I shall not try to mislead you. Our news is modest. But, still, we shall share it with you if only in the hope that you will return the compliment. To those correspondents whose letters we have already enjoyed, our thanks.
We are waiting for some promised rain. As we scan the skies around us, we fear that the weather may renege on its promises. In spite of the depression that the satellite picture shows passing over us, such clouds as we can see are high and thin. Elsewhere, it’s been a different story. Parts of central Portugal were hit by fierce hail storms last night, with deaths and injuries on the roads. We listened to the news on the car radio as we returned from a concert in Faro.
The concert was given by a visiting orchestra, that of the conservatory of the University of Vienna. It’s a huge orchestra, easily twice the size of the local outfit, and found little room to spare on the large stage of Faro’s municipal theatre. There were at least 40 players in the string section alone. The first work was Rachmaninoff’s 2nd piano concerto, a favourite of ours. A Portuguese pianist was the soloist and was much applauded, even if one of our party thought that his rendition bore little resemblance to the recording made by Rachmaninoff himself.
It was followed by Mahler’s 1st symphony. Mahler is a composer whose works are far less familiar to me than his name and reputation. We’ve never heard his symphonies performed by the Orchestra of the Algarve, whether because of their complexity or maybe because of the large orchestra they require. Either way, his 1st symphony was a revelation to me, an extraordinary mixture of elements. Jones, on whose culture I lean, said she first heard it at the Proms in London some 30 years ago.
The week is proving to be a social one. Last weekend we bade farewell to our house sitters but not before we’d joined them on a long walk through the countryside. The dirt roads had been badly eaten away from a heavy downpour during our absence in the Alentejo. At one point as we walked down a slope, I lost my footing and went sprawling headlong on the loose gravel. It hurt. When I later inspected the minor grazes I had to show for my fall I felt somewhat disappointed. They didn’t do justice to the bruising I got. There’s nothing like a spot of blood to prove a point.
Midweek we had lunch with friends from the UK, who will be part of a group joining us at Idalecio’s restaurant again this evening. The friends are bird-watchers and orchid spotters, a couple who often house sit for us and who have inducted us into the wealth of Algarvian bird life and orchid varieties. We took them to a restaurant on the banks of the stream that runs through Alte, a place where one can lunch outside with the dogs, now including young Prickles, under one’s feet. He was spotted and fussed over by a group of Scottish women lunching at an adjacent table. The little guy really knows how to turn on the charm.
I must say that Prickles has settled into the household effortlessly - with cats, dogs and people - and the others have accepted him in turn. He is now responding to his name and to “COME” calls – some of the time, anyhow.
One complication that’s arisen concerns our twice-weekly classes, Wednesday for Portuguese and Thursday for English. The other two dogs have long been accustomed to come to class with us, an arrangement they find infinitely preferable to being left at home. They settle down on a blanket in the corner of the classroom and simply vanish for the duration of the lesson. But we haven’t felt that we can inflict a third dog on our classmates, especially as Prickles is much given to little whines whenever he wants anything.
The week’s post brought a glossy brochure from Honda, singing the praises of the new CRV and inviting me to test drive it. It’s an invitation I plan to take up. Jones was sitting beside me as I opened the envelope. “We won’t buy one this year,” I assured her. “Not ever,” she responded. (Jones does not believe that cars are a good investment, as you are probably aware.)
That’s a bit tough. Our current model is getting on for 7 years and has over 110,000 kms on the clock. I have been thinking that a new CRV might be a good idea when this one approaches the 200,000 km mark, say in three years’ time when I become an official pensioner. For older people (I can’t think of the euphemisms one sees for OAPs on health insurance and prepaid funeral blurbs) the reliability of a new model becomes a matter of some importance – don’t you think? Pensioners are not meant to lift the bonnet and start fiddling with the engine when things go wrong.
However, I do sigh over the prices one has to pay in Portugal. The CRV range starts in Canada at less than C$ 28,000 (according to the Honda Canada website). Here, the starting price is 39,000 euros – equivalent to 60,000 dollars – more than twice the price. It’s not just ridiculous; it’s positively painful.
Changing the subject - the European Bee Eaters are back, swooping overhead and sitting on the wires to display their glorious colours – shimmering rainbows. They’re a delight. I wish that you could see them - and our garden. It is green and lush, sprinkled with the flowers that Jones labours over so long.
Hiding in it somewhere is old Fatty Fatcat – aka Tommie, aka The Lynx – the huge tabby who migrated to us many years ago at the Quinta, where he found our cat food superior to whatever his owners were feeding him next door. Tommie is coming to the end of his days. He staggers arthritically upstairs and needs assistance getting down. His eyesight is poor. He bangs into objects and tips over the edge of the patio.
Jones spends hours tending him; carrying him in and out, feeding him, looking for him in the garden, loving him. Several times I have expected to find him expired in the morning but he surprises us each time. In spite of his infirmities, his appetite remains healthy. We wonder, if he continues to hang on, how he will cope when we start our May travels – now less than two weeks away. I’m not sure that we can inflict him on our house sitters, who are already going to find more animals than they bargained on. (I do not include the 6 kittens that the neighbour's cat has just produced.)
There’s some thunder in the background and a big black cloud over Benafim although here the sun shines. Things are looking more hopeful,I think.
ALAN JOHNSTON WAS A COLLEAGUE OF MINE AT THE BBC. I HOPE THAT HE IS STILL ALIVE AND THAT HE WILL SOON BE FREE
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