Letter from Espargal: 24 December 2016

THE CORK WALK - IN THE VALLEY

As Christmas sweeps down on us, may I wish you, dear reader, every happiness this festive season. Our year is ending amidst warm, gentle days and chilly nights. Down in the valley, where it's several degrees colder, the mid-winter frost sometimes glitters on the green. All too soon the sun is turning north once again.


Apart from a few twinkling lights, there are few signs of celebration in the village. As a token of the season, a Christmas tree of sorts leans against the wall beside our front door - the branch of a fir that we pruned last weekend. Our plans are modest. We shall open a special bottle of wine and sit down to a festive meal. With luck the dogs will get an extended walk.

ON THE ROAD

The beasts are not in best odour, having stolen and ripped to shreds yet another of Jones's beloved cushions. The main suspect is dear gentle Russ, who crawled nervously under the dining room table to avoid the worst of my wife's angry remonstrations.



Nine dogs was never part of the plan. It's just the way things worked out. We'd love to shut the doors from time to time and explore the world. Still, we wouldn't change things even though, like the old lady who lived in a shoe, we sometimes feel a bit overrun.


GETTING TO KNOW YOU

Thank you to the kind people who have sent us Christmas cards, a tradition in which I fail utterly and even Jones has fallen behind. I hope that the blog serves in some part to compensate for our neglect.



A few tokens apart, we have not purchased any gifts; (Jones receives an occasional surprise gift out of season). Her duties (self-imposed) have included visits to her Portuguese old ladies, who welcome the company. It's a kindness that tests her nerves and linguistic skills. We have taken small parcels up to the women who run the parish offices - and we've remembered our dog charities. That's it.



One evening, uninspired by wall to wall festive TV specials, we put on a DVD that has been waiting several months in the rack - The Martian, starring Matt Damon. I half expected a science fiction remake of Cast Away (Tom Hanks as Robinson Crusoe). But what riveting stuff it proved to be. Jones, whose inclination to nod off in front of the box is rivalled only by my own, stayed glued to it long after her bedtime.



Another evening we watched a documentary on the construction and subsequent sliding of a giant (36,000 ton) metal arch over the damaged reactor at Chernobyl. The vast multi-national project was completed only last month. Planning alone took over a decade and the construction seven years. The cover, looking like a giant aircraft hangar, has been designed to withstand climatic extremes and provide protection while the site is cleaned up.



These days most of our movies come from Amazon. There was a period when we would join neighbours at the cinema in Faro but, to Jones's disappointment, I was driven to distraction by mobile-phone users. Sadly, the same has proved true for classical concerts at which audience members feel free to browse or text. I appealed to the management of the Algarve orchestra to put a stop to it - in vain. So we gave up. We both listen, albeit mainly in the car, to a superb Portuguese classical music station, Antena 2.


SUNLIT ROSEMARY

The BBC still anchors our current affairs interests although we follow local radio & TV as well two local English-language newspapers that plunder the national media for much of their content. They're worth glancing through to stay up with events, however quaintly reported. Recently we became aware of an online news site (Algarvedailynews). It's good - although the many reports of corruption and human frailty are a bit depressing. What's new?


THERE'S NOTHING LIKE A CHEERY FIRE

Last Thursday for no particular reason I developed an unhappy tooth. Drinking anything hot or cold or biting on the tooth made me unhappy too. The dentist was able to squeeze me in early on Friday before closing for Christmas. Two-and-a-half hours and several hundred euros later, I emerged a little dazed from his surgery. It was my second root-canal episode in as many months. Ouch on all fronts - and ouch again!


THE UPPER LEFT WALL STRIPPED

My task of the week has been to launch a frontal attack on the ivy that has been steadily overtaking the cisterna and surrounding garden. While it served to obscure the high front wall, the ivy's been acceptable - even attractive. But it came with its own agenda - digging in between the rocks and snaking surreptitiously in every direction.


IVY (LEFT) MEETS MORNING GLORY (RIGHT)

The ivy resisted its expulsion root and branch, upending stones and lesser plants. When I was done, the pile of ripped out tendrils filled the tractor box. Another ruthless expansionist is the morning glory, dazzling us with its flowers as it infiltrates the garden.


IVY TAKING OVER THE AREA AROUND THE SEPTIC TANK

One morning Arsenio, part of the local builder's team, came to inspect a lingering damp patch on the cobbles. Such a patch had previously indicated a fractured pipe below. On close inspection, Arsenio reckoned it was at least partly dog pee but he took up the cobbles to make sure. The sand below was dry. He was right; we were relieved. So back the cobbles went. Better safe than sorry.



