Letter from Espargal: 8 of 2011

I have the merest trifles and banalities to relate which, in the light of events in other parts of the world, may be considered a blessing. And should you find the story awash with animals, well so are our lives.

PHOTO BY ANITA

On Monday we took my visiting niece, Anita, to lunch before putting her on the train to Lisbon and wishing her well with her course. She is spending the week learning a new computer language. In my English class we discussed the invitations to Kate and William’s forthcoming wedding. (Like Fergie, we didn’t get one.) This was a bit awkward as the “Senior University’s” sole photocopier had broken down and we had to work from a single sheet of paper.

On Tuesday we mingled around or something. Oh, I remember, we went to see The King’s Speech. I thought the film outstanding and well worth the plaudits it’s earned. Most remarkable was its ability to grip the viewer without a single action shot to sustain it. It was, literally, all talk. We have since seen a documentary on the difficulties that the real George VI faced in public speaking and how Lionel Logue assisted him to overcome them. The likeness between the actors and the real characters was striking.

While in Faro I dropped into the PT office to ask what progress was being made with the broadband internet connection for which I had been waiting for nearly a week. After making enquiries, an assistant said that a technician would be calling at the house to set it up. But she couldn’t say when.

On Wednesday, as we were walking in the valley before fetching Natasha from the bus, Mary crashed into Jones’s shin. The collision was clearly painful for Jones whose toes are still recovering from the falling plank episode. She hardly knew which leg to limp with, she confided. Fortunately, her shin improved rapidly. Her toes remain troublesome. She insists they’re okay as long as she doesn’t have to bend them. I do not find this a very assuring kind of assurance.

SIESTA

Wednesday afternoon, Sergio the aluminium man called to ask if we were in and could he come around to fix the sliding doors. We were, said I, and he could. He’d already visited once to establish why the sliding doors didn’t slide or, at least, didn’t want to. (It’s because the metal axles inside the little plastic runners tend to rust up, especially if the doors are exposed to the rain, as ours are.)

Sergio either replaced or oiled all the runners, for which we were grateful. It’s such a pleasure to open or close a door without having to fight it. He also took the measurements for the mini-bathroom door that we’re going to need up in Casa Nada. I thought the door should have frosted glass but Jones wanted it with a full-length outside mirror. Thus will it be.

Fintan came around that evening with some orchids for Jonesy and a bag of lemons. What was the occasion, I asked him. There was no particular reason for these gifts, he replied, except that we were nice neighbours. We were touched.

On Thursday Horacio arrived with two guys from the electricity department to check out our voltage, which I had reported as it fluctuates alarmingly. They changed the phase and said it should help. (It has.) The problem arises from our being at the end of the line and too far for comfort from the transformer.

Thursday afternoon, as I was returning through the village on the tractor, one of the locals stopped me. There were two dogs that belonged to a neighbour being treated in hospital, she explained, and she thought that I should have them. I explained that we already had six dogs plus a stray to feed, to say nothing of four cats - and had barred the gate to further animals. I suggested that she might do better trying some other estrangeiro. Several listeners found this conversation highly amusing.

Olly & Marie popped around with their daughter, Debbie, to say hello and admire the pups. The pair of them clambered all over her, delighted to be admired. While out walking, we came across a dead rabbit that Mary badly wanted to bring home with her. To get it out of the reach of the dogs, I hoisted it up into a tree. Since then Mary has inspected the tree each time we pass it.

WHERE'S THAT RABBIT?

We have taken her and her brother down to the vet for their second jab. What a palava that was! Russ wanted to murder the surgery cat. And Mary was sick in the car on the way back – again!

Thursday evening I received an SMS from my SAPO internet provider to say that my broadband connection was active. This was the news I had been waiting for. There followed several hours of plugging and unplugging every cord and device I could find – to no avail. A helpline technician led me through a dozen conceivable problems before concluding that there was a fault on the SAPO side which, he assured me, would be corrected as soon as possible.

