Let me introduce you to Santa Lucia. In her right hand she is strangling a frog, a bit of Catholic iconography with which I am unfamiliar.
She is normally portrayed with a head-dress of candles to light her way down into the catacombs of Rome whence she went encumbered with victuals for Christians hiding there in the 3rd century. Inevitably her comings and goings aroused suspicion and she was martyred. Her Feast Day is 13th December which is more or less the shortest day under the Julian calendar and she is a popular saint in Northern European countries where she is honoured with candle-lit processions. In Javea she is the named saint for a Conquista Hermitage dating back to the 14th or 15th century. The ‘conquista’ was the reclaiming of southern Spain from the Moors by Christians. It would be lovely to bring in El CID at this point, as I have a story about meeting Charlton Heston in New York in 1983, but he (El Cid, not Charlton Heston) was operating in the 11th century.
The Hermitage is perched on top of a hill, exactly 164 metres above sea level. It’s a steepish climb only eleven metres less than up to the lighthouse on Wednesday. It was closed but the views are excellent and it was easy to linger for fifteen minutes to catch my breath.
On the way down there is another place of worship – the Chapel of the Calvary, built in 1770. Again it was closed but the striking blue dome was visible from afar. Laid out along paths in front of the chapel are the fourteen Stations of the Cross.
Meanwhile, Robert continues to serve as a squire at the Court of David Ferrer, born in Javea, who has given his name to the tennis school and a boardwalk by the beach.
St Lucy looks as if she might have scoffed the victuals herself.
You make me want to return to Javea after nearly 30 years. We travelled by car rail to Narbonne and the sainted French railway managed to leave one family behind but take their car.