Here's a family picture to close. As you see, peace and quiet have descended (however briefly) on the house. We love these restful moments - time to share the spirit of Christmas.

Letter from Espargal: 17 December 2016

What Descartes should have figured, instead of "cogito, ergo sum", is "difficultas habeo, ergo sum"; I have a problem, therefore I am. This conclusion will strike a universal chord. It has the added benefit, unlike Descartes' dictum, of including that section of humanity that can't fairly be accused of thinking.


OUR LEMON TREE

Take an incident the end of last week. I was at the bottom of the village, chatting to neighbours when I got a "come home quick" call from Jonesy. Home quick I went, ready to deal with some minor emergency but not with a house full of smoke. The smoke alarms were shrieking, the dogs were freaking and Jones was stressed out. She had lit an early fire in the stove with eye-streaming, lung-choking results.


HOW IT'S SUPPOSED TO LOOK

I disconnected the smoke alarms, flung open the doors and windows and hauled a smoking log off the fire. Then I set about showing my wife how to make a fire. As it happens, I recently discovered that the young Jones had been both a brownie and a girl-guide. But she clearly hadn't got her fire-lighting badge. Making light of her failings (as a good husband should) I patiently demonstrated the correct technique. The house promptly filled with smoke again. Okay, I might have been a trifle hasty; there was a problem!


On Saturday morning Slavic and I, clutching a borrowed chimney sweeping kit, ascended the extension ladder to the roof to do something about it. We didn't need the kit. The problem stared us in the face. The chimney grill, clad internally with fine-meshed bird-proof wire, was chocablock with soot.



It took us an hour of determined chiselling away with screw drivers to get most of it out. We filled two buckets with the muck before Slavic set about hosing down the filthy tiles - that was after disconnecting the drain pipe to keep soot out of the cisterna. That evening we built a beautiful fire - and every evening since. We just love our winter fires.



Last Friday we supped with neighbours at the Hamburgo, celebrating a final meal there before the restaurant closed for the festive season. After shutting the doors, Manuel was intending to drive through the night to Lisbon to catch an early flight. Christmas won't be the same. We got home to find that the dogs had been busy in our absence. Two of Jones's favourite cushions had bitten the dust. Out with the sewing kit yet again! Honestly, those mutts are the limit!



For the technically minded, I have a head-scratcher that has puzzled Apple as much as it puzzles me. It began when Barbara received a (genuine) warning by email from Apple that someone else had logged into her Apple ID on an iPhone that Barbara hadn't registered on the site. However, my wife has never set up an Apple ID and certainly hasn't registered any devices with the company.


So, to take control of the situation, I promptly set up an Apple ID for her, using her gmail address and the password recovery service to access the site. (I'm leaving out the detail.) Once I'd done this and logged in, I found the ID information already recorded belonging to someone with different personal details.


WALL PLASTER MOSAIC

Theoretically, it is not possible for two people to have the same email address - although you'll find plenty of people complaining in help forums that it happens in practice. Now I wait to see whether the other party tries to take charge of the ID by again using the password recovery service to overwrite my password. Whatever the case, there's nothing of Barbara's on the site that's of use to a thief.


MOON RISING OVER THE POLE PATH

I have spent some time trying to trace the owner of a tiny ruined cottage located cheek by jowl with a house being renovated by a newly-arrived couple. In fact, the two buildings share a party wall. After much inquiry among locals I discovered that the ruin had belonged to an old woman last seen in a retirement home.


HERE IT IS AGAIN!

Then, bit by bit, it emerged that: she had died; her husband had also died but that he (not she) had a son who had emigrated and not been heard from for decades, and that she had nephews & nieces living locally, one of whom I've contacted. Her property is almost certainly liable to be divided among her relatives according to a constitutional formula. The long and short of it is that this is a typical Portuguese inheritance tangle of a kind that bedevils the community and would take enormous effort and no little investment to resolve.



Thursday I went for my annual dermatological checkup. This was ill-timed because the appointment, as I discovered, was actually for the following day. Fortunately, the doc was able to squeeze me in. On the way back Jones snapped this somewhat unrevealing image of the vast new Ikea store rising off the Loule-Faro freeway. There must be a dozen cranes hovering over the extensive construction site. The project was fiercely but vainly opposed by the many smaller businesses that are likely to be bankrupted by it.


