Letter from Espargal: 23 April 2016

Friday: I know that we have done many things this past week although few of them come to mind. One exception is the lunch on Tuesday in memory of May Bunch. It was hosted by her nephew, Ken - down from Edinburgh - at Campina, the restaurant where we lunched with her so often, generally out on the patio with the dogs at our feet.

IN BETTER DAYS

May was particularly fond of grilled turkey steaks, which the staff cut into small pieces for her, and lots of carrots. A glass of wine was a must. She was a slow and spare eater who never actually finished her meal but enjoyed the outing at least as much as the food.



Campina has a little-used mezzanine floor where the staff arranged tables for 25 of her family, friends and supporters - both British and Portuguese - to come together for the occasion. Jones took flowers. The meal, with a choice of dishes, had been arranged and invitations issued some time earlier - a process that took a surprising amount of organising. It went well. RIP May; we hope you're now in a better world.



Speaking of which, I have spent hours in a lengthy exchange of emails with a group of ex-monk correspondents. Most are now grandfathers in Australia, where we trained in the early 60s, with a remnant in South Africa. We have evolved into a mix of constant Christians, agnostics and atheists (including a communist leader). The exchanges can be quite forthright although they tend towards the nostalgic and often witty as we discuss issues and recall our monastic years. As one correspondent pondered: Did Adam and Eve have belly buttons? It's a great question.


THE SISTERS ON SENTRY DUTY

One morning I led three of Idalecio's guests to Benafim and then took them on in our car to Salir, an Arab fortress town located on a hill some miles away. They were ladies, all sixty plus, whom we had met earlier as they passed our gate to the usual canine chorus. Two were German and one Irish. Barbara surmised that they were nuns although we'll never know.


THE HILLSIDE UP TO THE TELEF POST

Anyhow, they were keen hikers and anxious to walk the section of the Via Algarviana trail from Salir to Benafim - which they did. We bumped into them a few times and chatted to them about places to go and things to do. They didn't enjoy the best of weather. We've had late rains. My workers have missed the last two Saturdays.



My English lesson concerned the Panama Papers and a prominent Portuguese businessman who features in them, a gentleman - like most - who has proved reluctant to comment on his investments. We are promised the names of many more in due course. Portugal is still coping with a tough austerity programme affecting the great majority of its citizens, although clearly not all. It is also counting the cost of painful banking collapses, the instigators of which are the subject of inquiries. These inquiries, while inconvenient, seem hardly to have disturbed the comfortable lifestyles of those concerned.



Allow for some hours' interruption at this point while I visited my bank to follow up payments on my Portuguese credit card that I couldn't account for. Turns out that someone twice used my credentials to put €30 on to a mobile phone in France. As I shelter behind formidable computer security and rarely use the card, I cannot think how the thief obtained my details. The card is now cancelled; insurance will cover the losses and I have set about changing passwords to any site where the card was registered.


LIMADORE ORCHID

We have twice dined with UK-based friends, Mike and Lyn, who were telling us about members of their family who also recently lost money to credit card fraud. The couple are staying at a rental villa nearby. They are frequent visitors to Portugal and enviously knowledgeable about its fauna and flora, especially its birds and orchids.


LIMADORE CLOSE-UP (PICS FROM LYN)

They were celebrating the discovery of a rare violet limadore orchid on one of their walks. It's a most beautiful plant, not one that we have ever come across on our rambles. Lyn, like Mike a keen photographer, had taken impressive shots of it on her iPhone.



Barbara continues to work vigorously in her garden, tackling the invasive army of assorted weeds that share our property with the wild flowers we so value. She is anxious, apart from anything else, to have the garden looking good for the arrival of her brother, Robbie and wife Carol, in a couple of weeks' time. The area immediately around the house is looking good. Beyond that a knee-high savannah stretches away under carobs and almond trees to the fence.


FAVA PLANTS INTERSPERSED WITH POPPIES

Kindly neighbours have brought us bags of fava beans and peas as gifts. The former are sown by most of the locals and much enjoyed, generally as part of a pork dish. We have followed suit most years although our fava plants never compare with the handsome specimens in neighbouring fields. Last year we failed to do so and regretted it.



