Letter from Espargal: 27 of 2008

It all started when Jose Raoul was showing me his latest tractors in Benafim a few weeks ago, and suggesting that I might want to upgrade from the (strictly second-hand) model he sold me two years ago. I foolishly indicated that there was a small chance, depending on circumstances. I was careful not to commit myself although I did go back to take a closer look at the Kioti-500L in his showroom and to ascertain what my tractor would fetch as a trade-in. Since nothing was agreed I thought it premature to make my thoughts public.

That’s where things stood until there was a tooting at the gate on Thursday evening while Jones and I were enjoying sundowners in the garden. There stood Jose with another man. Jose explained that his companion was interested in purchasing my (possibly to be traded-in) tractor. As he was shortly to return to France, they’d be really grateful if they could take a look at it. Of course, I obliged. And so the cat was out of the bag, which was a bit of a relief as I’m not a natural conspirator. We’ll see what we’ll see.

The highlight of the week was Benafim’s Festa dos Milhos (mielie festival), the kind of community event that the Portuguese are very good at. What is special is the friendliness and good behaviour of crowds that have easy access to alcohol. Indeed, the beer bill of our own expat group must have made a substantial contribution to the retirement home for which funds were being raised. The whole family turns up and there’s lots of good-natured eating, drinking, dancing and being merry. (The great majority of people, I should add, live within easy walking distance.)


THE GIRLS
Barbecued chicken and salad is the order of the day. Other traditional dishes are available. I opted for xarém(a word of Arabic origins), maize meal porridge with sliced smoked sausage, a dish one hardly comes across in Portugal except on such occasions. It took me back to a thousand maltabela breakfasts, and to braaivleis evenings with “boerewors & stywe pap”.
Jones and I left the party before the arrival of the belly dancers who, we understand, were quite spectacular.

The most significant event of the week was the arrival of a man from the council to install water meters, bringing to an end 18 months of free supply to village households. You might think this a simple matter but here in Portugal very little is ever simple. For one thing the plumber, a really pleasant fellow, spoke only Portuguese and was having great difficulty communicating with some expats. He even had a hard time matching houses with their owners as there are no street names visible in the village yet and no house numbers.

So he was delighted to accept my services as guide and translator. My task was to point out expat houses and explain to those neighbours who hadn’t installed a valve in the water-meter box that they had to do so before the plumber could fit the meter. Most, like us, had no idea of this requirement. At the end of the afternoon the plumber declared me a fine estrangeiro and we parted on the most amiable terms.

Another modest encounter was with a woman who stopped to talk to our neighbour, Leonhilde, while the latter and I were about to start a morning’s clearing under her carob trees near Benafim. The woman – I didn’t catch her name – was struggling down the road with a heavy basket of veggies on her head and large plastic bags of the same in her hands, making her way home from her nearby plot.


VEGGIE LADY
As she evidently had far more than she could comfortably carry, I offered her a lift home in the car, a two-minute journey. Her gratitude overflowed, along with that of her mother, who was waiting at the gate. She tried to press most of the produce on to me by way of thanks. I was able to limit myself to several peppers that I knew would win favour with Barbara.

Later we had a phone call from Leonhilde’s sister, Gilberta, who runs the service station, to say that my passenger had left a bag there for us – and would I please drop by on the way home. We did, to find more fresh food. It is embarrassing when small favours bring such generous returns.

Another of my roles has been to liaise between Portuguese farmers and expat neighbours who are collecting their (own) carobs. Most donate their carobs to the farmers. I collect the sacks from the farmers and distribute them; then I fetch the carobs on the tractor and exchange them for produce. Although this is a minor operation, it brings a great deal of satisfaction to all concerned. If only the parties at the World Trade Talks in Cancun could have reached a similar deal, the world would be much better off.


WALKING STICK

One of the farmers, Ermenio, noting that I always took a stick with me on walks, gave me a walking stick that he had cut and varnished himself. Insects had previously got in under the bark and inscribed a maze of patterns into the surface of the wood. It looks almost as though an artist has done it.

As we walked the dogs one evening, we became aware of an ambulance approaching the village with its lights flashing. It stopped outside the home of Vitor the mechanic. From old Jose next door we learned that Vitor’s mother, who has a gammy leg and uses a crutch, had slipped and fallen. Jose told us that she’d broken a leg. Whatever the case, she was whipped off to Faro hospital – the poor old dear.

Jones, as ever, has spent most of the week in her garden. I brought some flat stones around on the tractor to help her construct a path in the south garden, which is looking splendid. I've continued strimming and clearing under our own carobs in preparation for bringing in the crop.

On Monday we travelled into Loule with Robbie and Kayleigh while their parents went off to the west coast to try to sort out a complex property purchase. One of our tasks was to collect some US dollars from the bank for Jonesy. She flies next Thursday to New York to attend the wedding of her nephew, Bevan, at the weekend. She’ll be away for 10 days.


The next day, after running Natasha home, we went on to the vet to have the puppies vaccinated against rabies – their fourth and final round of injections. From previous experience we went well armed with towels, aware of the pups’ propensity to get car sick. This Raymond well and truly was – twice. Prickles, consigned to the back with Ono, manifested his displeasure by throwing up there – fortunately on my rubber mats. One way and another it was a very yucky journey.

Raymond didn’t like going into the surgery and did a lot of growling. He’s a big boy at 5 months - nearly 19 kgs. Given my back problems I declined to lift him on to the examination table but offered to help the vet, a slip of a girl, do so. She assured me that she could lift him herself – and did.


While we were there I had him chipped. New legislation in Portugal requires that all dogs born after a certain date should have chips inserted. Jones expressed her considerable scepticism that the majority of Portuguese dog owners would take this law seriously. I have my own doubts.