Motril, Spain, Sunday December 25th

On Christmas Day I woke late feeling pretty dopey. Keith had been up with Michel drinking coffee and using the internet for quite some time. Bérenice and Michel don't celebrate Christmas as a festival day, and the plan had been to go to the nearby village of Almúñecar, where they own a flat. They would clean it between tenants and we would walk around the village, meeting up with them later. Poor Bérenice had spent a dreadful night coughing and was feeling queasy as well, so we had a morning at home instead.

That allowed us to ring our other children, who were all at Joel's place along with Daniel's family. Having decided not to be home for Christmas, I suddenly felt that I would have loved to be there. We had good chats with everyone, and heard from Frey that he had received some goggles. It was evening there and everyone was a little tired from all the festivities and all the eating. Our year concertinaed into nothing since last Christmas was nearly our last Australian experience with all the family, and suddenly I knew without a doubt that everything was nearly over for us. I felt a little as if I was on an emotional roller coaster and even suggested that we stay on in France for another three months. Keith did not feel the same way and had sensibly realised that all good things come to an end and that a new and interesting phase was ahead of us. He had been thinking about next year for some time and it was not a surprise to him that our trip would finish soon. I was so overwhelmed that I found it hard to even imagine the three weeks we still had and could only see them running away down a plughole.

To counter all of this, I tried to think that I had a three week holiday to Morocco, and how exciting that would be if it was your one and only trip for the year. We spent some time looking at all Bérenice's books on Morocco, slowly since they were in French. We had had suggestions from lots of people, and knew that we would be going into a country where there would be hassling and conmen to cope with. Bérenice's enormous map was a great help but what we really needed was a guide in English. We had thought about the weather in Morocco when we purchased our plane tickets way back last year, with leaving from Casablanca being one of our few planned decisions. We had assumed that it would be warm, and it should be, but not in the mountains, and the map now showed us that there were lots and lots of them. Bérenice and Michel visited there with their car not very long ago and had some bad experiences with even the police demanding money for fines for things that had not happened. They felt that lying was pretty much a regular behaviour from everyone and they had not known if they could trust anyone. Every time they stopped the car they would be surrounded by people asking for money or to guide them or 'help' them. Even when they paid to have their car guarded in a 'safe' car park, it came out scratched and dinted. They said that Morocco is a beautiful country, but the behaviour of the people would put them off going there again. This not so good version of a trip to Morocco was a dampener to us, but they did say that issues with the car occupied much of their time and that it could be different for us on public transport.

After lunch we set off for Almúñecar, and parted at the flat, where Bérenice and Michel stayed to clean while we set off to explore the village. We crossed the new bridge that replaced the one that was swept away in flooding a couple of years ago. People in the mountains use the rivers and gullies as tips, filling them with unwanted white goods, machinery and such. The floods were so great that all this rubbish was swept up and washed down to the bridge where it built up, blocking the water until there was so much pressure that the whole lot gave way, like a dam bursting. Bérenice had said to walk on until we came to the bars, and then to take a road into the old town. We had walked a long way before we realised that she meant bars where you can buy drinks, and not prison type bars that for some reason seemed to me to be what we would find along the foreshore of a beach resort. It is always interesting to note how our minds work, but not so good when you realise yet again that your own mind is not a terribly rational one.

By this stage we had come to a huge rock with a path leading up it, so up we climbed. The coastline just here has quite a few rocks, giving it a much more charming and natural look than the stretches of imported grey sand in other parts.

At the foot of the rock a large statue of Abd–Al-Rahman recalled that, as the only surviving member of the Umayyad, he had landed here on the 15^th August, 755. He founded the Emirate of Córdoba which was independent of Baghdad and established his own dynasty. He is quoted as saying 'Oh palm tree, you are like me, a stranger in the west and distant from your homeland.' (my translation). It seems as if both he and palm trees managed pretty well here. There are many varieties of palms in civic plantings and along the beaches, as well as in private gardens, and they are a distinctive feature of the area. Apparently there is a beetle that is threatening their future because it bores into the trunks and eats away. This was one of the few monuments we had encountered that celebrate a Moorish leader in Spain.

Of course everything was closed today, being Christmas, and we expected to see no-one on the streets. There were, however groups of strollers walking off lunches. Some men congregated for a chat in the sunny plaza; it looked as if this daily ritual could not be broken.

Dog walkers were out, allowing excrement to be added to the multitude already over narrow lanes and steps that linked the houses. We wound our way up to the Castle of Saint Michael, which was in use from the 11^th to the 15^th Centuries, and where a French attack had left one of the towers toppled over and leaning to one side.

Some teenagers 'walked' a very cute puppy in their arms around the foot of the castle and teased another stray dog that was wandering. I hoped that that puppy was not a moment of Christmas joy to be abandoned later. Looking down we saw the large excavation area of the Roman fish processing factory lying behind a high wall.

We rambled along between the buildings, with many of them having sections that looked as if they had been hewn out of rock. We came upon the site of the 'Palace of the Seven Caves', where arches into the rock led to what had once been a palace. We could hear good times being celebrated in the houses, especially behind the billowing curtains over the doorways. We hadn't seen door curtains before in Spain, and although there would have been real doors for security too, it was certainly the pattern on this day for people to have only the curtain pulled across and for visitors to be popping in and out. A couple of times we saw strings of the Three Kings climbing up to the balconies, where on the 5^th of January they would enter and leave toys. They looked very much like miniature super heroes, in a glorious blend of traditional and modern stories.

This is a lovely village, with an old area that continues on to a new commercial centre via the 16^th Century Church of the Incarnation. Roman ruins, a statue and cane plants recognising the sugar industry, a boisterous fountain and strange half eaten statues as a tribute to water were the central foci of the village down the hill.

We wandered back having really enjoyed being out and about in Almúñeca. Bérenice and Michel had finished their tasks, so after a quick dip into the supermarket, we headed for home. Poor Bérenice was still not feeling well, which was a worry since she and Michel were planning to join their Spanish teacher and a group for a trek in the mountains tomorrow. I sent some emails out with the news of Rohan's and Kerry's engagement, and was amazed to receive a reply back immediately from a friend in Australia who should have been in bed, whose son, a contemporary of Rohan's, is also engaged. It was like the touch of a hand from across the world. I started to do some of the blog, a project sadly neglected recently and once again hanging over me like a cloud. Keith asked me when I would stop writing it, and I said, “The minute that I get off the plane in Australia.” He argued that it had started before we got on the plane, and so it would be better to continue on a while. Still, I was on a bit of a roll, and once I am back in the swing it is not so bad. It is good to relive each day and reflect on all that has happened, and will be a great asset to have a record of our travels and not just our increasingly faulty memories.

After dinner, at which I tasted a fruit called chilimoya, which I think is custard apple in English, we looked at some photos of Michel and Bérenice 's Moroccan trip, which Michel ran as a slide show through their television. Their camel ride into the desert had been an enjoyable experience and I was interested to note that their camels had handle bars so the passenger had something to hold on to. Nevertheless, I am not keen for another camel ride and I was relieved when Keith said that the he thought that we would not be going to the desert on this trip.