Letter from Espargal: 28 September 2013

Friday morning: It's not done to start with an apology but as we have been immersed in our family visitors this past week, it is they who are at the centre of things once again.

Right now we are waiting for the rain that has been promised us these past several days. Not just rain, but wind, thunder and lightning. In fact, I've been getting hourly email weather warnings from the Portuguese Met Office, to which I subscribe.

The latest Faro alarm has risen from yellow to orange. "Rain, strong at times, accompanied by thunder, with the possibility of extreme wind phenomena", it declares.

The accompanying satellite picture shows a deep low pressure system enveloping Portugal like one of those vast alien craft in Independence Day.

EARLIER THIS WEEK

Weather or no weather, the dogs insisted on their morning walk. After peering at the grey skies for several minutes, we set out on a short circuit that evolved into a longer circuit as the rain held off.

Even so, for the first time this season, we had to pause at the front door to scrape the mud from our boots and the muck from their paws - the result of 2mm of drizzle overnight.

Given this change in the weather, necessary if a bit extreme, we can only be grateful for the blue sky timing of our relatives, who flew off midweek to Berlin where the Canadians are to spend a few days with Cathy and Rolf.

Our visitors enjoyed the best that September in the Algarve has to offer, departing in the same sunshine that greeted them. We are still getting used to the silence that they left behind.

Their stay was as good as family visits get - relaxed and unstressed. The dogs made our guests equally welcome, albeit after a little preliminary excitement.

Bobby, ever suspicious of strangers, soon overcame his doubts and established himself as Kevin's great pal. It was quite touching to see him seeking out my brother's company and affection.

Cathy, who took over many of the garden watering duties, was upgraded from the guest room to Casa Nada when the Canadians arrived. The cats and the lizards didn't seem to mind her arrival and she declared herself to be perfectly comfortable in her new quarters.

She is a very accommodating sister. She also knows the scene, being a frequent visitor to Casa Valapena.

PENINSULA AT SAGRES

The Canadians, however, who were making their first visit, hardly knew what to expect, in spite of several years of blog-reading. They loved the house and garden and voiced their appreciation of the many preparations that we had made for their visit.

While Ann made the most of the early mornings, Kevin generally joined us on our walks, taking a stick in either hand the better to negotiate the steep, slippery and stony paths.

He had my full sympathy and support. As a frequent and much-bruised faller myself, I never exit the gates without a walking stick. In my left hand I bear a long, leafy twig both to discourage the flies and to break the spider threads across the bushes. Barbara, who like our athletic puppy, Barri, is little troubled by gravity, spurns any such aids.

I shall not detail all the goods, gifts, gestures, exchanges and services that went to make the family visit extra-special, other than to say that Kevin grilled Michelin-quality salmon steaks on the gas-fired Weber barbeque that appeared during their stay and remained behind when they left.

Friday afternoon: a call on my mobile phone came from a young woman who said she was waiting at the gates with a parcel from Amazon - the two iPad keyboards that I had ordered to fit our devices. The dogs would normally give early warning of any such arrival but with the shutters closed and the wind wailing outside, they hadn't noticed.

The keyboards attach magnetically to the iPads and talk to them via bluetooth, acting as covers when not in use. So one gets to see the whole screen when typing and has a tactile surface to type on rather than glass. I'm wowed - although Jones is dubious. She says she liked it the way it was. Well, nothing is compulsory.

Over supper with old friends, Mike and Lyn Macrill, I heard about an app - Flight Radar 24 - that tracks commercial aircraft around the world. (Mike is an aircraft fanatic and would-be pilot!) I reviewed and then downloaded the app. Very clever and quite scary. Planes cluster over London like starlings about to roost. If you want to know what time a plane arrives, you just tag it and watch it.

Changing track: In a bid to discover who owns which bits of property, the Portuguese government has decreed that all owners have to declare their properties on a new register. This ought to be a relatively simple process. In theory, one takes the title-deeds and an up-to-date tax-document to the parish offices where an official records them.

However, when one owns seven properties, the boundaries and plot numbers of which have been changed in the course of development, it becomes a nightmare. It took me a whole afternoon to trace and download the relevant documents from the internet and then to match them up against the past and present records.

I have yet to discover what the official at the parish office makes of them. My intention was to make my way up there this afternoon but it's not a day for going out - not if one can help it. (The storm has now broken around us.) As a fallback, I have contacted the super-efficient legal secretary who assisted us with previous bouts of bureaucracy.

