It’s a case of “hold the front page”. There’s great excitement in the village. A digger has been brought into to uncover an “ancient well”, which the villagers are now busy clearing of accumulated dirt. Jones and I saw the digger at work yesterday, ripping up the surrounding cobbles. We thought that it was merely part of replumbing work that was happening in the background and paid little attention.
Today, as we returned from a morning walk, we chanced on a group of villagers gathered at the spot. Closer approach revealed the mouth of the well (at ground level) and Zé Carlos a couple of metres down, hard at work with a hoe and shovel. Each time he filled a bucket with dirt, an assistant would haul it up with a rope and dump the dirt into the back of a tractor. Zé Carlos said he intended to dig down until he struck water a metre or two lower.
The villagers explained that the old well had been covered up in 1935 when the local authorities had built a new well close by to serve the village. The “new” well (still) has a hand-operated wheel that drives a pump that spurts water out of a pipe – a great improvement on rope and bucket. In the intervening years people had forgotten the exact location of the old well.
The council has now decided to expose the old well and to build a wall around the mouth. It’s an historical feature. The villagers believe that the well dates back to the Romans. In evidence they produce a haul of ancient ceramic shards found in the fields as well as – if anyone were still in doubt - a coin dating from the reign of Augustus Caesar. The also point out that the walls of the old well have been worn smooth by the passage of innumerable buckets down the centuries. Who knows?
In another significant development, we have picked, cooked and eaten our first beans of the season. The beans, as always, are excellent even if the crop itself is poor and the rodents have had their share; in fact, more than their share. The plants that I sowed in Sarah and David’s field are dotted with chewed pods. We worked our way along the bean plants, plucking the larger beans. The small ones may yet take heart from the promised rains and swell in size.
At Jones's request I have set up a bench in the south garden, placing it in the shade of a carob tree and using a spirit level to get it exactly right. Jones is very particular about having things level - especially her pictures.
We have head-scratched over a minor puzzle. It concerns a chap who lives in a nearby hamlet and who leads his dogs out each afternoon on a quad-bike. The dogs trot along behind. (A little dog, equipped with doggy goggles, sometimes sits astride the petrol tank). The rider turns off the dirt road that runs through the orchard below us, along a track that, we presumed, must lead him back home. It’s one of the few routes that we’re not familiar with. So we thought we’d follow it.
It led us for a couple of kilometres towards a distant village (Esteval dos Mouros – the Rock Rose plot of the Moors). The area was clearly popular with hunters, whose cartridge cases lay scattered all around. We also came across some spectacular orchids. But we couldn’t find a turn-off that might have led our quad-biker back home. It was as though he vanished into thin air.
The puzzle was solved when I encountered the rider one afternoon and asked him. It appears that he goes for miles, all the way to Esteval dos Mouros and then back by another route. His dogs must be the fittest in the Algarve. Jones and I are resolved to follow the route one day, equipped with the necessary refreshments to see us home.
Alternatively, we might consider hiring the quad-bikes which (the rider explained) he wants to rent out to visitors – although I doubt that the dogs would approve. (Jones, checking my letter, says I can count her out as well.)
A rep came along one afternoon to demonstrate new technology for accessing the internet via the mobile phone network. I had been making enquiries about it on behalf a neighbour who has dial-up internet access. The technology, different from the 3G Connect Card system that I’d been investigating earlier, still depends on the strength of the available signal. Although it’s much slower (and considerably cheaper) than broadband it proved to be 3 times as fast as dial-up here in Espargal. Every so often when I have to use a dial-up link I find myself tearing my hair out in frustration. How did we ever get by?
We’ve had some welcome showers along with an unrelenting, exhausting, nerve-wracking wind. The first of the showers arrived last weekend as I was preparing an evening barbecue. I was able to pull the barbecue cart under the lee of the upstairs patio and to continue grilling without interruption. I was quite pleased with myself. The rain continued overnight – although only a measly 7 millimetres registered in the morning. We need more rain before the onset of the hot months. Already the soil has dried out. Big cracks have opened along the tractor tracks – and this is only March.
Another welcome 7 mms arrived later in the day as we set out to see The Painted Veil. We both liked the film – although I hated the usual distractions. Three English women a few rows away were conversing in stage whispers and consulting their mobile phones. They were clearly irritated when I asked them to turn the phones off. I didn’t point out that they shouldn’t have been on in the first place. A screen announcement at the start of each movie asks the audience to disconnect mobiles and not to converse during the film. It gets about the same level of respect as the speed limit. Dad used to get really bothered by any such distractions and I fear that he passed his botheration genes on to me in their entirety.
Dani and I continued our attack on the Park when he and Natasha made their usual Tuesday appearance. The timber we brought down gave us to two tractor loads of firewood, including half a dozen hollow trunk bases for Jones’s flowers. She uses these as containers for live plants, packing the hollow space with soil. We use them to line the fence and they look superb. Jones spotted several large such bases on the property that Vitor, the mechanic, has been clearing and Vitor was happy for us to have them.
At the end of the day with Dani I found that I would have to take him and Natasha back to Loulé because the evening bus service didn’t run during the school holidays. If I wasn’t best pleased the dogs were thrilled. They love nothing better than a ride in the car. When we got back Jones complained that she hadn’t got a single thing done the whole day. All she had done was to look after her workers - toast and coffee on arrival, followed by morning tea and cake, lunch, and afternoon tea and cake, generally served wherever we’re working.
Apart from this Jones had found herself drawn into conversations with several passing neighbours. It wasn’t that she minded the conversations. She just felt frustrated that she had nothing to show for the passage of the day. She hadn’t even finished digging a hole for a plant. I hugged her and assured her that from our point of view, her day had been a most valuable and appreciated one. Isn’t it strange how we still feel the need to justify our daily existence, even by digging a few holes or picking up some stones.
p.s. The villagers have just come to borrow my submersible pump. I took it and several metres of hose along to the well on the tractor. Last I saw Zé Carlos he was five metres down with water up to the rim of his gumboots.
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