ASPHODELS IN THE PARK

Friday afternoon, while out walking, I got a call from Portugal Telecom to say that the system should be working; when I got home I phoned them back to say it wasn’t. Neither is it yet. The saga continues. Irritating as I find it, it’s infinitely preferable to revolutions or earthquakes.

Saturday we went to fetch the scarf that Jones left at the restaurant where we supped with Fintan and family the previous evening. We also bought some varnish that I spent much of the rest of the day applying to the floor of the Bijou Ensuite. The results are pleasing.

Saturday night we went to a concert to mark the reopening of the Loule Cine-Theatre. Mendelsohn’s violin concerto was a treat. I cannot say the same for the new seats – and if the Americans had played the final piece, a sinfionetta by Fernando Lopes-Graça, to their prisoners instead of waterboarding them, they would instantly have elicited the information they were seeking.

Letter from Espargal: 7 of 2011

This has been the kind of week that it’s very hard to know what to write anything about. Suddenly it’s over, as though it’s dribbled away through cracks in the days. The weather has not been kind. On Monday and Tuesday we cowered around the fire as squalls hurled themselves like rampaging Norsemen against the house’s defences.

OLLIE PASSES BY

Jones says she feels as though she has been wading through syrup. That may be because so much of our time has been spent tending to the puppies. The pair, inspired perhaps by events in the Middle East, have done their best to overthrow the current regime, breaking through endlessly from their quarters into ours and wreaking havoc each time they do so.

They learned first to squirm through the spaces at the end of the metre-high wire fencing midway along the patio and then to boldly leap from a chair on their side to one on ours. Each time a door opens, they’re into the house. Much as they enjoy their own company, it’s with us and the other dogs they want to be. The only answer is to confine them to the newly-created 400m2 pen on the other side of Casa Nada but Jones feels that she’s not yet ready for this. Instead, she’s spent hours patching ripped cushions and clothing as well as cleaning up the mess they leave behind them.

I’ve had a few frustrations myself, mainly of the technological kind. Midweek, nearly a month after applying to migrate our phone line back from a private telecom to the national company, I got a call to say that the transfer had been completed. The news was welcome. The caller informed me that I could come to pick up the “internet kit” that awaited me at the Portugal Telecom shop in Loule. This I did the same day. The “kit”, as I discovered, comprised a (crappy Chinese-made) router, a pen-drive modem and a mobile phone.

That night I tried to connect the router to the computer, only to find that there was still no DSL signal on the phone line. So it was back to the shaky Vodafone pen-drive.

On Friday I got a welcome SMS to say that my new (Sapo) internet service had been activated. But the router still wasn’t working - and a phone call to the ISP established that the message related to the pen-drive modem instead.

And so things continued. There’s much more frustration that I’ll spare you. At the time of writing I’m still waiting to be connected. One reason for the severe financial straits in which Portugal finds itself is dismal standards of organisation and training.

An exception to this is the Portuguese tax department, which is highly computerised and exchanges information with its sister departments in other European countries, as many expats have discovered to their cost. I am careful to file detailed figures with our accountant, who we visited during the week.

On Wednesday, as the weather cleared, Aurelio reappeared to complete the work required by the electrician in order to finish the electrics in Casa Nada. With luck both the electrics and the painting will be done this coming week. It’s a pleasure to watch Aurelio perform. He’s meticulous. From time to time he’d despatch me a kilometre down the road to a building site to fetch more sand or cement. Although I drive the tractor I decline to use a shovel or carry anything, knowing my unforgiving back. Aurelio confessed that he suffered the same complaint, and was forced to swallow painkillers to dull the sciatica that burned down his leg. I felt bad for him.

