Letter from Espargal: 32 of 2009

This has been a week of arrivals. First on the scene was Bobby (Raymond's brother) who is now officially our dog, even though he has been almost as much absent this week as present. He was followed by our cousins, Liz and Louise, from South Africa.

And finally we have welcomed our London friends, Richard and Penny. They are staying in a holiday house in the village while our cousins occupy our guest facilities.

Let me take them in sequence. Bobby’s former owner was our elderly neighbour, Zeferino, who liked the dog but was incapable (at 87) of caring for it. In practice, his son did whatever he judged necessary, which was very little.

Apart from ensuring that the dog was provided with the essentials, we hesitated to interfere for fear of offending the old man. He was happy for us to walk and feed Bobby each day; the poor dog would otherwise have lived on scraps and spent most of his life on a line.

We are pleased that the dog is now ours. He was growing quite schizophrenic as a result of his commuter existence and badly needs both love and discipline. For the first couple of days he stayed with us only for walks and meals. Then he’d vanish. Now he seems to be settling in. We’ll get him snipped as soon as practicable.

Liz and Louise flew into Faro last Tuesday night from Lisbon and Johannesburg. The pair are experienced travellers and have proved excellent company. We’ve talked lots about their lives and how they’re finding the new South Africa. They took out a hire car and, with a little help from Henrietta the satnav, have been busy acquainting themselves with the Algarve as well as planning a visit to Spain. They joined us for lunch at the riverside restaurant in Alte. Another day, they were my companions on a drive down the coast to the historic fortress at Sagres.

The most notable part of this trip was my attempt to extract myself from a parking spot at the fishing village of Salema. I couldn’t back out because some fellow in a van had double-parked behind me. But I was able to drive up on to the raised centre island and do a 9-point turn, with a view to then driving out frontwards and squeezing past the van.

Before I could complete this manoeuvre, another motorist occupied my former parking spot – in spite of Louise’s attempts to dissuade him. That left me stranded on the island with no exit. I wasn’t pleased and engaged in a terse conversation with the gent concerned – a German tourist. Happily, he saw the point and agreed to back out while I made an exit.

A couple of days before the girls’ arrival, Jones spotted a minor leak coming from the upper sewage tank. It was the second time we’ve had this problem. A previous leak had been caused by the blockage of the pipe leading to the lower (filtration) tank, which is filled with sand and gravel. This tank had since become heavily overgrown. I spent an afternoon cutting back the jungle in order to gain access to the corner concerned.

Horacio the builder then sent round one of his workers to dig down to the mouth of the pipe. I suspected that this had been invaded and blocked by roots from the plants. Sadly, this proved not to be the case. It means that the seepage is from cracks in the upper tank. I shall turn once again to Horacio for advice on how best to deal with the problem. I fear that it will prove neither easy nor inexpensive.

We made two attempts to visit the Moorish fair at Salir, both of them unsuccessful. On the first, we arrived to find ample parking and few people about – most unusual.

The reason soon became apparent. We were a day too early. The ghostly stalls that lined the roads around the castle were waiting for their merchandise; the camels had settled down to spend the night in their pens. Only the residents and security guards were about.

So we tried again on the final night of the fair. As it happened, the mother of all thunder storms had hit us late that afternoon. The heavens rumbled and flashed, the earth shook, the dogs gathered nervously around us, the electricity came and went - and the rain poured down. It was our first rain of the season and very welcome, though we could have done without the celestial fireworks.


When we turned up in Salir it was to find the fair rained out. A tractor was dragging the traders’ vans out of the mud of the parking grounds.

The organisers must have lost a fortune. Sometimes, that’s the way it is. We returned to the village to the home of Marie and Olly, where a fine meal awaited us.

Another evening we were guests of Mike and Liz Brown, who’d invited us to join them in watching the Last Night of the Proms. This is a TV spectacle that we enjoy each year. Over the past weeks we’ve listened to many Proms performances on the radio or watched them on TV. Jonesy recalls the occasions in which she stood in the gods of the Albert Hall in the days when she was a researcher for the BBC.

Long hours have gone into communications with bankers, financial consultants and a life insurance group in South Africa. It seems that I will need to renew my SA passport and obtain a replacement I.D before I can benefit from my policies there. I’ve been in touch with the consulate in Lisbon – and will probably visit the city next month.

I’ve been driving to Alte every second day for ultra-sound treatment from Jodi, the physio, on my troublesome Achilles tendon. At her suggestion, I contacted a local technician (http://www.centrodospes.com/en/orthopedic-insoles) who came around to measure me up for insoles. I’ve since had them fitted and am already feeling the benefits.

Also in Loule, I went around to the workshop of Sergio, the carpenter who is making the cupboard for our hall – a project that has been much delayed in favour of a big job that he was awarded. Sergio wanted me to inspect the carcass before he completed the work, to ensure that I was happy. I was. He’s due to install the cupboard this coming week.

Another visit was to the dentist, to replace a veneer that had come off one of my front teeth. It had been there for longer than I can remember, serving to straighten the appearance of a badly twisted incisor. Its absence left me looking quite strange, turning my smile into a leer. Jones insisted that I had it reattached before the arrival of our visitors. They don’t know what they missed.