Letter from Espargal: 26 March 2016

Behold the moon rising over Spain and bestriding the Algarve in its glory. Jones hurried outside on a biting-wind evening to take this striking picture. From the moon the earth would look equally beautiful, even if not clad in gold. You wouldn't see all the horrible things happening in so many places. Jones complains that the world is in a mess. I tell her that turbulence is its normal state. We just happen to be lucky.



You could be forgiven for imagining that you are looking at the approach to an Alpine ski resort in mid season. But you'd be wrong. This is the main road to Espargal on Monday afternoon. The area has just been bombarded by the mother and father of all hail storms.



We had seen a huge pitch-black cloud gathering its forces overhead like some alien mother ship; fortunately we just missed the pounding that followed. It's hard to believe that a cloud so black can harbour such a lily- white heart. Half way up the hill a vehicle was stuck, blocking the road. We joined the queue of cars waiting to get past.



When the road was cleared, we proceeded slowly, watching the vehicles in front of us slithering hither and thither in three inches of the white stuff. It's not often that we need to resort to the Honda's 4-wheel drive but we were grateful for it on Monday.



SCILLA PERUVIANAS SCATTERED THROUGHOUT THE PARK

We were returning from Faro where I had acquired a pair of slip-on Timberland shoes. For the past week - since last I put my back out while trying to do up my bootlaces - Jones has been fastening my shoes and boots, a service which I much appreciate. In fact, I'm starting to quite enjoy it. The new shoes slip on and slip off with boot-horn rather than Jones assistance.



My workers were back on Saturday morning to complete the wall at the top of the Inacio field. It looks good -and so it should. Building walls is not a cheap way of enclosing a property. On the other hand, such a wall is a work of art that will please those who pass by long after the builders themselves have passed on.



The next job is to widen the concrete strips that separate the house from the fields. We have laid down a gravel base already and covered it with metal-grid reinforcing.



Saturday afternoon I took my tractor down to Vitor's workshop for its first major service - an expensive exercise involving the changing of the transmission oil - 45 litres of it in my case - as well as the engine oil and filters.  I've also replaced the front tyres, much quicker to wear out than the rear ones.

This sign is pasted awkwardly on the tractor beside the oil feed. Vitor couldn't read the English. I couldn't bend down to see what it said. But my smart phone had no problem either way.



Nelson has continued to clear the park of winter greenery, especially the triffids (Jones's name), huge invasive annuals. When he saw me taking pictures, he asked whether I would take one or two of him, a request to which I readily agreed.



Afterwards I selected eight of the best and printed them out in two collages. I explained that I normally looked at the pictures on a computer and put them on the internet for the benefit of friends and family . Nelson nodded vaguely. His interests lie more with breeding mares than the internet.



You can see some of the green monsters growing along the fence behind Ono, spurred on by recent rains. Jones likes them but they completely obscure the stony ground - bad news for me. As soon as the wild flowers fade and the ground hardens, I'll till it.



Jones tells me that these are wild tulips. I call them pixie caps. We are blessed with dozens of such wild flowers and cursed with the weeds that thrive alongside them. But you can't have one without the other.

Wednesday brought our annual rates demands, a property tax known here by the acronym, IMI. In our case, it runs to several hundred euros. That's light by UK standards although quite heavy by local ones. Many of the old houses, which haven't been re-rated in decades, face taxes barely running into two figures. Politicians are said to regard re-rating as political suicide.



One morning, after my weekly tune-up back massage, we took two large bags of May's classier outfits down to the charity shop at Guia. It's an area much visited by tourists who are likely to appreciate the quality. All profits go to support animal causes.  We have also taken a second load to the community centre as well as passing some to a friend who is active in theatre costume and set design.



Here's Espargal hill, outlined against billowing clouds and taken from the hail-strewn main road.

Our clocks go forward this weekend. Summer looms!

 

Letter from Espargal: 18 March 2016

The boys arrived promptly on Saturday morning to complete the wall at the top of the Inacio field - well! to nearly complete it. They'll finish it this weekend. You can see - far right - where the new wall meets the old dry-stone wall. The new section incorporates several trees that grow along our border with Armenio's carob plantation.  He's delighted to be sharing such a fine partition at no cost to himself.

A dove surveys the world from the top of the chimney. The doves are the tamest of the local birds and will peck away confidently on the bird table while we're working nearby. They are messy feeders, swiping the bird seed left and right to discover the best bits. The sparrows perch on the sidelines to plunder the scatterings.

March is the month of orchids. We stop frequently to point new ones out to each other. Naked man specimens are everywhere although most are windblown and straggly. Here is a rare perfect flower.

Jones has exploited a sunny week to get back into her garden. We've tried to think of ways to ease the annual burden of clearing winter's extravagant growth - without much success. Even when she's not gardening, Jones can't ignore a glaring weed.

