Letter from Espargal: 27 July 2013

This week I can offer you only a gentle amble around the garden of our lives. At the same time you may admire some of Jones's brilliant skies and flowers. She really has excelled herself.

First thing to say is that we have a day Thursday)off, a very welcome one. When Slavic works, I have to work too, although not nearly as hard; and he arrives on the dot of 8.30. I had expected him to be with us four days in a row. But as he explained yesterday, while constructing a small retaining wall around a shrub, Natasha had no work scheduled for the following day and they had decided to visit a water-park. That was fine by me.

The Algarve has several sinuous, meccano-like water-parks towering beside the east-west highway and I've no doubt that our workers will be having a ball. Nor will they have to worry about sunburn. The pair of them are natural tanners, swiftly turning an enviable bronze in the sun. (Slavic reported later that they loved the water park but not the crowds they found there. There was a 30 minute wait for the best slides.)

Slavic labours away like many builders, hatless and t-shirted in the heat of the day, dripping with perspiration. At frequent intervals he gathers up the front of his t-shirt to mop his brow. Nor does he use any sun protection. He didn't need to, he told me, because he goes a protective brown after just a few careful days in the sun. I tried to warn him, in vain, that like us he might have to pay later for present exposure.

Anyhow, we have a day off. We didn't have to set off early on our walk, nor rush back. There was a breeze up and we tramped unhurriedly along our stony paths through the bush, stopping at intervals to gather the dogs or admire the views to the sea.

FIELD OF WILD THYME
At one point we came across the body of a fox right beside the path. I shooed the dogs away from it and resolved to go around later on the tractor to remove the corpse. Jonesy and I wondered aloud what the cause of death might have been. The worry is that it might have been poisoned. We had a close call a few years ago when two of our dogs consumed poisoned meat and we had to rush them to the vet.

SQUINTY & BRAVEHEART
As soon as we get back, Jones trots off across the fields to feed "sick cat" at David & Sarah's cottage, an expedition that she repeats again in each evening. "Sick cat" is one of several black cats that originated at the cottage. Two of them, Squinty and Braveheart, moved in with us. "Sick cat", so called because he was dreadfully injured in a fight and tends to cough up his food, at one point moved into Casa Nada. But he returned to our neighbours' cottage during their recent sojourn there and seems intent on remaining. And Jones, being Jones, sacrifices 15 minutes twice a day to take food across to him.

For the moment, I have taken over her other waifs and strays run (down the right-of-way that runs below our fence and through Idalecio's property) to give an evening bone to the delighted Maggie. Maggie, mother of three of our dogs, lives at the end of a long chain, guarding the entrance to Joachim's property. While we wish that she could run free, she can at least run around.

Thursday p.m.: We are back from a snack break at the cafe in Benafim, to the usual enthusiastic welcome from Bobby. We still call the place The Coral although it has evolved through "Le France Portugal" to become the Ponto de Encontro (meeting point) under Joao, the man who has taken over from Celso.

His assistant, Thelma, works the morning shift. She's got to know our order. Two coffees, an almond cake and a generous shot of medronho cost just 4 euros. In the summer heat the shade offered by the new awning is welcome.

Our two travelling dogs sprawl under the table. They know the routine well enough. Prickles likes to rest his head on his mistress's feet.

On the way home we stopped at Leonhilde's place to fetch the goat's cheese that she acquires for us each week. She and her daughter-in-law's mother were busy doing embroidery on the front patio.

As you can see, it's exquisite stuff, occasionally to be found at a price at craft shops. More common are the machine-produced imitations that are often flogged in the name of the genuine article.

We took an evening off as we do each year to visit the Loule summer fair. The main attraction is really to watch other people for the majority of items on sale have very little going for them other than price.

Even so, we came home with one of them, a painting by someone in the care of a charity for mentally challenged people. Ten euros was the price asked and we were glad to pay it. We have hung the picture in Casa Nada, where it seems well suited.

My spare hours today, blog aside, are going into loading music and data into the new computer. However, some of my old programmes from Windows XP are not compatible with Windows 7.

Among other things it won't accept my old Lotus Organizer programme. That means that I can't transfer across my address book. So (family and friends), PLEASE LET ME HAVE YOUR HOME/WORK ADDRESSES and PHONE NUMBERS.

