like those of the Torcal national park. Once I got there, I was glad that my car is so tiny, because I had to drive downhill to enter the town, on a narrow street with a sign saying, "Warning. Narrow street. Less than 2 metres in places."

It was market day, and the locals were buying their fruit and vegetables. As for me, I headed up to the castle, of course, to see the amazing views of the surrounding countryside, visit the ruins, and see the (outside of the) old Church of the Incarnation that was destroyed in the 1930s during the Spanish civil war. It was only restored in 2005 and is now the Blas Infante cultural centre. (Blas Infante, known as the father of Andalucía, was born in Casares. He too was killed by the dictator Franco's forces in the 1930s, at the start of the civil war.)

Looking at a map, I saw what appeared to be another "wild swimming" location on the drive back down towards the coast. Read on in the post below to discover the surprise that lay in store for me.