THE CAMERA IS NOT MY FRIEND BUT THIS ONE ISN'T BAD

The quote of the week comes from a retired US female soldier who got the better of a carjacker: “I put the toe of my boot in a socially significant place. I told him if he tried to move or do anything, he would walk very funny for the rest of his life and pee through a tube - and I meant every word."

Letter from Espargal: 9 December 2016

STONE GUARDIANS OUTSIDE CASA NADA

The Senior University in Loule, where I teach English once a week, has long been squeezed by the climate of austerity that grips the country. Annual banquets in smart resort hotels are a distant memory. Gone too are the bespoke gifts with which the university used to reward its volunteer teachers at the end of each year. So I was pleasantly surprised to be presented with a parcel containing this attractive ceramic plate. It's nice to know you're appreciated.



Our lesson concerned the torrent of documents from an internet hack (seemingly) exposing - among others - Portugal's sporting hero, Cristiano Ronaldo, and football coach, Jose Mourinho, as tax cheats. For the record, their agent, true to form, protests their innocence. But, as I confided to the class, it's not virgins you're after in the British Virgin Islands. It's tough being super rich.



The week started badly. In spite of our best efforts, Mini continued to throw up and was off her food. A second trip to the vet failed to reveal the cause. Blood samples were taken for analysis. That evening we really thought we were going to lose her. We spent a wretched night, our hearts as gloomy as the weather.



Then a minor miracle; the next morning, for the first time in days, the little dog didn't throw up. Moreover she showed a keen interest in food, especially the chicken that Jones has continued to hand-feed her. Within hours she was chasing the orphans around the yard again, as though nothing had befallen her. And she still seems to be fine.  Our sense of relief is overwhelming.



As if to complete the picture, the sun is back after a dismal weekend. On such wet days the dogs are content to sprawl around the fire for hours. But come mid-afternoon they agitate for a walk. We do our best to oblige, needing the exercise as badly as they do. Come on weather; give us a break.


RAIN RAIN, GO AWAY

We didn't have much luck! On one outing we got soaked by an untimely squall that whistled over the hill. On another, I took a careless turn and had to battle through hostile virgin bush. After 15 years of navigating these hills, that's just embarrassing.


TELL THE CAT THAT'S OUR SPOT!   YOU TELL HIM YOURSELF!

Some my months ago my Portuguese bank sent me an Amex credit card with its compliments. Finding the bank's standard credit card adequate, I locked the new one in the safe for a rainy day and forgot about it. So you may imagine my ire when I checked my statement to find that I was being billed €7.00 for the "twin card" privilege. I stewed over my planned comments to our account manager.


KIDDY CHRISTMAS CELEBRATIONS IN LOULE

As it happened, the account manager was away so it was the head of section who saw me the following day. With some surprise, he did a quick check on the account. Then he politely pointed out that the bill was for an iTunes purchase - and assured me that the card was free. Exit deflated!


RIVER ALGIBRE IN FLOOD

Once a week we do our serious grocery shopping, generally visiting two hypermarkets. One of them, part of a German chain, stocks a limited range at low prices. The staff is efficient and pleasant; as soon as a queue builds up, an employee opens a new cash-desk to ease the congestion.



The other venue, with a much bigger selection, belongs to a local chain; it is painfully slapgat ("hopeless", for non SA readers). We inevitably get caught behind old ladies who fish endlessly in their purses for elusive coins or, worse, shoppers waving sheets of time-consuming discount stamps. Unless I restrain her, Jones - whose shopping patience is strictly limited - is liable to trolley-dump.



Midweek we took a delivery of dog-food to the sanctuary we support in the hills above Loule. Marisa, who runs the place with sister, Anna, said they were looking after 170 dogs there and 25 more at home. Theirs is an unstinting 365-day of the year labour of love. Marisa was recently forced to move house because of complaints from a neighbour whose own house was on the market. As much as we sympathised with Marisa, we could also empathise with the neighbour.



Natasha and son Alex are returning to Russia for Christmas and New Year. She spent weeks searching for air-tickets within her budget before she found what she wanted. We'll be without her services for three weeks.


STILL BLOODY RAINING!

The Guardian reports that some companies are using individuals' browsing history to set personal online prices. The journalist concerned had looked at length for a cheap trans-Atlantic pre-Christmas fare. When she found one and logged in to purchase it, she found that the price had risen. After clearing the cookies from her computer she tried again - and got the original advertised price. Then she started making inquiries. Seems some airlines are exploiting both our travel record and browsing history to gauge the size of our purses.