SUNSET

I'll put them into my gmail diary, which will survive any future transitions.

After much research, I found a free French program, Eviedit, which reads the now incompatible Cardfile. The instructions are simple enough to follow, even for non-French speakers such as I.

MOONRISE

As I write, the news media are full of the dreadful train smash near Santiago de Compostella, a city where we spent several days last year. Unlike most such accidents, this one feels uncomfortably close to home. Its only mercy is to spare us the worst of the boy George gush that's been inflicted on the world these past several days. Just too much!

Letter from Espargal: 20 July 2013

Like my siblings, I was the recipient in my early years of birthday letters with valued enclosures from kindly aunts and grandparents. These enclosures generally took the form of 10-shilling notes although they occasionally ran to a pound and once or twice even to £5 - no mean gift in the 1950s. The good wishes that accompanied these notes I confess were of little interest to me. There was very little useful to be done with good wishes. £5, on the other hand, offered a multitude of possibilities.

However, as with most things, there was a hitch. Mother refused to allow me to invest this cash in some desired object until I had sat down to write a (laborious) thank-you letter to each of my benefactors. And here's the point.

After hoping that they were enjoying good health and thanking them for their generosity, I would hit a blank. What more was there to say? After all, they would hardly be interested in the weather or the dull minutiae of my boyhood life.

This same blank comes back to haunt me on Thursday afternoons when I generally sit down to pull the week together, as much of a diary record (which we consult to check the dogs' ages and other historical events) as a blog. It's not that there's nothing to be said; there's just so little new to be said. This week has closely imitated last week, which resembled the week before it.

In short, it's been hot as hell; the ticks are biting; we return sweat-soaked from our morning walks; Slavic has been working around the garden - and so on. The challenge is to embroider these events sufficiently to hold your interest or even, muse willing, to dress them up in new clothes.

So here goes. As so often, the week starts with May. Monday is May day. So, this week, was Thursday. May had been recalled to the clinic at Vale do Lobo for further examination after undergoing minor surgery there last month for the removal of a growth from her cheek. We were under the impression that she would have to undergo another excision, presumably to remove more tissue. In the event she emerged from the clinic with little sign of whatever treatment she had received.

On the home front, Slavic had been working away while we tended to May. This week he's been extending the stone patio that he's created between the two houses and enlarging the circular stone boundaries around shrubs and trees - essentially tidying up the garden.

The patio looks great and has already been admired by our visitors. What they don't realise is how many trips we've had to take down into the valley to search out suitable rocks. Slavic prowls through the mato (bushveld) on foot, keeping a close eye out for scorpions as he tips over promising rocks, while I bump along in the tractor.

Once we have a full load, we take a five-minute ride back home through the village. Slavic perches on the wheel guard.

At the top of the road we pause to give the two Dutch dogs there a biscuit. Once home, I have to back the tractor up our steep driveway to avoid losing my load. Slavic goes ahead to open and close the gates.

Slavic is very pleased to have the work - even though he labours outside under a cruel sun. At present he is finding himself with a lot of days to fill.

We have enough work to keep him going for another week or two. After that, with luck, he'll have a couple of projects elsewhere in the village.

This week we've seen a lot of the Hamburgo, the village restaurant. On Sundays the village expats gather there for brunch. On Tuesday evening we found ourselves joining David and Dagmar to catch up on their visit to Germany. And on Wednesday evening it was the venue for Pauline's birthday celebrations.

Attendance on the two evenings testified to the unpredictabilities of restaurant life. On Tuesday, there were barely half a dozen diners in the place. On Wednesday it was packed. How Manuel and Graca cope with such an ebb and flow it's hard to know.

Wednesday also saw the arrival of my new desktop computer, a Windows 7 model to replace my aging XP. This one's a delight, both very fast and equipped with a solid state drive that enables the computer to boot up within seconds and keeps the sound to a barely audible hum.

Jones, who appreciates my appreciation more than the object of it, has once again been spending long hours in her garden, which is really looking good. It takes her weeks after our return from holiday in June, to clean up the heavy winter growth, which has browned off in the sun during our absence. She sets one or two hoses going gently while she works away, crouched over a plant or flower bed.

