This week we did something that we haven’t done for some time. We took a bus. In fact, we took three buses, reflecting as we did that this was how the other half lives. We found the experience quite tolerable. The hard bit was the waiting – and even that we bore well enough.
The occasion was the return of our car to Honda for further exploration of the problems afflicting the air-conditioning. I had the car in last month, when Honda topped up the gas in the AC and said all was well. Well, it wasn’t, not for more than a day or two. This time they managed to get the unit working again but without discerning what was upsetting it. Fortunately, it’s nigh on mid-winter and we don’t need to be air conditioned, except occasionally in the bedroom at night to discourage the odd remaining mosquito – I’m not joking. Mid December and the little buggers are still about.
So, having dropped the car with Honda on Thursday morning, we were delivered to the Algarve Forum by the courtesy bus to wile away the hours. In one of the smarter stores I found a waistcoat that I really liked but I couldn’t make it fit, even after trying it a second time and then fetching Jones to for confirmation. No, she said, it’s definitely too small. The store said their sister branch half an hour away had a larger size in stock; Jones says we should wait until New Year when it’s bound to be on sale. Stay tuned!
With time to kill we had to choose between Mission Impossible at the cinema upstairs and Faro Beach. Jones opted for the Beach and that was fine by me. Thus we found ourselves waiting at the bus-stop with a bunch of students and cleaning ladies. Our bus took an age. From the terminus we made our way across the bridge to the “Electrico” (tram) café, a favourite, where we dined al fresco in the gentle sunshine on red wine and ham & cheese sandwiches.
Across the road were parked two of the hundreds of motoring homes that migrate south from northern Europe to over-winter in Portugal. We wondered what it would be like to live in one. To be honest, it didn’t really appeal. They’re nothing like the vast American RVs.
Then back by bus to the Algarve Forum, whence yet another bus took us on to Honda. There, Leila, the charming young receptionist, explained the position with the AC, and asked me to keep an eye on it. I will.
Her colleague, Paulo, then assisted me to reconnect my mobile phone to the “hands off” telecoms equipment in the car. The female Honda computer, with her cut-glass English, struggled to understand his accent. (She barely understands mine.) None the less, he got the job done – and very timely too. En route home we had a call from Olive to say that the trenchant complaint letter that I’d written on her behalf to M&G Securities had brought an immediate and pleasing response.
Speaking of Olive, we took her along on Wednesday to Guia, a superstore complex 30 minutes away where the UK grocery chain, Iceland, has recently opened a shop to great fanfare. It specialises in the treats - most of them in English packages with their sterling prices still visible - that British expats don’t find in Portuguese supermarkets. To our surprise, virtually all the staff appeared to be English. We returned with a goodly supply of English beers and mince pies. Portugal doesn’t lack for outlets and shopping centres of every complexion. What it lacks is citizens earning money to spend in them.
On Tuesday evening we went along to see “The Debt”, a film that had been well-written up. I usually take my lead from the “Rotten Tomatoes” site that gives one a taste of multiple reviews. The film concerns three Mossad operatives involved in a mission to kidnap a Nazi war criminal. I don’t think that for those who haven’t seen it, I’m giving anything away. What I would say is that it’s worth doing more research than we did. This is not one for the squeamish. Jones, who likes happy endings, was in two minds at the interval about whether to stay. She did – to see how it turned out, she said. It certainly wasn’t predictable.
Let me talk for a moment about our weather, if only because we’ve taken so many spectacular pictures. Most mornings we’ve woken either to mist or cloud seeping through the valley. It’s almost been like looking down on a vast lake, lapping at the feet of the houses in lower Espargal and submerging the nether fringes of Benafim on the far side of the valley.
With the mist has come heavy dew that’s rendered morning walks hazardous, especially behind those two tugging pups of ours. Several times we’ve waited until midday, when the hill has dried somewhat, before setting out on our daily walk. Even so, the hounds insist on being entertained in the park for at least half an hour morning and evening.
After much endeavour we managed to register ourselves with an online UK grocery chain with a view to sending a welcome pack to (Barbara’s brother) Llewellyn and Lucia, who spent Friday moving into their new London home. The problem was our foreign address and phone numbers, which took some getting around. We were pleased to hear that the pack arrived safely and promptly.
JONESY IN THE PARK
Also just moved is Chris Jones (& co), Barbara’s nephew, who has taken possession of a palatial house in Squamish, north of Vancouver, or so it seems from the pictures. We spent a couple of hours in the town three years ago during a visit to the nearby Whistler resort. Nice part of the world.
I have decided to learn a little German, with the emphasis on “little”. For years we’ve been visiting our family in Germany without being able to say more than hello and "another beer please". For this I blame our relatives, who coddle us. In fact we just trail along in their wake. Uncomfortable with the depths of my ignorance, I have invested in German for Dummies. Wiedersehen!
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