The Last Time

This is a week when everything is being done for the last time.  The weeks have flown and I can’t believe that I am counting down the days now until I return home.   Poor weather is forecast from Friday for a few days so it perhaps will make this parting a bit easier.

Some faces have begun to disappear over the past few weeks and farewells are being said all over the place with promises of “I’ll be be back in October/November.”  Apartments for next winter’s escape from the weather are being viewed, bartered for and booked in some cases.

So Sunday was the last time I will be going to the Fuengirola market that runs parallel with the beach and is in sight of Miramar.  The last time that it is until later in the year hopefully when I might think again about my negative response to the stall-holder who wanted to meet me for a coffee.   It’s not too far a walk to the Sunday market from my apartment but then nothing seems to be too far from my apartment in this busy square.

We met the others in the square on Sunday, which was full of Spaniards, lots of families and lots of children who were all lunching out together in the brilliant sunshine.  Umbrellas were set up for shade and even La Farola’s was open for lunch when they normally close on Sundays.  Enquiries elicited the information that it was Father’s Day here which was being celebrated in style.

Our group for coffee was smaller than usual but it was another bubbly day as two friends were departing for Madrid next day en route to their home.    So their remaining Cava was consumed by all in the clear plastic champagne flutes which have made a regular appearance the past three Sundays.  Elainea happily chilled the Cava in her cafe’s fridge.  How many businesses would do that I wondered?

The Salon Varietes Theatre are presenting ten days of Joseph & The Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat.  I went along Sunday night to the lovely little theatre, which in days gone past was a cinema.  The plush red seating is just okay but what was more than okay was the performance which was simply excellent.  The narrator, I think, has been a professional actor at some time in his life, and some of the others too, but this was mainly an amateur cast which belied the standard of the show they put on.

I am told they make everything themselves, all the backdrops, all the costumes, as like all theatres these days, funds are tight and they depend on local support.  I loved every minute of this show and could not single out anyone as being above anyone else.  They were simply delightful and excellent.

There’s another F.O.T.A. here, but so different from Fota in Cork.  Here the letters stand for “Friends of the Theatre Association” and I will definitely become a member when I come back later in the year.   Their forthcoming social events include a monthly lunch, a four day trip to Donana Park and Jerez de la Frontera, a Fashion Show in La Farola Restaurant, with lunch, and a Valparaiso Summer Ball.

I wandered along as far along as the marina yesterday.  It was another beautiful cloudless day.   I watched huge dumper trucks depositing load after load of sand, replenishing what has been eroded by this winter’s storms, the worst winter since 1952.   It has not all been wall to wall sunshine and when it rains it definitely knows how to rain.  You could not call it “a soft day.”  Locals hope that the weather has settled after each stormy day but it does not appear to have settled yet, although when the skies open up to a clear pristine blue, and the few feathery clouds have evaporated, like childbirth, you forget what it is to have an inclement day.

Later as I walked up from the beach following the signpost for Dunn-es Stor-es, so I could find my way back to my square, for the first time I encountered the local refuse service in operation, so I was able to see how the system worked.  The tiny bins that are dotted strategically around this town hide cavernous bins underground.  They are electronically raised and operated much like a remote control car to be emptied.   The bin lorry stands alongside as one of the men controls the elevation of the bins and they are then emptied into the lorry.

Such an efficient way of coping with refuse.  The small bins at street level each have a different purpose.  And there is no charge to the person depositing the refuse, which is all sorted out whether it is paper, plastic or organic waste.  So there is no dumping of rubbish anywhere around the town.  The streets are cleaned regularly as are the pathways and squares.  Residents wash the pavements outside their homes. (This used to happen when I lived in Edinburgh).  And the beach is regularly cleaned by a large squad of men and women as they sift through the sand removing what has been discarded by the previous day’s sun worshippers and what has been washed up overnight.

What “Last time” will today bring?

 

 

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