This pictured device speaks for itself. Unlike my meteorological neighbour, Nicoline's anemometer, mine doesn't tell you how hard the wind is blowing or for how long. But you can tell that easily enough by watching the trees. And it's kinda satisfying. Very likely, this is how the Wright brothers started out. After all, once you have the propeller, all you need is the rest of the plane!

Letter from Espargal: 13 July 2013

This has been an exceptionally busy week one way and another; so busy in fact that I've missed my siesta most afternoons. At this late juncture I am reduced to adding a few captions to pictures rather than doing a dinkum blog but it's a case of half a loaf. Like most of the pictures that follow, this one speaks for itself. If we are not sharing the bed with a dog, it's a chair with the cat.

This image of my wife was so unusual that her own dogs gave her a good barking. And little wonder. Apart from inheriting one of my old shirts, she had borrowed my working hat on a particularly sunny day. Most days have been stinkers. But temps have fallen 10 degrees these past two days to bring us welcome relief.

Here, if you look closely, you may see a little drama being played out. Prickles, the small white dog, appears to be fast asleep in the sun. But he's actually keeping half an eye on the biscuit that you may be able to see between his front and back legs. It's this biscuit that Mary, the black dog, craves. She is torn between greed and fear, knowing just how fierce Prickles can be when biscuit nickers are about.

Midweek Carlos and assistant arrived to install a new display cabinet, intended to house various televisual devices that had previously stood on a side table - bottom left - wires protruding on all sides.

And this is how it looks. We had Carlos build and install the much taller adjoining cabinet when we first built the house, together with another on an opposite wall. They have proved capacious, attractive and hard-wearing. What we are one day going to do with their contents I haven't a clue.

Slavic spent three days strimming the park and building an artistic rock floor around the pomegranate trees, between Casa Valapena and Casa Nada. My part was to drive him down to the bushveld below the village to search for suitable rocks. And to ferry up loads of rock powder and cement from the bottom of the driveway, which is as close as Cesar, the delivery driver, can get to the house.

Rocks are to be found around here in their tens of thousands. And the farmers are delighted to have you remove them. But flattish rocks are at a premium and take a great deal of searching out. Even so, we returned with half a dozen tractor loads.

And this is how the finished job looks. The logs are for decoration, and standing up beyond them is the rock man that the plough unearthed from one of our fields. He seems to me to the spirit of some past inhabitant.

This fellow was to be seen one evening, squatting on the ceiling. My inclination with such uninvited guests is to rehouse them in the vacuum cleaner. But in view of my wife's spider-saving principles, I let him be. I've no idea where he's gone to.

On Thursday Jonesy celebrated her somethingth birthday. She invited Marie and Olly to join us at a nursery just the other side of Almancil that does light meals and refreshments.

As you can see, the ladies were in their element.

I have to say that we were mightly impressed by the snackbar. Both eats and drinks were superior and the setting was of the sort one normally sees pictured in fancy magazines. The cherry on the cake was the arrival of a porcelain dish with water for the dogs that we had sneaked in - so much nicer than being ejected, which had happened on the patio of another restaurant the previous week.

Here, hot off the press, you get an exclusive view of the party that Jonesy and Pauline threw for the Espargal expats this Saturday afternoon. The party started out on the east patio and later followed the evening sun around to the north.

Jones and Pauline - seen here in conversation - both celebrate birthdays in the first half of July. For some years they have invited the locals to a joint celebration. This year the invitation included new neighbours, Nikki and Len, from the bottom of the village.

And here we are, parked under the carob tree that shades the front patio. It's my favourite spot, the nook where we sit down with a glass of wine, cheese and biscuit in the evenings when the watering's done and the dogs are fed, to reflect on all the good things that have come our way.

No blog would be complete without a Jones sunrise or sunset. So here's the sunset of the week. I have to say that I love to see the orb going down for the evenings are heavenly and the days can be hellish - especially when one has to slave outdoors when one ought to be taking a therapeutic siesta.

Letter from Espargal: 6 July 2013

Last week’s introduction serves equally well this week, except that the noisy cicada isn’t in evidence. Here he is, clinging to the insect gauze a few days ago, asking to come in to share the air conditioning. Sorry, we said, we were full up. Better go find a tree.