Another tractor excursion was to the far end of the village was to fetch more pumpkins, as Jones had used up the generous supply we received last month from farmer neighbours. I returned with two boxes full. The farmer absolutely refused to take any money for them, saying they were marked and likely to be discarded. What defects we found were small and easily removed; Jones turns the pumpkins into the tastiest soups and salads.

As usual, Natalia arrived midweek for her 90 minute English lesson. The course she is taking in commercial English with a German university involves the reading and analysis of articles from financial newspapers. The level is demanding. I doubt that most English-speaking school leavers would cope. But she’s determined to acquire fluent commercial English and heading steadily for her goal. Her young daughter is fluent in three languages, as is often the case around here.

After much discussion, Jones and I have decided not to visit North America this year when our regular house-sitters come down in May to manage the zoo. She was keen to have a laid-back drive-walk holiday in areas of Spain that we’ve not seen. I was keen on a Baltic cruise that would introduce us to that part of the world, in particular St Petersburg. We compromised by agreeing to do both. Following hours of research I have booked a 9-day cruise towards the end of May; before that we plan to spend two weeks in Spain.

My niece, Anita, is here. She flew in from Berlin for a weekend visit ahead of a course that she’ll be doing at Lisbon University in the next few days. Her first introduction was to the zoo, especially the puppies. Love was mutual.

Letter from Espargal: 6 of 2011

I wondered this week as the pace of retirement threatened to exhaust us what the options were for retiring from being retired. It took barely a moment for the implications of this course of reflection to sink in so, instead, I poured myself another shot of Cardhu (Jud’s delightful bottle of Lagavullin having depleted itself) as I looked back fondly on those years when we enjoyed paid holidays and time off.

On Monday Idalecio came to paint. There was lots of painting to be done – sealant on the floor-tiles of the Bijou Ensuite, undercoat & overcoat on the walls, varnish on the woodwork and a waterproofing paint on the roof which, to Jones’s great indignation, continued to drip in spite of Idalecio’s previous ministrations.

In an effort to placate my curmudgeonly back, I have confined myself to light painting duties, leaving Idalecio to bear the heat and burden of the day. Nonetheless the new tractor gate-pillars and the newly-reinforced fossa at the bottom of the garden (as well as my work-trousers and boots) bear witness to my modest efforts.

We took May to lunch, as we now do each Monday – and my English class discussed the predicament of 100 Belgian students who were removed from a Ryanair plane in the Canaries after protesting at the extra charge imposed on one of their number for carrying a larger than permitted bag on board.

Valentina said her daughter was charged similarly after being informed that her small handbag counted as a second cabin bag. Jones was once forced to stuff such a handbag into her protesting cabin bag to avoid the same fate.

On the subject of such charges, I confess that I have been cursing outfits that advertise low prices and then ambush customers with small-print penalties - in particular the cruise companies which, to flatter their brochures, load their advertised prices with pre-payable “gratuities” of 10 to 15 euros per passenger per day (to say nothing of fuel surcharges). This, they declare, is to distribute “tips” equitably among their hard-working crew. It makes me spit, all the more so as I’m contemplating a Baltic cruise that would require me to renege on my principles of boycotting such hypocrites.

THE BABES

On Tuesday we went to Spain. We was Jones and me (I If you wish), friends John and Olive and, naturally, Ono and Pricks (cuddling contentedly up to the ladies in the back seat). Following eye-surgery John had been prescribed eye-drops that were available in Spain but not in Portugal. This situation is not uncommon. Portuguese pharmacists are limited to providing medications listed on a central database.

Fortunately, the Spanish town of Ayamonte is just an hour away on the far bank of the Guadiana River. A helpful pharmacist there was pleased to provide us with the prescribed medication. We joined a queue of Portuguese motorists filling their cars with Spanish fuel, which is significantly cheaper than the highly-taxed Portuguese product.