On Sunday the country goes to the polls to elect local authorities. We get to vote. Town and village streets echo to the amplified publicity of would-be councillors. Banners fastened to poles and trees bear the smiling faces and virtuous slogans of the candidates - all selfless, honest and competent!

If there was a party that was in the business of reducing bureaucracy, I would unhesitatingly vote for it. But as that's too much to hope for, we shall probably cast our votes for independents who are campaigning to de-merge Benafim from the distant villages to which we've been attached as part of the austerity programme. Not that we're betting on that either.

Pictures from Espargal: 22 September 2013

ANN, CATHY & BARBARA AROUND THE PATIO TABLE

These pictures of our family visitors must speak for themselves for the week has presented no opportunity for me to sit down and attempt a blog.

ANN PICTURED IN THE SOUTH GARDEN

With us are my sister, Cathy, from Berlin and my brother and his wife, Kevin and Ann, from Calgary. Cathy has been a frequent visitor to Portugal. For the Canadians, it's a new experience.

ANN IN THE ROCK GARDEN

The pictures come in no particular order. As they show, our visitors have been lucky with the weather. Most evenings, we've relaxed around the patio table and enjoyed our meals there.

ANN AGAINST THE BACKGROUND OF THE VALLEY, BENAFIM AND THE DISTANT HILLS

Some of the pictures come from Kevin's camera and others from mine.

BRAVEHEART

Our guests were astonished at the coolness of Braveheart, who would unhesitatingly take his place among the dogs and insist of his rights.

IN BENAFIM

We drove to Benafim one afternoon to fetch bread from the house of Hans the baker.

HANS, HIS BREAD AND US

He bakes a great range of breads in his traditional bread oven. The oven is first heated with oak chips that are scraped out before the bread is inserted.

AT THE GYPSY MARKET IN LOULE

Saturday mornings bring the gypsy market to Loule, along with a great number of tourists who are bused in from the colonies along the coast.

AT JL's SNACK BAR

You can't beat JL's place, just beyond the roundabout that leads to the cement factory, for a drink, a sandwich and a conversation with a view.

AT THE NURSERY CAFE

On the other hand, to make an impression and enjoy a spectacular salad, the venue to choose is the Garden Cafe at the Natura Garden Centre near Almancil.

AT THE TABLE UNDER THE TREES, IN FRONT OF THE HOUSE

This was our favourite seating, eating, cocktail and conversation spot.

VIEW FROM THE HEIGHTS OF PARRAGIL

The view embraces the great sweep of the Algarve plain from Albufeira to Faro and beyond.

KEVIN, ANN & FUNNY HATS

The hats come from the medieval fair at Salir. Their wearers must speak on their own behalf.

AT THE GARDEN TABLE

The dogs and the wasps would gather around the table with us. Note the swatter hanging off the back of a chair.

KEVIN WITH BOBBY

Bobby was initially highly suspicious of our visitors. He always is. But within a day he had decided that Kevin was a fine guy and the two became good mates.

KEVIN, BOBBY & ONO

More of the same, with Ono crouched between Kevin's feet. Ono likes to be close up with his humans.

TERRY, CAUGHT BY HIS DOGS AT HIDE AND SEEK

And here I am getting the treats out as fast as I can go. Which, for this week, has to do.

Letter from Espargal: 15 September 2013

I have observed down the years that in mid September the Algarve weather tips suddenly, like a seesaw, from summer to autumn. But if it's about to tip this year the weatherman doesn't know about it - or he isn't telling. (I suppose that in this gender-neutral age I should refer to the weather person but that sounds so dreadfully dull.) "Hot" remains the outlook, apart from showers that may be coming our way.

Hot it certainly was when we arrived at Cortes on Friday morning with a bag full of ice-creams for the archaeological team from Jena University that's excavating there once again. (They've been working on Roman remains at Cortes and in Espargal for several years.) A dozen or more distractingly attractive, bronzed workers were delighted to see us; they happily downed tools to consume the ice-creams and to bestow on Ono and Prickles as much affection as even the demanding Prickles could handle.

Most of them, like the university, were of German origin; this year, however, they include three Polish students who, like us, have to converse with the rest of the team in English. Cathy, of course, was happy to chat away in German. The team's numbers are about to swell with the arrival of 8 visitors who have paid for the privilege of taking part in the dig - a new kind of holiday.

Dennis, the team leader, showed us a small bottle in which they had collected tiny mosaic tiles and a fragment of glass. The mosaics were generally made up in Egypt, he told us, and then exported as completed images to other parts of the Roman world. (What's new?)