Of an evening she heads up to the summit of Espargal hill to see the sun safely down. In the morning she's up early to ensure its return. I did my share of early rising in the monks.

Our occasional worker, Nelson, and I have done lots of burning and clearing. Jonesy hates the burning but there's no other way I know to get rid of the forest of almond twigs. In the summer, such dry vegetation becomes a fire hazard.

My back hasn't had a good week. In fact it's been a proper pain. I've been grateful for the ministrations of Jodi the physio. Dogs have much more sensible backs than humans. Here they are on their best manners at treat time.

Jones took this picture of her ceramic snail. This is my kind of snail. The neighbours prefer the slimy sort - regarded in these parts as a real treat. Snack bars will stick a sign in the window to say that there are snails on the menu.

Back to the orchids. This sawfly beauty greets us twice a day on the crystal path around the far side of the hill - so called because we found lots of crystal stones on it. We have given names to all our paths - useful for explaining where we are or where we're going. I often set off with the dogs before Jones.

The barbary nuts bloom among the rocks. When I'm not being overwhelmed by nature's abundance, I reflect on the feast of flowers we enjoy here. Truly Espargal offers us the best of both worlds - town and country.

We've not seen many mirror orchids this season. For one thing they are easily overlooked in the undergrowth, which is still knee high. Most of the locals have been out with their tractors, turning over the soil. I hope to follow suit this coming week.

Letter from Espargal: 12 March 2016

Last week I lacked pictures to illustrate my thoughts. This week the pictures will do most of the talking. For the majority, the credit goes to Jones.



Nelson and I have spent hours gathering, sorting and cutting the jungle of prunings from our almond trees. This pile represents barely half of the stack that will dry out over summer for next winter's fires.



Here Nelson unloads yet another pile of trimmed branches from the tractor, due to be sawn into useful lengths. I find that my left arm simply numbs up after 30 minutes with the chain saw.



Left of the picture you can see the white surface of the new road that now runs across the top of the Inacio field. In the distance Eugenio's digger is at work.



The new road gives us access to our property from a parallel street. It forms the final leg of a loop back down to the tarred road. Sand, gravel, cement, firewood and the like can in future be delivered to the field rather than dumped at the bottom of our driveway. I am delighted with the road; Jones thinks the world has enough roads already - too many in fact.



The line of "x"s marks the approximate position of the new road at the top of our unfenced fields. The rectangles on the right mark Casa Nada (16485), the carport and the house.



The digger scatters the surfacing material - known as "tout venant"- widely used on country roads. It took four truckloads to provide sufficient material for a decent cover.



Jones - in London for a few days - has been making more lemon marmalade. She declared her first efforts a failure but adding a little this and that, plus some more boiling seemed to do the trick.



On arrival in the UK, Jones slipped down to Eastbourne to visit our old work mates, Malcolm (pictured) and Gary.



And here she is strolling along Picadilly with Lucia - courtesy of Llewellyn.



This blink-twice picture is another contribution from Llewellyn.



One afternoon we came across daddy dung-beetle and mommy dung-beetle rolling their dung-ball along the path while kiddy dung-beetle kept an anxious eye on their progress. The three of them froze as we passed before staggering on their way once more - like drunkards leaving a bar.



This "early purple" orchid is pictured in its glory at the bottom of the park.



This is Jones's indoor orchid, which has just come into flower. It stands on the low glass-topped table in the lounge. The hard bit is preventing the dogs from upsetting it as they pass by with wagging tails.



At night, there's a premium on places around the fire. Missing are Pally (who prefers to sleep on the enclosed patio) Bobby (who we are treating for a dose of exzema) and Ono, who has already retired to bed - ours!



When I complained to Jones that I lacked pictures, she took the camera out and snapped these beauts. The one above is a favourite.



After lunch Jones likes to settle down for a few minutes on the glass-fronted south patio. In winter, the patio is the cosiest suntrap. I snooze in my reclining chair (if it's free) or on my bed. An unconscious hour is no trouble at all.



Friday dawned windless - the first such day in weeks. Natasha - pictured in the distance - helped me to burn off numerous piles of almond cuttings.

Letter from Espargal: 4 March 2016

AFRAID I'M SCRABBLING FOR PICS

This week has witnessed a little ado about not very much. For example, I spent a fruitless 30 minutes trying to reload our (secondary) stapler. It's an old model, made by JAKY, not a name that meant anything to me. I pressed and pushed, pulled and prodded the machine from every conceivable angle, all in vain. Then I googled JAKY staplers in the hope of finding instructions. While lots of antique models were advertised on eBay, instructions there were none.

