Letter from Espargal: 4 of 2010

OUTSIDE FARO CATHEDRAL
We’ve done some serious running around. Much of this focussed on my Aussie ex-monk correspondent, Doug, and his wife, Kath, who flew down from London on Monday morning, somewhat pooped from a late night and an early rising. We gave them a brief tour of old Faro before dropping them back at home for some shut-eye. Monday afternoons bring our usual lessons. For Portuguese homework we had to prepare a recipe – not my forte. Even so, I scribbled down two, one for toast and the other for fruit salad.

Brigitte, at the Coral, had prepared a special supper for us. She’s a fine cook. Over dinner Doug and I did a lot of catching up. The last time I saw him was in July 1964 - at the monkish passing-out parade in Sydney. I and my fellow South Africans then flew back home to continue our studies, leaving the Aussies to do the same.

Doug peered over my shoulder at the computer screen to go through the photo of our group. He could still name every individual and knew what had happened to most of them. Few had remained with the Marist Brothers – maybe 20%. One or two of those who had, had gone to jail for abusing children. Most, like us, had left, married and settled down to earn a living (which was decidedly undemanding after life in the monks). I found the leaving pretty difficult, a little bit – I think – like getting divorced. Not that I ever got divorced.

Tuesday we did a tour of local sights, rubber-necking through the glamorous development at Quinta de Lago, lunching at Faro beach and finishing up at the Roman ruins at Milreu, just outside Estoi. On the way home we diverted to take in the spectacular new pousada (luxury state-run hotel) nearby. The heart of the hotel is a renovated 18^th century palace. Jones and Doug peeked inside and returned much impressed. There’s a chain of these establishments across Portugal (as well as in Spain, where they’re known as paradors). David and Dagmar, who had recently visited Australia, joined us at the Pedras restaurant that evening for supper.

We had to drop our visitors back at the airport promptly on Wednesday morning for their return to London. Doug was flying back to Brisbane at the end of the week, Kath staying on with her daughter and new granddaughter. Doug emailed me a couple of striking pictures he had taken of the house. You can admire them for yourself.

A power failure rudely interrupted my allegedly Uninterruptible Power Supply (UPS) unit. This is a device that protects my computer, both against such failures and the ravages of our notoriously erratic voltage. The village is at the end of a rural electricity supply line and, with the vacuum cleaner going, one can literally hear the voltage rising and falling. So I took the UPS into the computer shop in Loule. It’s the second I’ve bought there. The first one simply got burned out.

3 CATS

The computer man replaced the battery and pronounced the unit fit again. At the same time I invested in another 2 gigs of memory to bring my desktop model up to 3 gigs. The computer was slowing under the burden of the programmes that I’ve downloaded over the years. It should now be capable of an upgrade from XP to Windows 7, if I decide to go that route. Comments from Windows 7 users would be welcome.

FIRST ALMOND BLOSSOM

Still on the high-tech front, we’ve been making daily use of our new PVR digibox (although I’ve yet to get to grips with some of its fancier functions). I really like the unit. No longer do we miss favourite programmes during an evening out. Each day I check the schedule for material we’re interested in and set the recorder accordingly. We wonder when we’re going to find the time to watch/listen to all the stuff that’ stored up.

This includes a new BBC radio series, called The History of the World in 100 Objects. The first objects under scrutiny have been hand-axes, the all-in-one tools used by our ancestors for something over a million years. It’s hard to imagine life without a battery-powered drill.

On our way home one evening we passed the odd couple about a kilometre from the village, pushing a wheelbarrow piled high with kindling. I couldn’t imagine how they would get it up the final steep 200 metres of hillside. Chico must be well into his 80s and Dina weighs a ton. So I went down in the tractor and loaded both Chico and his wheelbarrow on board. Dina had to walk. It was the same story the following evening. My charity was probably a mistake.

THE ODD COUPLE
The next morning Chico turned up at the door, bearing 5 litres of olive oil and some eggs. These he delivered together with a request for further assistance, although exactly what was hard to make out. Chico is frustratingly difficult to understand as he mutters under his breath. Eventually I worked out that he wanted me to bring the tractor and a chainsaw around to his property.

This I did, rather unwillingly. It wasn’t the morning I had planned. On the far side of the field he and Dina had managed to cut down several trees by hand. But they were having the very devil of a job trying to saw them up – and little wonder. I made a start on one of the trunks. After 30 minutes of slow progress I gave up. My saw needed a new chain and my heart wasn’t in it. I’ve promised to return.

Chico is little liked in the village and gets scant help from the Portuguese. It’s his expat neighbours, Fintan and Ollie, who are generally called to the rescue. Ollie is summoned into their cottage daily to sort out the TV. The set mutes itself each time it’s turned off and the odd couple haven’t worked out how to get the sound back when they turn it on again. I had intended to give them our old TV antenna but was strongly discouraged from doing so by our neighbours, who feared that the daily call-outs would become hourly summonses instead.

Midday Saturday: We woke to rain. When it showed no sign of letting up, we piled the dogs into the car and went walking along the narrow tarred road in the valley. Our brollies didn’t stop our trousers from getting wet or our feet from being soaked. The dogs soon looked more like seals. After drying them off we continued into Benafim to the recycling bins and for coffees and toast.

Brigitte said her computer was playing up. I promised to drop in to see if I could help. (I couldn't.) Now Jones has cleaned the windows of the wood-burning stove and I must pop downstairs to make an early fire. A little siesta on the adjacent couch after lunch appeals - for the sake of one's health, of course.