SUNSET OVER MONCHIQUE HILLS

According to the thermometer, it’s 36*. The dogs are all out for the count, as you will see. I guess we should be grateful that it’s not 38*, as it is in Lisbon, or 40-something horrible, which is normal in the Alentejo. Anyhow, I won’t whinge on about the heat. We all have to live with a bit of inclement weather and I’d rather be living with ours than with the flood damage in Calgary, where my Canadian relatives live.

CLEAN-UP IN CALGARY

The only good news there is that Barbara’s Vancouver-based insurance-adjusting nephew, Chris, is up to his armpits in Calgarian muck, raking in filthy lucre while he’s about it. He says that it’s almost impossible to rid himself of the smell; it doesn’t even wash off in the shower.

As ever, it’s hard to know where the week has gone. Monday’s easy. That’s May day.

Tuesday I strimmed. So did the municipal tractor that comes around each summer to cut the high dry grass on the banks. The grass both blots out one’s view of other traffic and presents a serious fire risk. So it’s a relief when it’s gone, even if the remains lie all over the road – at least until the wind blows.

ONO

Also Tuesday I tried to make a holiday booking and here’s a lesson. Jones has a notion about getting to Marseilles for a special exhibition and we’ve long wanted to see Barcelona. So the idea was travel first to Marseilles, then to Barcelona and then come home. The options are road, rail, air and sea. Simple stuff!

PRICKLES

I couldn’t believe how complicated it got. To go by air involved three different airlines, one of which refused to allow me to complete the booking without giving my company number. The helpline spent an age taking me through a menu before switching on the usual dismal music and informing me that I was an important customer: please don’t ring off. Like hell!

BARRI

By rail there was the option of consulting several different international railway company sites, none of which would accept a complete booking – and anyway you can only book three months ahead.

BOBBY

The stars of the show were two cruise companies. I emailed them asking if there was any chance of sailing just the brief leg from Marseilles to Barcelona. (There wasn’t.) Both were on the phone – one from Fort Lauderdale – before I’d even caught my breath. Boy, you sure can tell when people work on commission.

Wednesday Slavic laboured for me in the morning and neighbours, Sarah and David, in the afternoon. First thing was to fetch more rocks for the area he is paving. That meant backing the tractor up a frighteningly steep and slippery track to a spot where we’d noted a dozen useful rocks. I did it very slowly, leaning nervously over the side and stabbing the diff-lock each time a wheel spun. We made it. The paving looks good – although it’s barely half finished.



Sarah and David's summer house looks even better. Slavic is doing the interior plastering. The exterior stone cladding is Sarah's own handiwork - and she's justly proud of it.

Thursday Natasha did a big clean while we went off on a run-around trip. Jonesy, who’s planning a joint birthday celebration with a neighbour, wanted to explore a new food store that specialises in gluten-free products.

OUR FAVOURITE LOULE SNACK BAR: EVERYBODY'S INSIDE - IT'S TOO HOT OUTSIDE

At the same time we filled the boot with bags of dog food and dropped them off at a kennel that we support, high in the hills over Loule.

ARCHIVE PICTURE

From behind the gate, the inmates gave us a clamorous welcome. I seduced them all with chewies, all except a stubborn spaniel who let me know that I wasn’t coming in, chewies or no chewies. Not that we had any need to enter; we left the bags at the gate.

SUPPER TIME, AND THE LIVIN IS EASY

Another task was to try to reinvest with our Portuguese bank some savings that had matured. The 30-day rate offered by the bank was 0,25%. So was the 60-day and the 90-day (at which point I gave up).

IT'S 8.30 BEFORE YOU CAN RELAX OUTSIDE

Not that you get even that 0.25%; the government takes a quarter once interest is paid. So the investor in reality gets 0.18% - equivalent to a cuppa tea and biscuit. They really have to be joking.

SCHOOL CROCODILE

You may have noticed that Portugal has been in the news this week – if not quite on the Egyptian scale. At the start of the week, the finance minister resigned – torn between the austerity programme he had to implement and the howls of distress from the population.

JONES SUNSET

The following day, the foreign minister followed suit. As he heads the minority party in the governing coalition, the government is in deep doo-doos. The markets, inevitably, hate it, and everybody pays the price. The opposition parties sense blood and call for elections that they would probably win before landing themselves in the same mess.
PS: The coalition has been patched up - for the moment!