THE VILLAGE -THE SUN IS BACK!

Letter from Espargal: 3 December 2016

Thursday morning, God and circumstance willing, is when my thoughts turn to the blog and pictures to illustrate it. This Thursday circumstance has thrust a spanner into the programme. We have had the mother and father of a storm. It broke around midnight with the usual thunderous light show, prompting me to pull the plugs and the dogs to take shelter on the bed.


THE LIE-IN

On such occasions we snuggle down in whatever space is available and do our best to reassure shivering Barri that it's not the end of the world. I use my mobile hotspot as a wifi link and we listen to the radio via an iPad app. Sleep is a bonus.



The rain was still drumming down when we awoke this morning so we got to lie in, a rare luxury. Rain from the roof is piped down into our cisterna, the tank that provides us with a back-up supply when the mains fails, as it does once or twice a year. Water from the upper patio we collect in bins placed below the spouts, as much to save the cobble grouting beneath as the water itself.



When the shower eased off, I led the dogs around Slavic's Steppes (the concrete path around the park) for a pee and poo outing before we all retired to the comfort of the wood-fire-warmed house. At some point we shall have to brave the sodden wilderness. As I write, it's pouring once again.



This has been an expensive week for dogs. Mini continues to vomit early each morning in spite of the pills that the vet prescribed for her and Barbara's excessive care with the little dog's diet. She now faces a blood test.



The next patient was Barri, who developed severe and persistent hiccoughs, accompanied by a great deal of grass-eating and bringing-up. Google offered us more possible causes of such behaviour than were useful. So off to the vet she went too - nothing obvious diagnosed -for several injections and a course of pills. She's much better.


BARBARA'S RED PEPPERS

At the Campina snack bar on Monday, as I prepared for my English class, the resignation of the boss of Portugal's biggest bank was announced on lunchtime TV news. My ears perked up. We have modest deposits in local banks, some of which have a less than glorious history. They have a nasty habit of going belly-up, enriching their owners and impoverishing their investors in the process.



The bank concerned is the state-owned CGD (Caixa Geral de Depositos), well-known to be in trouble, largely as a result of bad loans, and due for a multi-billion euro rescue. It was a bad time for the exit of its boss, fellow directors in train.



My pupils explained to me that the directors had stood down to contest a court order requiring them to disclose their earnings and assets. Their six-figure salaries were already public; so these were not the issue. As to those bad loans, the class had little doubt about who might have benefited - sceptical things!


THE HAT THIEF

For five years I've had my hat ripped off several times a month by a low-hanging branch that dangles over a regular path. The problem arises because I look down when I walk (the better to avoid falling over) and the wide brim of my sunhat blots out anything above.



Most days I remember to walk around the branch. On Tuesday, I forgot and, as usual, the branch stole my hat. I can't tell you how irritating I find this. It's personal! Anyhow, the branch has now been ripped from the limb to which it was attached and we can pass safely beneath.


STORMY VIEW FROM THE PATIO OF DISTANT WIND TURBINES

Jones and I have frequent disagreements about the desirability of clearing excessive vegetation bordering our paths. I'm in favour, the better to see where I am going and to prevent ticks from hitching a lift. She feels that it's unnecessary, as she frequently reminds me. But then she's both slimmer and steadier than I am. So I am driven to such surreptitious snipping as I feel essential, tossing the off-cuts into the bushes where they will not arouse suspicion.


RARE SHOT OF (CURMUDGEONLY) PRICKLES SHARING HIS BASKET

Last weekend we headed into Loule to a promised Christmas market. The council's official brochure advised readers that it would start at 10:00. But of the market there was neither sight nor sound when we arrived middayish. After searching possible locations in some puzzlement we queried its absence with a waitress at a snack bar. It wouldn't start until three, she informed us - on what authority I've no idea. So we had a wander around and returned home not too disappointed. There'll be more markets before Christmas.



I recalled the response of the hiking guide who led us along a levada trail in Madeira. When asked how long the hike would take, he replied: "About three hours - Portuguese time!" Portuguese time, as we ought to know by now, has a particularly elastic quality.


LIFE'S TOUGH

With rare exceptions, times advertised on notice boards are stated more in hope than expectation. Events start when they are ready and not before. It's one of those phenomena that one has to get used to - like standing in line in a grocery store clutching an impatient purchase while the woman ahead of you and the cashier catch up with the trivia of each other's lives.


34mm RECORDED AND IT'S STILL COMING DOWN