Letter from Calgary

I am in Calgary where I am being seduced by the iPad and catching up with my Canadian family. Inevitably, this is going to be a domestic blog and non-family readers will readily be forgiven for abandoning it at this early stage.

My journey began last weekend with a Saturday flight from Faro to Frankfurt and an overnight stay at an hotel on the fringes of the airport. I mention this only to justify this attempted picture of a large owl (you have to look closely) abandoning a tree near the hotel as I tried to photograph it.

On the Sunday I flew to Calgary, where I was very pleased to be met by my brother Kevin and his wife Ann. This gave me my first opportunity to admire his (relatively) new 6.3L Mercedes AMG which he likes a great deal and I rather liked as well. Like the rest of their family, my hosts are both high-tech and seriously into vehicles of every shape and size, of which (inevitably) more later.

ANN & DAUGHTER-IN-LAW MINDY....... All the talk on my arrival was of the election for a new provincial government the following day by the good people of Alberta. The only question was whether the incumbent Progressive Conservatives would turn out enough supporters to defeat the challenge from the new, even more conservative Wild Rose party - which they did. This is not a part of the world much given to liberal views.

MEGAN ON TRACTOR....... More importantly, that was the day that I was introduced to the iPad. Forgive me! Those of you familiar with the device will marvel at my previous ignorance; those still unfamiliar are hardly likely to be interested. But this is the risk I must run. While I had been well aware of the iPad’s existence and popularity, I had never seriously contemplated getting one because I like to touch-type on a real keyboard. Well! I’m won over.

ANN, SARAH & GIRLS....... To PC users like me, the versatility, immediacy and screen quality of this tablet are a wonder to behold. There’s no waiting around for the computer to boot up; open the leather jacket and you can instantly start surfing. I’m hooked – and I suspect that even my technophobic wife will be impressed. Not that I’m abandoning my Sony Vaio travelling companion; for serious typing or file processing it can’t be beaten. But for most other functions, the iPad leaves it in the dust. Little wonder that Apple has doubled its profits this past quarter.

SUPPER WITH AL & CO....... However, all this is incidental. The real aim of my visit was merely to hang out and catch up with family. Family are all located within an easy ride of Kevin and Ann’s house in a newish suburb on the southern edge of Calgary. Nearest – in fact within walking distance - are Alan and Sarah and their four young children.

Since my last visit they had moved from a lovely house into a truly splendid home overlooking a lake. The lake, like most of the city’s lakes, had been constructed by developers to attract occupants to the surrounding houses. But a lake’s a lake, whatever its origins and you can't beat it for a view.

The house, a mansion really, is magnificent and had been beautifully and expensively finished by the previous occupant who, I understand, ran into financial difficulties. Alan must have used his realtor skills in acquiring it.

After being introduced to the children (Rachel [6 and bouncy], Esther [5 and charming] Juliet [18mts and serious about food] and baby Christian I was taken on a tour. My admiration was entirely sincere. What a stunning home!

The garage houses Alan’s Merc and Sarah’s long-wheelbase Cadillac SUV, just about the only vehicle big enough - as he explained - to take the four child-seats and kit that are essential to family outing. Not much further away – perhaps 15 minutes – live Mark and Mindy and their three children (Conner 13, Ethan 5 and Megan 2). As it happens, they too have moved since my last visit – with Alan’s assistance - to a large and beautiful home also overlooking a lake, quite a big one.

I’m in danger of overdoing the superlatives. Such lakeside houses are much sought after and built to attract upmarket buyers. Each comes with a small pier to take kayaks and dinghies. In winter the lake offers ice fishing, skating and hockey. All year round it offers a wonderful outlook. Mindy says she’s never moving again and it’s not hard to understand why.

There had been other noticeable changes since last I’d seen them. Conner was mature beyond his years and a pleasure to converse with on a range of subjects; Ethan appreciated my efforts to read his Chukka Chukka Boom Boom (if I remember correctly) book about letters of the alphabet ascending the coconut tree, and Megan (who was new to me) was a hoot - an athletic, expressive, delightful little girl.

MEGAN & ETHAN........ We went for an evening stroll with the family dogs, big Louie (a pup last time round) and Bailey, who complete the family line-up. Mark, a pilot like his wife, is teaching aviation at college; Mindy has taken time off to raise their family. She too had acquired a vast vehicle to move the children about; but then this is a part of the world where vast vehicles, like large houses, are pretty much taken for granted.