Hot it also was on Thursday when we took a bootful of dogfood to the canine refuge on the heights of Goldra. This too was gratefully received. We try to make a delivery once a month.

Cathy - returning to my sister - arrived from Berlin on Wednesday evening. Her hand-luggage was minutely examined at Tegel airport and her suitcase gone through behind the scenes by the German police, actions she ascribed to her travelling on the anniversary of 9-11. Nonetheless she arrived early and unscathed with her goods intact, surviving a clamorous welcome from the dogs. She has quickly resumed her watering duties and otherwise made herself at home. She's a very easy guest.

Her husband is backpacking across Scotland, his favourite outdoor activity. Cathy showed me a website at which she is able to follow his progress via a special satellite phone that he is carrying. The phone communicates its exact position, as well as the state of its battery. It has an emergency button which, if pressed, sends an SOS with this information to the nearest rescue centre.

BBQ TIME

Slavic has been back to build in the discharge pipes that Paulo, the plumber, laid from Casa Nada when he installed the washing machine there last week. As it happened, Paulo omitted to tighten a nut connecting a supply pipe to a tap. Although the system functioned perfectly when we tested it, the nut worked itself loose with explosive results. Barbara arrived on the scene to discover water hosing itself all over the show and the floor swimming. I shut the water off and tightened the nut, resolving the problem. I wish they were all that easy.

Paulo also installed a new thermostat on the rooftop solar water-heater, curing a long-standing issue that we've had with fluctuating temperatures in the showers, especially in summer when the water in the tank sizzles. Showerers have risked being frozen and fried by turns. Since the installation of the new thermostat, taking a shower has been a real pleasure.

Like all visitors, Paulo had to run the gauntlet of the dogs which, after sniffing him keenly, allowed him to proceed. He's an avid hunter with several of his own dogs. We remarked to him how quiet the valley had been on hunting days when previously it had echoed to the crackle of gunfire. This was because there were no rabbits, he told us.

They had been virtually wiped out by a liver disease, leaving the hunters without their principal quarry. However, on returning from supper in Benafim one night, we spotted a single rabbit dashing across the road - the first we've seen in months. Evidently, some have survived the plague.

We were accosted at the snack-bar in Benafim by the Socialist Party candidate for the local elections at the end of the month, along with an enthusiastic fellow canvasser. The pair of them promised us all kinds of improvements in our lives if we voted him in. Although we heard them out politely we refrained from committing ourselves.

Most Benafimmers are outraged at having been lumped with two distant villages in a new parish as part of austerity measures - and would vote for anybody who would lump them out again. In reality, life will continue very much along its present path who-ever is elected - not that there's any point in pressing this view with aspiring politicians.

At the bottom of the village, engineers have been hooking up electricity supply wires to the post they erected last week. We stopped for a word to hear whether it was just the village they were intended to supply or whether the line would carry on. They weren't sure. I look forward to seeing in due course what difference, if any, the new line makes.

Let me finish as I started with the season. We woke one morning to swooping swallows (swifts, martins?), struggling (us) with the camera to capture the tiny birds as they swept around the house. They know better than we do what lies ahead and when to prepare for their long journey south.

Well, not quite finish, for here follows a mini drama in pictures:

The dogs have been closed into the house while I go off to hide. On my call, Cathy opens the door and the dogs rush out. As they do so, Raymond tramps on little Poppy, our guest dog, who is outraged at such treatment.

The vengeful Poppy jumps up to bite the offending Raymond, letting him know that she is not go to put up with being tramped on under any circumstances.

But this is no time for squabbles. I have to be found. Differences are put aside as the the dogs work out which way I've gone.

This is the direction. Off they go, barking, baying and squealing. Such excitement!

Gotcha! Make with the treats and quick!

P.S. Saturday morning. There's a gentle rain falling. So, so welcome. So, so nice!

Letter from Espargal: 7 September 2013

This is Thursday, a cloudy, breezy sort of a Thursday. As usual, I am upstairs in the study with the dogs scattered around like cushions. The house is full of Natasha's cleaning and hoovering noises. Once she has finished downstairs, she will move across to Casa Nada in preparation for our guests later this month.

Jones and I are newly returned from Alte where I went to get a massage from Jodi. For reasons best known to itself, my back has been out of sorts (a fascinating expression!). I always feel better after one of Jodi's massages although, as I admitted to her, I hardly know whether the improvement is psychosomatic. Jones says it doesn't matter.