This was frustrating. There clearly must have been a way of sliding out the drawer to put in new staples. Maybe the whole thing had jammed and needed a squirt of oil. I mentioned the difficulty to Jones, who tells me repeatedly that she's not clever enough to understand computers or to do internet banking. So my expectations were not high.

THE ORCHIDS ARE OUT

A little later I came upstairs to find the stapler drawer open on her desk. "You just press this little lever at the back," she informed me. What I'm not certain is whether this is a case of beginner's luck or pure fluke. She probably pressed the rear accidentally, causing the drawer to spring open. Even so, being generous of spirit, I was careful to find a few appropriate words of praise. You can't accuse me of sour grapes.

STRANGE PINK/YELLOW ORCHID

This incident makes me think - for reasons I couldn't possibly explain - of the fellow I heard on the BBC's Sunday religious programme setting out what he described as the Christian reasons for the UK to leave the EU. I was astonished that the producers took him seriously. But they did. He told listeners why the Bible's teaching would favour Brexit. I should have been just as impressed by Christian reasons for standing on one leg. Barbara says that another interviewee argued to stay in. I didn't hear him. What a strange world we live in when the Bible serves to underwrite every whim and notion!

ROAD SWEEPER JOINS US IN POR DO SOL CAFE FOR LUNCH

The faces of Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump hog our TV sets, together with those of thousands of migrants. It's hard to know which to be more concerned about. I suggest that his fans be called Trumpettes. Hers might be the Clintstones.

The woman who represents Republican interests in Europe told BBC listeners that it would be wonderful for the US to have its first female president - as long as it wasn't Mrs Clinton - a case of political affinities trumping gender loyalties. I'm not fussed about world leaders' genders; in the US election battle, we're firmly on her side.

SISTERS GROOMING

Each year an Anglo-Australian couple who teach advanced mountain biking techniques rent one of Idalecio's cottages in the spring to conduct off-road courses in the Algarve. We are not into mountain biking. But we are into dog walking. The point is that the cyclists bring their three adorable little dogs along with them - Marley, Dylan and Bilbo. And, like us, they enjoy country walks.

While our eight are neither vicious nor dangerous animals, they can get excited when they bump into other canines, especially in what they consider to be their home turf. So we do what we can to avoid confrontations. Barbara slipped down to see the visitors early on Monday morning. As per last year, she agreed with them that we would remain within our fences until nine and would be back from our afternoon excursions by five.

A couple of years ago when the British television companies reduced their reception footprint, they cut off mainland Europe from UK transmissions. This was a serious blow to our lifestyles. Expats scrambled to find ways around the silence that descended on their living rooms. We were introduced to a system that gives us access to most channels via a "back door" as long as one has the latest codes.

The downside is that we can no longer make recordings. So if programmes of interest clash, we have to choose. We faced this dilemma recently when David Eagleman's series on The Brain competed with a history of China. Finding a DVD of The Brain available on Amazon UK, we ordered it and opted to watch China instead.

This week when we inserted The Brain DVD into the player, we received a message saying it was incompatible with our region. Closer examination (and an exchange of emails with the supplier) revealed that the programme was a PBS production on NTSC - intended for North America. The series is not worth posting back to the suppliers in Switzerland. So if you are interested in having it, Canadians, let me know. You'll find lots of reviews of his book of the same name online.

Monday my English class discussed the Portuguese taxman's habit of seizing the houses of people - who can't/won't pay their taxes - when lesser seizures fail to meet the bill. Several thousand Portuguese citizens have lost the roofs over their heads. The practice has been condemned by the new socialist coalition. A measure outlawing it is lingering in parliament; meanwhile the seizures continue.

Tuesday and Wednesday we collected rocks from Joachim's carob plantation. (Before carob farmers plant out new trees, they bring in bulldozers to shovel all the stones, rocks and boulders littering the ground into huge piles. And it's these piles that we have been raiding for our walls, not that you would notice any diminution.) We made several runs, both for smaller "filler" stones and larger face rocks. I back the tractor up to bigger rocks and together we roll them into the box.

Fintan and Pauline, who were gardening in one of their holiday villas, invited Jones to help herself to lemons. With marmalade in mind, my wife was happy to accept. She took along a barrel into which the ladies upended a whole sack; however, this stuck fast, still full of lemons. Fintan came along to help them retrieve it while I helpfully took a few pics. We reciprocated our neighbours' generosity by disposing of two tractor loads of cuttings from their trees.

Thursday I laboured with Nelson, an occasional worker around the village, to bring order to our almond-branch-laden fields. Nelson is of gypsy origin, one of the few who mingle beyond their group. As he arrived in unsuitable shoes, the first task was to get him a pair of work boots. This was fortuitous as it emerged on our return that he was celebrating his 40th birthday. I thought better of burning off multiple heaps of branch litter in the face of the strong breeze. We'll try again today.