Speaking of which, we had occasion to visit the warehouse in Calgary where the family keep vehicles that are not immediately required. These include a tractor, several trailers, a couple of quad-bikes and a glorious Airstream caravan, with which Kevin and Ann hope to tour those parts of North America

– they want to visit Alaska - that are not best suited to their motorhome. I regret that I was not able to see the motorhome, which they had left behind in Palm Springs, their winter base. It was a relief to find Penny (seemingly unchanged) and Mike (now sprouting a few senatorial grey hairs) in a familiar house although it had been extended to create an extra garage and more spacious rooms.

Jackson (9) had shot up and was clearly following his 2-metre tall father skywards. Wyatt (nearly 7) still regarded strangers quizzically before coming out with his reflective observations.

Gone was the winter ice-rink that had occupied the back garden but I gathered that both boys had become pretty expert skaters since last I had watched them in action. And they were certainly dab hands at video games. We spent my last evening with them while Mike and Penny took themselves off to a function. Mark, Mindy and co were also present. We chatted as Batman chased Superman or similar around the house, returning to mum for occasional costume repairs.

Letter from Espargal, 16 of 2012

LAVENDER..... I have risen from my bed at an early hour in order to upload some of the lovely pictures that Jonesy has taken of our wild flowers, punctuated with a few thoughts about the week. (I have discovered three clumps of orchids, all different, in the park these past few days, much to my pleasure!)

DILL..... It’s a week that has entirely disappeared, as though a magician had whipped aside a cloth to show an empty table where the week had lain. That’s because of runnings around, much holiday planning and last minute jobs that take a couple of hours each. Beyond the last minute lies my departure this afternoon to Germany and thence to Canada, where I shall be catching up on family.

HONEYSUCKLE...... Barbara will be staying behind, as I have during her brief visits to the UK, to take care of our demanding household. In a late development, she will be joined tomorrow evening by Llewellyn and Lucia, who are flying down from London to celebrate some leave, along with Lucia’s Australian niece. I look forward to meeting them on my return.

The runnings around were mundane – English lessons on Monday, breakfast with the gang at the Coral on Tuesday, shopping on Wednesday, lunch with May and her visiting nephew on Thursday and more shopping on Friday.

Some of that shopping was intended to help fulfill a Jones wish to drape light curtains above the glass-brick partition in Casa Nada to separate the Bijou Ensuite (her bit) from the workshop (my bit). The actual draping became one of those last-minute two-hour jobs. But it’s done and most satisfactorily.

Another late task was to cover with hessian the dog mattresses that the dogs spend their lives ripping apart and Barbara spends hers patching. We bought several metres of hessian as well as a couple of sacks that we sewed as securely around the mattresses as we could. The three younger dogs can’t lie down without starting to chew whatever material is closest to paw. (Speaking of which, I indulged last week in a brilliant pun that has drawn no response whatsoever.)

CENTAUREA....... The new cobbler in Loule returned my boots with an apology. He couldn’t repair the holed sole in one of them. Ecco made soles that were biologically degradable and not repairable, he explained. Barbara has urged me to get in touch with the company and to see if their soles can be bought separately. I shall.

TASSEL HYACINTH... The planning I referred to has concerned the holiday we anticipate during most of the month of May when our house-sitters will be making their annual visit to Casa Valapena. It started out being quite a simple holiday – some days driving around parts of Spain and Portugal, followed by a visit to the Azores (Portuguese islands in the Atlantic).

GLADIOLUS... The devil, as ever, was in the detail – or possibly in my desire to find memorable places to stay in each centre and determining exactly how to reach them in the car. And there are lots of centres. The route is first to Spain (Caceres, Salamanca, Bilbao, the Picos and Santiago de Compostella) and then back over the border to Guimaraes (2012 European City of Culture), Alcobaca and Lisbon, where we will leave the car before flying to the Azores. I have a file half an inch thick with details of accommodation, hire-car contracts, parking garages, maps, directions and air-tickets.

Carohn has sent several sms messages as she continues her pilgrimage north towards Santiago. It’s been a much wetter and windier walk than she anticipated although she has found much consolation in the company of her fellow walkers. Had they arrived a month ago, they might have walked in unbroken sunshine.

PUPPY AT EASE... The sun has suddenly flooded in through the study window, warming my back and alerting me to our impending walk. By 8.30 the dogs are ready to go, as they readily let us know. They are not in Jones’s best books this week, I fear, for they have caught not one rabbit but two - while puppy killed a bird. Bobby appeared with a kit in his mouth one morning and yesterday little Prickles emerged proudly from the bush bearing a rabbit nearly as big as he was.

