Letter from Espargal: 21 of 2008

Did I say that last week was full of gardens and dogs? Well, this week has been full of dogs and gardens, with some welcome sporting and social distractions. Sorry if it seems that we are beating on a drum. It’s not a case of silly people besotted with their animals. We’ve been upset about the welfare of Serpa’s other puppy, Bobby, who was spending most of his time locked in a small, dark shed. (Jones has more or less hand-raised the two pups and we’ve paid the considerable expenses required for 4 rounds of vaccinations.)

This isn’t a tale about two expats and other people’s animals. It’s really about a culture clash that is behind frequent tensions between local people and the expat community. It’s notable that foreigners are the moving force behind animal sanctuaries in Portugal. What it comes down to is that dogs are still widely regarded - at least in rural areas - more as utensils than pets, kept for a function, whether it be hunting or security.

BOBBY & RAYMOND
In this instance one of Serpa’s pups came to us; the other went to another of Idalecio’s neighbours, old Zeferino. Zeferino is 86. He’s active and healthy but hard of hearing and short of formal education. He can’t read or write. Nor can his 50-year old son, Lugiero, who lives with him. They exist on Zeferino’s modest pension and the proceeds of their annual carob crop. Neither has ever been abroad or is likely to. A visit to Loule, 20 minutes away, is unusual. Their outlook is moulded by a lifetime in a tiny Portuguese village.

We had our doubts when we heard that they were adopting Bobby. This unease grew to distress when we discovered that Bobby was being treated more like a bicycle than a dog – kept in a hot, airless shed when he wasn’t required, which was most of the time. Whenever I went to put drops (against ear-mites) into the dog’s ears, he was retrieved from the shed and then thrust back into it. There was no malice – just ignorance.

Unhappy at the turn of events, we appealed to Idalecio for support. He persuaded Bobby’s owners to allow the dog to stay outside on a run. Together we erected a 30-metre wire run in Zeferino’s yard. Next we invited Zeferino to join us on our daily walks. The old man is still fit. But with Bobby highly excited and Jones and me trying to control two dogs each, it’s a circus. Still it serves its purpose. Afterwards, Zeferino enjoys a cool glass of apple juice at our house and Bobby gets a meal along with his ear-drops, as well as a romp around with Raymond.

One morning we bumped into old Evangelina (also 80-something), who was freshening up her walls with limewash.This mix has traditionally been used to smarten up houses each summer. The task seems (like so many) to be a woman’s responsibility rather than a man’s. The remains of stone lime-kilns still dot the countryside, these days often filled with trash.

Evangelina loves a chat and doesn’t mind posing. She confided that she had become a favourite target of the snappers on the safari jeeps that regularly drive through the village with a gape-load of tourists on the back.

(I regret that Jones’s suggested collective noun for a bunch of sun-toasted tourists is not suitable for a public blog.)

For the garden, it’s more of the same: strimming, cutting back and watering – lots of watering.

DISTRESSED PLUMBAGO

The weather is seriously hot, well into the thirties. Even so, the garden still looks robust, most of it. One bush, a magnificent plumbago on the fence, suddenly started succumbing to the pressure of a honeysuckle and a jasmine on either side of it. Jones thinks that, with Cathy’s initial help, she has saved it.

DAY LILIES
Emergency assistance has also been rendered to Jones’s day-lilies, by way of a ladder shoved under the low-growing branches of the overhead carob.

I’ve been concentrating on the strimming, cutting back the fire-risk dead growth along the edges of the fields. The council has been doing the same thing along the roadside; a large tractor takes out the shoulder-high weeds while two workers, armed with strimmers, clean up the stragglers.

Speaking of tractors – I’ve been admiring the new John Deere that my Canadian brother has invested in to cut the grass on his acreage just outside Calgary. More dangerously, I was most impressed in Benafim by a glorious new tractor being tested by the local dealer. He’s the same man who has sold me my previous tractors. As we stopped to look, he leaned over in the saddle and yelled that he’d buy my current tractor back from me at the same price he sold it to me if I’d buy the new one. I could be tempted. Jones gave an “over my dead body” snort, which puts me in a quandary. When a man has to choose between an old wife and new tractor, he has a dilemma.

Gardens and animals aside, it’s been a sociable week. Our Irish neighbours, Fintan and Pauline, invited us and two other couples to dinner at the Alte Hotel. The invitation was to thank us for helping them with the clean-up after the fire in their cottage. Not a single item in the house escaped smoke-damage and it took days of effort to wash, brush and clean stuff down. I carted loads of stuff back on the tractor to store in Casa Nada while the house was repaired and repainted.

It was the first time we’d dined at the Alte Hotel, a building that perches high on the hill over the town. From the dining room one has a view right across the Algarve plain. It’s the sort of place to make one feel special. Afterwards, Fintan and Pauline presented each couple with a hamper, bulging with every kind of good thing. We were touched at such kindness.

That was Monday evening. Two days later we gathered in Marie’s garden for a very English afternoon tea. It was like Wimbledon (which I’ve been enjoying) without the tennis or the strawberries. Marie had four tables going with English-speaking expats from the village and surroundings. Olly doled out cold beers to those who preferred them (even in the shade we were gasping) while Marie did tea, coffee and a great selection of good food.

We didn’t bother about supper afterwards. Beers sufficed as neighbours joined us for the crackerjack Turkey-Germany semi-final in the UEFA competition. They joined us again on Thursday for the Spain-Russia match. So it’s Germany against Spain on Sunday. The beers are in the fridge already – although the way the weather is looking they may not last until the match.

As I write, it’s a scorching afternoon and I’m trying to think of excuses not to go out and shred the pile of greenery that’s awaiting my attention on the back of the tractor. I had to put an old pair of jeans over the tractor seat as it was simply too hot to sit on in the sun.

One evening we headed to the little town of Paderne for supper, followed by a concert in the old church on the town square. Townsfolk were sitting out in front of their houses, trying to stay cool, when we arrived shortly before the 21.30 start. In the church itself, barely a dozen people had gathered but the orchestra had the good sense to wait 15 minutes - Portuguese time is hugely elastic - and the place gradually filled up. A visiting German conductor led the orchestra through an energetic hour of Haydn and Mozart.

Tonight brings the annual senior university bash at a splosh hotel down on the coast. Never a moment’s peace.