My wife is a devout catholic, and I'm a failed one.
But Sunday is still special to me, and it gives me pleasure to drive my wife from our mountainside villa in Monte Pego, down into our charming local village of Pego. Hundreds of years ago Pego used to be a busy port, and has had a magnificent local church (in fact it has several) standing there also for many years.
This 16th century church was built on the ruins of a mosque, and like most Spanish churches it looks heavily weathered from the outside and bristles with old-world charm. But go inside and it is truly magnificent. The Sunday service starts at 12 midday and usually lasts for around an hour.
So I sit outside, and find it a good time to reflect and collect my thoughts. The fact that there are two fantastic bars opposite the church is just pure coincidence…
Over a smooth yet strong cortado (made with espresso and steamed milk – it's like a mini-cappuchino), I muse, plan, socialise and yarn with the friendly locals. Think of 1950's English village life, and that image will transport you to wonderful Pego today.
It sucks me in like some cultural osmosis, and later, when my wife exits the church after the service has finished, I feel calmed and refreshed.
Spooky Eh?