This needless killing enrages my wife, who berates me for rewarding the dogs with a biscuit as they hand over their reluctant booty. It’s hard to convince her that I am rewarding them for their obedience and not for killing rabbits. I can’t think of a way to stop them without keeping them enclosed because they love hunting rabbits above everything else, the whole lot of them.

Big Dog is jogging my elbow. He wants to go walking and won't take no for an answer. Big Dog can be very persistent. This may have to suffice for the week. (Forgive the messy layout. Google has introduced a new format that I haven't got time to get to grips with.)

Letter from Espargal: 15 of 2012

This week has skipped and tripped along, with the odd diversion and upset. For instance, as we were out walking on a bright and beautiful Easter Sunday, a bee flew into the back of my ear and stung me - quite gratuitously. Jones pulled out the sting but the ouch remained. My ear swelled up in protest. I feel unjustly victimised (can one be justly victimised?). Is there any point, I wonder, in boycotting honey?

Making a point, on the other hand, sometimes serves only to underline human stupidity. I have in mind the idiot who jumped into the Thames to bring the Oxford – Cambridge boat race to a halt. I think they should just have rowed rough-shod over him! He apparently was opposed to elitism, which he felt the race represented. I asked Carohn why elitism was a bad thing – she’s clever and knows about that kind of stuff – but she refused to take my question seriously.

In the afternoon we went to Loule to watch the statue of the Virgin being paraded down from the church on the hill to the town. Thousands of people turn out for this annual ceremony, many of them following the band and the bearers as they quick-step up the slope into Loule. Shouts of “Viva Mae Soberana” fill the air.

It seems to me that the good people of Portugal place more faith in the protective powers of the Virgin – especially their Virgin – than of holy mother Church, under whose roof they no longer congregate in large numbers. A nice lady from Lisbon held on to the dogs’ leads as I took snaps.

Jones and Carohn had gone ahead while I found parking. Contacting them was hard work; Jones had left her phone at home, Carohn’s rejected my messages. It turned out on later inspection that she had inadvertently blocked me - a phone facility unknown to her. I unblocked myself and several other frustrated correspondents.

On Monday, under another sunny sky, we ran Carohn to Loule station for a last coffee and cake at the station café before putting her on the train to Lisbon. It was great having her and we hope that she and her fellow pilgrims are dodging the black clouds over northern Iberia.

The builders are back after the damp week leading up to Easter, finishing off the last of the cobbled patios. They’re doing a good job, happy to accept small additional requests. Although the work is virtually complete, they have had to wait for the stone-dust foundation to dry out before tamping the stones down.

To keep the younger dogs out of our hair (and theirs) we enclose them in the “pen” each morning after their walk. They take out their energies on Jones’s irises, which, after a couple of replantings, are now finally protected with a barrier of thorns. Barri, the pup, leaps on to the roof of Casa Nada, from where she peers down at activities below. She’s very agile, the image of her roaming dad, whom we often spot on the outskirts of the village.

Wednesday was a run-around. After a medical check-up, we chased the insurance company for our overdue travel insurance (I fly to Canada next weekend) before fetching May for lunch. I spent some time programming her new mobile phone, a model designed for older and infirm users. It comes with a large keyboard and an alarm button which, when pressed, sends out an emergency message.

IRIS: As one of my highly-prized Ecco boots had developed a hole in its high-tech sole – less than a year after purchase - I asked the old cobbler in Loule whether he could repair it. He shook his head. I had more luck at a new modern establishment although I have to wait for the boots to return from some special facility that rips off old wrap-around soles and glues new ones on. Fortunately, I had bought a second pair online some months ago, which I have pressed into service.

CAROHN'S GERANIUM: Also in trouble was my EcoDrive Citizen watch, one of whose little adjustment knobs had jammed. I took it into a little old fellow who sits in his window in Loule, magnifying glass jammed in one eye, repairing watches. He thought he could fix it – come back after Easter – he said, and he did. He explained that it had been jammed with dirt. He’d had to dismantle and oil it. “How can I clean it myself?” I inquired. “You can’t,” he told me. “Bring it back here instead.” Jones says it makes more sense for me to wear an old watch when I’m working – and I can’t argue with that.

On the way home I heard an ominous thumping from a front tyre. I came to a stop on the highway and donned the compulsory reflective yellow jacket. Inspection revealed a large screw jammed into the rubber tread. I was able wrench it out, fearful that the tyre would deflate on me. It didn’t and it hasn’t - yet. Fingers crossed.