SCENE OF THE ACCIDENT

Later in the day I called round on Ze Manuel to seek the documents pertaining to the property we are trying to buy from him. I found him limping and in pain. As it turned out, I was lucky to find him at all. Driving his tractor up a steep earth ramp, he’d caught a loose rock that spun the tractor around and hurled it down a near-vertical bank. Somehow the vehicle had stayed upright. Had it rolled, Ze Manuel would have been dead.

His near-miss has been the talk of the village. Villagers have come around to inspect the spot and declare how lucky he is to be alive. Anyhow, I obtained the documents I was looking for and spent that evening scanning them into the computer and emailing them to our lawyer.

THE PROPERTY

The topographers popped in one afternoon to measure up the property in question. Finding it to be bigger and awkwarder than they expected, they made another day to do the work.

THE RUIN ON THE PROPERTY

Luis, the electrician, called twice, once to wire up half of the Bijou Ensuite and a second time, with the builder, to say what he needed done in order to wire up the other half. Arsenio is due back early next week to knock some more holes in the wall.

GO SLOW - GEESE

On Thursday I paid my third visit in three weeks to Portugal Telecom to chase up the ADSL feed that they won’t give me until my account is transferred back to them from a rival supplier. The young lady who has been overseeing this process tried to explain why it had come to nothing and we would have to start again. “Was that okay?” she asked. It wasn’t. I got quite upset and surprised myself (and her) by finding fluent Portuguese for pulling one’s finger out. We’ll try again next week. In the meanwhile I’m paying Vodafone a reluctant fortune for a shaky internet link.

TRASHED

Jones has gradually resumed her walks as her foot returns to something like its normal size although her offended toes remain very sensitive. On Friday morning she gave a cry as she discovered that the pups had broken through from their side of the south patio to ours overnight and totally trashed the place. It looked like a bomb site.

The next day, after briefly leaving the front door open, I found both pups upstairs. (Our stairs have treads but no risers, which daunts most dogs.) I had to carry them down again. It’s all I can do to lift them these days, so quickly have they grown.

And boy, have they grown smart, learning to sit for their treats and manipulate the kong for cat-biscuits. We’ve supplied them with new collars to replace their shrinking puppy collars. At least we are now able to confine them when necessary in the “pen”, the newly fenced-off area above Casa Nada.

WORKING THE KONG

One of my ex-monk correspondents has sent me the following link to the strangest cyber clock I’ve come across: http://lovedbdb.com/nudemenClock/index2.html
Who, one wonders, would have spent so much time and effort on that?

Letter from Espargal: 5 of 2011

Quite a lot of stuff has happened this week one way and another; I’m talking about Espargal rather than Egypt. On Monday afternoon, after my English class (inevitably concentrating on the Middle East) I dropped in at the offices of the architect & surveyor who had come around to assess the value of the plot we want to purchase.

FENCE BORDERING THE PROPERTY

The valuers ran through the 6 page document that they had prepared, explaining the basis of their assessment, before coming to the bottom line. That amounted to quite a lot of money but not as much as I feared it might be, so I emerged from their offices with a sense of relief.

LOTS OF WORK AHEAD

The plot is divided into two unequal parts, each of which belongs jointly to two people. Midweek, all the parties concerned (and the neighbours) converged on the property, either to place the necessary stone markers at its borders or to ensure that these were correctly sited. Two of the owners, cousins who live in the village, accepted their valuation and agreed to sell us their part for the amount specified. The other pair, a young brother and sister, were evidently disappointed, having been led some years earlier to expect more.

There was much whispered conversation among family members before the spokesman came to ask whether we’d be willing to raise the price a little. We were. The sum agreed, hands were shook all round and the matter is now in the hands of the lawyers. We afterwards spent an hour with ours, who explained to us the oddities and complexities of the deal; these will push back the completion by several weeks. But we are confident that it will go ahead and delighted at the prospect. Ever since our arrival here nearly a decade ago, we have wished to acquire the land, which juts into the heart of our property.

