Letter from Espargal: 29 of 2007

In an era of sub-prime loans, global conflicts and natural disasters, it’s not always easy to convey the full significance of events here in Espargal. For instance, there was the afternoon that Cathy arrived and Prickles was taken by a sudden need to poo during our afternoon walk. We were passing a farmhouse beloved of the dogs as it always has enticing sacks and piles of produce lying on the threshold. They like nothing better than sticking their noses into the heap and signing off with a couple of squirts. Prickles was in mid-labour on a pile of almond shells beside the front door when it opened and the farmer emerged.

What can one do? I made such grovelling apologies as I could and, as soon as Prickles would permit, we fled the scene. The farmer wasn’t impressed. (I think there’s a relevant proverb but I can’t remember it.)

Beyond the shed is a field that has recently been cleaned up by Vitor, the village mechanic (who’s still in the family home, along with wife and new-born son). We understand that it’s his intention to build a house. The new property has poor access - a steep track, just wide enough to take Vitor’s quad-bike. All week, a digger with a pneumatic drill has laboured to widen it. It’s a tough job. The bank is solid rock, and there’s a tall, dry-stone wall towering above it. The digger is now at a point when any further drilling is liable to bring down the wall. We wait to see what comes next.

Before going to the airport to meet Cathy, we took an old friend to lunch. He’s been living alone for several months while his wife has been receiving medical attention in the UK. Of course, the dogs came along as well. (They know their rights.) We left the car in the relative cool of the underground parking at the Algarve Forum and threaded our way through the holiday throngs to a restaurant upstairs. It was a restaurant I’ve mentioned before, one that seldom has any clients in the evenings. For once it was pleasantly full. The meal was good.

En route to the airport, Jones said she felt a mess (even though she had just had her hair cut). She generally makes this remark when she hasn’t had enough time for a leisurely shower and for all the stuff that girls like to do before they go out. The strange bit is that she never looks a mess. She’s innately neat and tidy in her habits and her appearance.

On the other hand, while I frequently look a mess - I don’t say this with any pride; it’s just the way things are - I never feel a mess. The height of comfort is a pair of paint-stained jeans and a shirt with collar up and unbuttoned cuffs (to keep the sun off neck and hands), pretty much what Adam wore in the Garden of Eden. I told Jones that feeling a mess was in her head. She didn’t find that very helpful. She said that I should consider the pain that I inflicted on the people who had to endure my appearance. Personally, I don’t think this really figures on the scale of human suffering.

We went with Cathy (and the dogs, naturally) to look at the wind turbines on the far side of the valley. There are now three of them in the hills beyond Alte. I reckon they’re about 25 metres high with 15 metre blades. Although the wind was not strong at the time, the middle turbine was turning energetically. Nearby, we found an old cottage that Jones liked. She said that’s where she wanted to live when I went off with my bimbo. As is common in country areas, we had to stop to allow a shepherd to get his flock across the road. Sheep are growing fat on the summer produce that’s too ripe or mis-shapen to sell at market.

On the advice of a neighbour, who spoke of their advantages, we have acquired wireless head-phones. I found a pair in an appliance shop in Loulé after we’d run Natasha home one evening. They were quite expensive but, as I told Jones, they saved us the cost of driving 30 minutes to the shopping centre. Although I set them up using the instructions (a simple enough process), they didn’t work very well. The mini-jack had a faulty connection and, whatever I tried, the right earphone remained stubbornly silent.

The next day we drove to the shopping centre (horribly crowded with a shaven-headed tourist rabble) where I found a used pair marked down, along with a much better audio link. That pair works fine (in both ears). We can now enjoy Proms concerts in stereo while watering the garden.

Next, I took the first pair back to the Loulé where I explained the problem to the old shopkeeper and offered to demonstrate it. He wasn’t overly helpful. I had to wait for 30 minutes until his technician arrived to confirm what I’d told him. The old man supplied me instead with a slightly cheaper pair (that work properly). I still had another wait while he tried (and failed) to adjust the cash-card payment. As the shop was about to close, he eventually paid me the difference in cash. I don’t think I’ll go back there any time soon.

Most mornings I’ve been picking carobs.
Today Cathy and Jones came carob picking too. We drove down into the river valley where we worked hard in the shade of the trees, along with Leonhilda and three members of her family. In 90 minutes we filled nearly four sacks. That’s quite a lot of carobs.

Another morning, I felt compelled to climb into the branches of a tree as the cane I was using to whack down the pods grew ever shorter. Getting up took some effort. Perched in a fork like a monkey, I could reach the carobs in the upper canopy. Getting down was another story. Is it my imagination or does the attraction of gravity increase with time?

My neighbour, David, who was working alongside me, saved my dignity and my skin. Afterwards Dona Caterina (Leonhilda’s elderly mum) presented us with a bowl of figs to thank us for our efforts. They are the most delicious figs. Even so, we open them first to peer inside in case the bugs have got there first.

David and Sarah have now finished their mega-reroofing project. Following Idalecio’s departure from the scene, they have been painting and adding the finishing touches. The changes have given them a house that is bigger (extra attic room) and more comfortable (layers of insulation), as well as a flat roof with views across the country. Their new chimneys look elegant. The couple admit to being rather pleased.

According to the weather forecast, we it may rain tomorrow – the first rains of the season. That would be very nice. It takes the pair of us (mainly Jones, if the truth be told) about an hour each evening to water the garden. Jones divides it into three sections and waters one section each day. My duties include spraying and watering the pumpkin plants. Although I haven’t said so to Jones, we’d have saved ourselves a great deal of water and effort by buying a couple of pumpkins rather than waiting on our plants to grow them.

Our tomato plants, on the other hand, are making modest efforts to please us. Idalecio’s dad, who has whole fields under tomatoes, has presented us with two large boxes, one of which Jones had turned into jam. I have complimented her upon it. It’s a winner.


Jones has also finished the re-arrangement of the section of garden immediately above the cobbled driveway. It has won compliments from our neighbours and from Cathy. No doubt it will do so also from (Cathy’s older daughter) Erica, who arrives from London tomorrow. We look forward to a convivial week.