SPOTTED IN SILVES - STORKS MAKING LOVE: On Thursday I ran Jones down to the dentist for emergency treatment on a previously capped tooth that had disintegrated. We feared the worst but for once we were in luck. The dentist, a space-age operator, managed a miracle repair. He didn’t guarantee it but he was hopeful – and so are we.

T

That brings us to Friday. We took Barri into Loule for her second vaccination, nervous lest she once again throw up over Jones (whose duty it is to hold her in the back seat). Barri came up trumps, falling asleep on her mistress’s lap and showing not the least sign of being car-sick. We are still putting her out of the house at night, much against our inclination, as she’s a bit of a pisser.

Last night was a bad one. The wind shrieked around the house without pause or mercy. At 0130 Prickles woke us, insisting on being escorted to his chair; at 0230 Russ whined to go out. At 0330 Raymond also begged to go out – and at 0400 he cried (he really cries) to be allowed in again. Normally the back door is open and they can come and go as they wish. But until Barri learns the toilet rules, we face such occasional nocturnal risings.

Letter from Espargal: 14 of 2012

We have been entertaining my cousin, Carohn. It's made for a most pleasant week and a break from our usual activities, albeit under skies sunny and showery by turns.

Carohn was due to arrive in Lisbon early Tuesday evening on a flight from the Balkans. The plan was to meet her at the airport and whizz her back down the motorway to Espargal for a smoked salmon sandwich supper.

In the event the French air traffic controllers were feeling a bit out of sorts, as they so often do, and her plane arrived 90 minutes late. Having got fair warning of this delay on my smartphone, Jones and I lingered a while over a picnic supper at a motorway stop just outside Lisbon. We’d left the beasts in the care of Natasha.

Carohn is the eldest of my eight Capetonian Cornell cousins. She’s taking 6 weeks off from her busy life doing research and stuff in South Africa. After spending a few days with us, she will head north to Lisbon and then to Porto, where she will join friends on the pilgrim route to Santiago de Compostella.

Anneke, a Dutch neighbour who walked the route a couple of years ago, has been kind enough to pop around to share her experiences. The road to Santiago is popular, lined with hostels where pilgrims may stay inexpensively. Having several times (some decades ago) shared hikers’ huts with fellow sleepers, I can only wish my cousin well.

At this point, I must pause to satisfy the several impatient dogs who are crowding around my chair, reminding me that they haven’t had their afternoon walk. They are expert elbow joggers. The sun has come out briefly after a day of showers and we can probably make it around the back of the hill before the next black cloud overtakes us.

We’ve escorted Carohn to favourite restaurants and around tiny villages where the car creeps between the walls of the old houses. She loves the views and green valleys, which are much refreshed by a week of showers. And she’s enthused by the flowers and trees, altogether an easy an appreciative guest.

Returning from one outing, we stopped to watch a cycle race, police outriders leading the way and supporting ambulance following on behind. Portugal is a country almost as mad on cycling as it is on football. Cyclists are expected to don the latest gear, shoes and helmets included – before hitting the road.

The peloton that came sweeping up the steep hill to Alto Fica seemed to make light work of it. It was only the sweating, puffing tail-end that revealed just how tough it was. Although I was a daily cyclist in London, the erratic behaviour of local motorists has put me off such exercise here.

A visit to Alte the following day brought us into the midst of a great throng. At Rosa's cafe, where we paused for refreshments, we gathered that the crowds had turned out to attend the funeral of a popular local man.

I bumped into Horacio’s workers, who were chatting to their fellows while they waited to follow the hearse down the road to the cemetery. The deceased man, they informed me, was a 62 year old plumber who had died of leukaemia. He must have been an excellent plumber to merit such a turn-out.

Carohn and I nipped around one night to Leonilde’s house to fetch the bread and cheese that she acquires on our behalf each week. She presented us with a home-made “folar”, the Portuguese Easter cake, insisting that we try some. Then she led us proudly around the back of the house to show us the traditional brick oven, newly restored by her son, in which she’d baked it. It was too dark to photograph. Instead, I snapped Leonilde with her daughter-in-law and Carohn in the room where the grapes are pressed.

As we walked back, we watched the biggest Easter moon ever rising just above the horizon. Yes, Easter is upon us. May it bless us all! On a practical note, it will be only some time after Easter, when we have a spell of dry weather, that the builders will be able to complete the last cobbled patio. For us, fortunately, that’s no problem.