Letter from Espargal: 30 of 2009

September is here and it's welcome. I feel that we’re over the hump. We’ve seen off July and August, survived another summer. True, it’s still blisteringly hot but that’s just the season thrashing around in its death throes. The days are closing in. Autumn looms. We can start to breathe again.

Down in the valley the melon fields are deserted. The last melons lie rotting in the sun like so many corpses, hundreds and thousands of them. Grapes hang heavy on the nearby vines. (Jones never hesitates to borrow a bunch or two, most often from Sarah and David’s vine – they’re absent – while feeding meaty treats to Lucifer, the roving tabby cat, who goes mad for them, as we pass by in the evening.)


For the moment, the farmers are fully occupied picking carobs. So have we been, at the same time cutting back in the garden and tidying up. We delivered four bags of carobs to our Portuguese neighbours this week. They apologised that they had no tomatoes to give us in return. Like the melons, the tomatoes are wrinkled and shrunken, returning to the earth from which they came.

The week began with its usual promise of five working days and, like so many weeks, just evaporated into thin air. We did quite a lot of running around. One outing was to a small art gallery on the outskirts of Paderne, a town built in the lee of a stunning Moorish castle – or what remains of one. The gallery occupies a rambling old cottage, full of steep stairs and rooms in unexpected places, with paintings hung on every side.

During the visit I found it necessary, as happens, to take myself to the loo. Our host pointed it out, set in what must once have been a broom cupboard. I was barely able squeeze inside and close the door behind me. The loo must surely warrant entry in the Guinness Book of Records as the world’s smallest.

As I subsequently informed Jones, raising one’s trousers without first opening the door calls for advanced training in yoga. “Don’t go in unless you’re desperate,” I warned her. She hushed me, pointing to the office in a nook just above our heads. But if our host overheard my warning he must surely just have smiled.

One day we kept a promise to help Natasha find a computer. We thought our best bet was the huge shopping complex at Guia, 30 minutes south east of us. I reckoned that we’d probably need at least an hour to consider the computers on offer. In the event it was well over two. I eventually left Natasha to weigh up the options alone, having advanced her Christmas bonus as our contribution to the purchase. Once she'd bought a computer, I had to spend several hours more downloading free programmes and making back-up discs. Keeping 21st century maids happy can be a demanding task.

While we were busy Jones found some small plants in a hypermarket, plants that needed saving, as she explained. She finds the demise of plants and trees, most especially her plants and trees, most upsetting and I have often to console her about the loss of a plant that she has nurtured. She goes to lengths to save other people’s as well. I have twice been employed to take a hose around to neighbours on the tractor.

Her latest project has been to clear the area beneath some trees on land just across our driveway. She won't be happy till it's all neat and tidy. Come the winter rains, the weeds will invade once again. I guess it keeps us out of mischief.

Another favour was to assist an old friend by casting an eye over hand-written recollections of his early days as an architect. He and his wife retired to Portugal before the introduction of computers to the profession and they still manage to survive quite contentedly without a computer in the house. I transcribed the text, making a few suggested amendments, before taking a draft with us to a most delicious working lunch.

On Friday evening my wife called me out to admire the full moon that was rising in the eastern skies. And what an amazing moon it was, looking all the more stunning in the setting of the Algarve hills. We once heard a fellow explain why the moon seems so much bigger as it rises over the horizon. I forget the explanation but it’s not important.

We didn’t have much time to admire it because Celso had called us earlier in the day to say that Brigitte had made a new batch of quiche, up at the Snack Bar Coral. We’d asked him to keep a couple of slices for our supper. It was delicious, the more so, I guess, as we feel so at home in the premises.

Between attending to clients’ needs, Celso found time to play pool with a friend. Half a dozen guys lined the bar, watching the evening news. There was a report on a campaign against “marquises”, which were spoiling the urban environment. We’d never heard of the word and had no idea of what it was all about.

ENCLOSED BALCONIES

A watcher explained that it referred to an apartment balcony that was informally closed in – often with glass or aluminium - to provide an additional room. This is a phenomenon that we’ve frequently witnessed in Loule. I guess that if you occupy a small flat, the additional weather-proofed space is invaluable, even though the apartment building looks a mess as a result.

We were concerned – yet again – about Bobby, who had gone missing while out walking with his master that morning. We wondered whether we’d find the dog at home on our return. In the event there was no sign of him.


As we were settling down, around 10.30, the dogs rushed down to the fence. Bobby reappeared, looking a little sheepish. What he does with himself in the bundu for 12 hours is hard to know. We gave him a hug and a meal before taking ourselves to bed. No doubt Bobby will test our nerves and our patience again but, for the moment, life goes on – and it’s good.