While this was happening, Ersenio and Aurelio continued to work their way steadily from one end of the garden to the other, laying the pipe that will link Casa Nada to the distant fossa. It was a huge job – first to dig the trench, then to install the pipe, and finally to fill the trench in once again. Not only do they do a meticulous job, they take care not to damage the garden and to leave the place in the same order that they found it. Steps and beds are restored and debris is carted away. The only sign of their labours is the cement repairs.

The plumbing done, they set about laying a concrete floor in the old stone shed beside Casa Nada – intended to provide shelter for the dogs - before hanging the gates that Fintan was kind enough to give us (albeit at my suggestion) since they were just rusting up against his wall.

Hanging gates is no easy task. It took the workers several hours to get them right. The wretched expanding bolts either refused to expand or vanished into the reinforced concrete pillars. But right they now are – and after a little rubbing down and painting they will look very handsome indeed. I took Fintan around to admire the gates when he popped up to bring Jonesy a sympathy card and some treats.

That’s another story. The heavy mahogany treads for the Casa Nada stairs had become somewhat dusty and dirty with use, which upset my wife. We tried sanding them down – to little effect. As one of our neighbours, Mike Brown, is a hobby carpenter with a well-equipped workshop, we wondered whether he might sand them down for us and give them a protective coating. He agreed. A few days later we picked them up in pristine condition (them, not us).

To get at the shopping heaped up behind the treads, I took the latter from the boot and laid them one at a time on the front patio table. (My neighbour, David, earlier picked up 5 in an impressive show of strength but his back is in better shape than mine.)

Jonesy decided to take the treads up to Casa Nada, but en route she let one slip and put out a foot to save it. This was a bad mistake. Two of her toes have ballooned up in protest and the foot itself is swollen. She may yet need a medical examination that she is not keen to have.

For the first time in years she has been forced to sit at home while I take out the pups that can generally be seen hauling her across the fields.

Pause there to mix myself a good-night magnesium drink in the hope that the leg-cramps which have tormented me these several nights past will leave me in peace. I have been almost tempted to stop drinking red wine at supper.

BIG DOG

Cramps aside, one is also liable to be woken either by big dog who has popped into the bedroom to say he needs to go out for a pee - or by small dog who has just come upstairs to find the cat occupying his favourite chair in the study. Prickles is very single-minded and his whining is quite impossible to ignore. The only solution is to clamber out of bed and move the cat. It’s a good thing we’re fond of animals.

NEW PATH DOWN TO THE FOSSA

We discovered last weekend, when Jones tried to phone her sister in Cape Town, that the landline was out of order – and probably had been for several days. Cunningly, the phone continued to pretend that it was working, going through the motions of dialling out and giving a ringing tone to anyone who called in. Sorry if you tried to reach us. We really had no idea.

MID-WALK WATERING HOLE

A helpful PT technician came around to sort it out. After restoring the line, he spent 15 minutes re-establishing the link between the upstairs and downstairs phone sockets (which had been knocked out by his unhelpful colleague who had earlier changed us over from an ISDN to an analogue service). After testing the line, the man declared that our phone was noisy but said he could probably get us a new one. True to his word, he reappeared one afternoon with a smart new phone and took the trouble to install it. Wish there were more like him!

WALKING WOUNDED

With the phone- line up and running again, we visited the PT office in Loule in a bid to restore my broadband connection. A most pleasant young woman (who, it emerged, lived just down the road) spent 45 minutes going through the bureaucratic motions before discovering that there was a hitch, and promising to let us know as soon as it had been resolved. In the meanwhile, my Vodafone connect pen continues to work overtime. (A second visit to the office has proved equally futile.)

I note with alarm, apropos of nothing, that Malawian legislators are making it a criminal offence to pass wind in public. What, I asked Jones, is her understanding of “public”. As a precaution I have decided, with regret, to remove Malawi from the itinerary of the first-class around-the-world trip that I plan to take as soon as we’ve won the lottery.