I should make clear that Jodi is a physiotherapist and gives only therapeutic massages. Even so, as I confided to her, it is almost worth having a bad back in order to get one.

En route we came across electrical engineers erecting a new reinforced concrete pole in the hole they earlier dug at the bottom of the village. More new poles lie in wait in the fields on either side of the road. Whether these poles are going to bring us new electricity is hard to know. In truth, we can hardly complain.

CAT AND DOGS

When we first arrived here the voltage fluctuated madly; you could hear the vacuum cleaner motor speeding up and slowing down. On winter evenings, as heaters were turned on, the supply barely sufficed for TV and the lights. Turning on the oven would freak out the TV. In those days, the supply would fail whenever we had a storm and frequently when we didn't, often for hours at a time. These days such failures are both seldom and fleeting.

SNAPPED FROM THE PATIO

As you may recall, we make our own contribution to the local supply with our photo-voltaic array. This earns us three times what our usage costs us, which is very useful, especially as it will take us at least six years to recover the installation costs. (Nearly three-quarters of Portugal's energy now comes from renewable sources - quite an achievement!)

What isn't yet stable is the water supply, which has gone down twice this past week. It's not serious for, when this happens, residents simply switch to their cisternas for a day or two. Every house has one. It's only these past few years that water's been on tap. Many villagers were able to get by on what fell from the heavens. Alternatively, one buys water from somebody with a borehole who then trucks or tractors it in. Several of our friends still do.

The real disaster looming over our heads is the imminent loss of British television as a result of the transmissions moving to new satellites. While no date has been set, it will almost certainly be by the end of the year. Until now, like hundreds of thousands of expats across mainland Europe, we have enjoyed all the BBC and commercial stations that are available in the UK. What's more, unlike UK viewers, who have to pay a licence fee, we've had them free of charge. Although various options are being peddled, there's no certainty yet about real alternatives.

We have a contract with MEO, an arm of Portugal Telecom, that gives us several dozen channels including most of the international news broadcasters. But it doesn't give us the domestic BBC channels, whose loss will be sorely felt. Nor will we receive the various UK commercial channels that we fall back on when the BBC lacks. At least, I will be able to stream the BBC radio channels to which we rise and retire each day.

As in much of the world, Portuguese residents have to suffer the importuning of cold callers anxious to plug one or other product. These calls tend to come mainly at supper time, just as one is tucking into a Jones salad. I refuse to get up to answer the house phone. Jones sometimes succumbs, fearful that it might be a personal call. So it helps to send us a mobile message first if you call in the evening.

Slavic has spent the better part of two days with us, working on a range of tasks that we're trying to complete before our guests arrive. One of these was to create a new sandpit for Bobby, who loved the accidental sandpit that we left him while paving a new area.

Another task also involved paving, this time of an area of garden that the dogs were forever digging up, exposing pipe-work that we prefer to remain covered up. As ever, Slavic did a great job. We used up the shaped paving bricks that were left over from a big paving job a couple of years back.

While tractoring down the road, I paused to take a picture of an elderly neighbour of ours who was picking his carobs. It's hard to know how old the gentleman is. But he's certainly been around almost as long as the hills. He and his equally bent wife seem to shrug off the burdens of age. If he's not tending his carobs, it's his lettuces or grape vines. His tractor is of a similar vintage to its owner. He gives one hope for the years ahead.

Hans the baker popped around one afternoon to say that he was once again going to be baking bread. He had more or less given up after being driven out of his old premises by new hygiene legislation. We called around to his house to fetch a few loaves, fresh from his old bread oven. He uses various grains and mixtures. What we can't eat promptly, we freeze.

Friday lunchtimish:

Our plans for the day were thrown into disarray when Paulo the plumber who, (after many reminders) had arranged to call this afternoon, called this morning instead - if only to see what materials he required for the job. He arrived just as we were on the point of heading to town. So, of necessity, we re-arranged our day.

The task in hand is to connect the (newly-repaired) old washing machine to the plumbing in Casa Nada, making the machine available to us as a spare and to any guests.

We still managed to make it to town for haircuts. These had been waiting on the return of Fatima, the hairdresser, from a Caribbean cruise. Fortunately, we had made appointments for she was booked to the gunwales and turning away hopefuls at the door. She was also jetlagged and not in the best of humour. Like I said to Jones, as Paulo's unexpected arrival cast a shadow over her day, "that's life".