Letter from Espargal: 20 of 2010

So, we’re back and still getting used to the idea after nearly a month of touring around North America. Terry and Margaret, our house sitters, had a last day to relax in the sun (Margaret in her leg cast) before we accompanied them to Faro airport early last Tuesday morning. They had made prior arrangements with their carrier to provide Margaret with wheelchair assistance. She has an appointment in the UK to follow up on the broken ankle.

The start of the week also brought the last lessons of the “academic” year. Elisabete, our Portuguese teacher, had suggested in our absence that each pupil should prepare and bring along snacks typical of her (they’re all women) country of origin – and then explain how they were made. I’m glad I missed the exercise. Jones took along a few cookies from a hypermarket as a gesture of good will.

My English class presented me with a bottle of Antiquissima, a fine Portuguese brandy, along with a hand-drawn card to express their gratitude for my efforts, Both were much appreciated.

I heard later that the university’s annual banquet had been postponed as the principal had suddenly fallen ill. He is the moving force behind the institution and should he be unable to resume his duties, it would be in serious trouble.

On Wednesday, after much whistling all around the neighbourhood, the two black cats returned nervously and somewhat thinner to the house. We warned the dogs to be on their best behaviour or else.

Each year, during our holiday absence, the little devils decide that the cats are surplus to requirements. I’m not sure exactly what happens but the cats decide that it’s expedient to camp out in the park until our return.

Speaking of cats, Jones went around one afternoon to visit Maria, a neighbour, who’s having a hard time after a bad hip replacement. While they were conversing, Maria’s cat returned home in a dreadful state. It had been mauled, apparently by another cat, and was pitiful to behold.

Jones said we had to take it to SOS – a surgery run by a group of veterinarians in Loule. Since the four dogs needed their annual jabs, we piled them in the car, borrowed a cat-basket from another neighbour and took all five animals along. The vet, a young Brazilian woman whom I’d not met before, thought the cat was beyond saving - no surprise - and she put the unfortunate animal down.

PRICKLES

I then took the dogs into the surgery one at a time – they hate going to vet – to be checked and jabbed. The jab combines the compulsory rabies vaccine with shots for several other prevalent diseases. After brief examin- ations the vet administered the injections while I secured the animals and did my best to reassure them. They weren’t happy. I warned her not to try to take Prickles’ temperature with an anal thermometer if she wanted to leave the surgery alive; she took my advice.

One afternoon Idalecio invited us around to inspect the work he’d been doing on his house and garden. He inherited the old house from his grandparents and has been renovating it with a view to letting it out, along with two apartments – especially over the summer holidays when demand peaks. We were impressed by his efforts.

Like most dwellings in the village, his house was originally painted with whitewash. He’s now turned it a deep red colour. It looks great. His garden is also showing the benefit of his efforts, enhanced by the new stone walls that line the driveway. In the meanwhile, Idalecio has moved himself into the studio apartment that once housed his occasional restaurant.

Just down the road is a villa being constructed by Horacio, the local builder. We went along to see that too, accompanied by our friends, David and Dagmar. Horacio showed us around, explaining the layout and pointing out the high-tech insulation. The authorities here require all new houses to be heavily insulated, double-glazed and equipped with solar water-heaters. As much as we struggle with the stolid bureaucracy, we do approve of such measures.

Another of Horacio’s projects is a monument nearing completion in Benafim. It’s been built as a tribute to a local woman, Dona Antonia, who made generous donations of land to people in the parish. The monument is being painted in traditional colours – ochre, blue and deep red – from pigments prepared the old way. The woman’s portrait and the story of her life are laid out on the walls on tiles designed by a local artist.

In-between times we’ve been catching up on a month’s growth in the garden – tidying, cutting back, strimming and, where the worst of the weeds are concerned, poisoning. There’s no other way of getting rid of invasive thorny creepers. All around us the fields are deep under grass and weeds and there are long days of strimming ahead of me.

If this all sounds like a very active week, it hasn’t been – not on my part anyhow. Mostly, I’ve been watching football, snoozing and coming to terms with my jetlag. Much of the time, the three activities have merged as I nodded off in front of the TV screen. Such displays of indolence eventually got to my wife who upbraided me. But given the heat, the sonorous drone of the vuvuzelas and the lacklustre quality of the soccer, I thought her reproaches a trifle excessive.

During my more waking moments, I have been delighted with the brilliant quality of our thin-screen TVs. The football championships are being transmitted in high definition. One can just about see the blades of grass on the pitch. Our old TV has been donated to Vitor, the village mechanic, whose own set had broken down, upsetting his young son. Vitor’s equally pleased. In return he presented me with a weather-proof jacket that had evidently been given to him but was several sizes too large. It suits me just fine.