Letter from Espargal: 35 of 2010

Here is the news.

A damp and cloudy Sunday evening is fast becoming a damp and cloudy Sunday night. The three cats have just had their second cat-biscuit supper (or it may be their third). The dogs are licking themselves dry in their baskets after a trudge through the mud. More accurately, they romped around in the wet bush as merrily as ever (and were toweled down at the door). It was Jones and I who squelched our way after them in the wake of the heavy afternoon downpours, treading with care and scraping glugs of mud from our boots on every suitable rock.

Steve and Luis, who had hoped to complete the fence and gates, have gone home. They had the satisfaction of having finished the fence and installing two of the four gates – albeit with the frustration of having to return later to install the other two. Although they worked through the showers they were defeated by the rain, which simply poured down. To console them, I invited them around to the front patio where I paid them for their troubles and poured comforting shots of good whisky. Jones brought tea and biscuits and we chatted pleasantly as the waters spattered off the cobbles around us.

I am now seated at the computer with an inch of Ardbeg in a small glass beside me for inspiration. Jones is downstairs with a baggy and coke. And thereby hangs a tale.

Jones has made several visits this past week at the home of Leonhilda, a Portuguese neighbour. The rear of Leonhilda’s house contains a capacious wine cellar. To this, Leonhilda, her family and friends had brought as much of the grape harvest as it could contain. (Virtually everybody around here has a vineyard.)

The first light pressing of grapes went into one barrel and a subsequent heavier pressing into a second, along with a measure of liquor to encourage fermentation. The process left a soggy heap of husks – skins and pips – known as bagaço, which was loaded into large plastic sacks.

On Wednesday evening, after Natasha had finished cleaning, we repaired around to Leonhilda’s house to fetch the sacks. They were seriously heavy. We struggled to lift them into the boot of the car. Once it was done, Leonhilda and I took our seats in front while Jones and Natasha squeezed in beside the dogs at the back.

Natasha we dropped off in Loule before continuing on to the outskirts of Sao Bras where, we had been informed, one could trade the bagaço in for a quantity of bagaceira, the liquor distilled from the husks. Our informants had spoken truly.

Up a narrow lane off the main road we came across the sprawling premises of Pecoliva, where we were directed to scales on which to offload our cargo. I can’t tell you what our bagaço weighed but I can tell you that it qualified us for 8 litres of bagaceira. Leonhilda had brought along several empty 5-litre plastic water bottles into which the liquor was decanted from a vat.

As Jonesy is rather fond of baggy (and I’m partial to it myself), I ordered another 5 litres to take home with us. This cost me 13 euros – which works out at 2.6 euros a litre. By the time such liquor makes its way into the shops, it retails at about 12 euros a litre, giving one a good idea of the mark-up that such things are subject to for no purpose other than enriching the middlemen.

As we were busy with our baggy, other clients were arriving with sacks of olives and dried figs. A man who introduced himself as a friend of the owner showed us round. The dried figs were being traded for fig liquor (which, as we can testify, is quite an acceptable tipple) and the olives for olive oil.

Our guide took us on a tour of the premises. One building housed the huge olive oil vats. Behind another was a mountain of olive husks, a material that was dried and turned into fuel to fire the distillery. During the harvest, he informed us, the place ran day and night.

Great machines crushed and steamed the products being fed into them at one end while, at the other, streams of bagaceira and olive oil spurted out. It was a fascinating tour – a glimpse into a world of which we were vaguely aware but had never observed.

What else?

Well, there’s the painting of the house! It’s nearly done. We – that’s Nelson and I – might have completed it on Thursday afternoon but we hesitated in the face of the wet weather forecast. A lunchtime shower convinced us that we should call a halt. As it happened, the shower blew away and the weather remained dry until Friday afternoon when a depression arrived from the Atlantic and soaked the country. With luck, the sun will be back early next week and we’ll finish the job.

Friday night we had planned to go to a music recital with neighbours but the weather was truly awful and I wasn’t enthused. To be honest, the recital (bassoon and harpsichord) wouldn’t have enthused me in any weather. Jones and the neighbours went along with my suggestion that we take ourselves to supper at the Parrot in Salir instead, which we did. (The Parrot – properly the Papagaio Dourado - is one of several favourite haunts where 12 euros buys one an excellent supper.)

Saturday we drove to Tavira, a lovely old harbour town (full of Roman remains) about an hour east of us. Our mission was to attend a bazaar being held to support a charity that takes in stray animals and tries to find homes for them. Portugal, sadly, has a glut of ribby strays that haunt the streets and the countryside. We found the bazaar easily enough but had more difficulty finding anything useful to purchase. I came away with a haul of jams and chutneys and Jones with some cards.

From Tavira we repaired to nearby Olhao, another old port town. We had hoped to take a ferry from the harbour to the island of Armona – visible a few miles away – where we were interested in assessing some holiday accommodation. In the event, we found the winter ferry timetable less than helpful and, not wishing to pay 40 euros to hire water taxis, we went to look at the new Ria shopping centre in the town instead.

There, after a bite of lunch, Jones, much out of character, was enticed (by huge discounts) into a clothing store from which she emerged with new trousers, blouse and jersey along with a receipt for 25 euros – truly a bargain.

Returning to my theme, I have just noted our rainfall for the last 24 hours – 21 mm, the better part of an inch – giving us more than 2 inches for the weekend. It is the first serious rain of the season. However inconvenient to painters and fencers, the rain is welcome. The Algarve has been painfully dry, burned brown by the searing heat of summer.

AUTUMN CROCUS

Over the next few days a miracle of renewal will take place. A carpet of green shoots will emerge from the earth, at first barely visible. In a week the carpet will be ankle high. By the end of the month the region will wear its bright green autumn colours. Jones, instead of watering, will start weeding again.