It took me hours to shell the beans we received. Jones boils them lightly and then freezes them. I love them.


PRICKLES AT HIS MOST FETCHING

One of the neighbours pointed out during a visit that the left brake light on my car had failed. I didn't have a spare bulb but Vitor the mechanic had several and was pleased to replace the dud when I dropped into the garage where he works. It's a small, informal outfit comprising just Vitor and the boss. There's no nonsense about clients staying out from the workshop.


THE WIDENED TRACK BETWEEN OUR FIELDS (LEFT) AND OUR FENCED PROPERTY (RIGHT)

Vitor is a most useful and obliging fellow. I was able to return the favour shortly afterwards when an English driver arrived at the workshop with a faulty alternator. Although both of them recognised the problem, they had no common language to discuss it. Vitor called me at home to act as an interpreter - not for the first time. English didn't feature in the syllabus when he was at school; in fact few children of his generation progressed beyond junior school. Now English is an essential part of both education and the tourist economy. The kids pick it up equally from TV and cinema.



Many of the older Portuguese residents have French as a second language, having spent much of their working lives in France. There's an invasion of French cars each summer as their descendants return briefly to catch up with their extended Portuguese families and properties.


SISTERS IN ARMS

Letter from Espargal: 16 April 2016

It's been a damp week. The rain is welcome. The slithery paths are not. The paths are treacherous, stony and steep.I take a walking stick in either hand in a bid to stay upright. There are easier places to walk but not ones far from other people and their dogs.



What Jones wanted to illustrate was the rainbow of flowers in a field close by.



The Lavender Hill mob on patrol.



In a rocky nook that only we know about, a delight of tongue orchids blooms each spring. They're the delicate little fellows to the right. The pink jobs on the left are known as the Cuckoo's Trousers. This is our treasure trove.



The orphan sisters are inseparable. When the sun's out, they cuddle together near the front gate - whether to improve their tans or get in the first bark at the approach of strangers.



At night and when it's raining, they prefer a bed by the fire. They used to snuggle in with room to spare. No longer! The good life has started to tell, a situation we humans know only too well.



It's not musical chairs but first come first served. Our "no dogs on chairs" policy was heavily outvoted years ago. We cover the leather cushions with old carpets to protect them.



The poppies give promise of a better world elsewhere. They're not saying where. For my part, I'm leaving my story to the pictures again this week while my muse is away.



That's the corner of our balcony bottom-left. Espargal has vanished in the cloud. I've had to use my fog lights while driving in the murk.



Here Jones is again, never happier than among flowers. We have both spent hours clearing the garden, especially of stinging nettles and whirlagigs with prickly hand-grenade seeds. Barbara says that if we remove the bad things often enough, eventually only the good things will remain. Will we then be around to enjoy them I wonder?

Letter from Espargal: 9 April 2016

We have been laying down more concrete strips. That's Slavic, Andre and I (me, if you prefer!) They run from the edge of our cobbled terrace outside Casa Nada to the tractor gate that leads into the park.



Slavic doesn't wear a hat, not even when he labours under summer's scorching sun. Andre - centre - wears a cap. I always wear a hat outside and often inside. One never knows what is about to land on one's head. I am told that this particular Tilley hat - I have several - is one of the reasons that I am not likely to be mistaken for a Portuguese.



The dogs were eager to test the new concrete strips, stamping their pads for posterity. I wasn't best pleased, especially at the damage to the edges. There are some things one can't explain to dogs, including the consistency of fresh concrete.



This is how the area looked beforehand. Jonesy liked it that way. She fights for every inch of greenery. But with just an old stone wall - left, semi-invisible - supporting the road, I am glad to have reinforced concrete under my tractor's wheels. And the poppies will come back.



After work we settle down with beers (a coke for Andre) for some reflective conversation. Events in Ukraine are a frequent topic. So is fishing, their favourite sport.



Nelson and Natasha have also been assisting with spring-cleaning and general tasks as we set about curtailing nature's winter exuberance. Here Nelson gathers some of the weeds that my scarifier has ripped out. If weeds were worth anything, we'd be wealthy.



The dogs like to be around us while we're working. Bobby is always to be found in a sunny spot a few metres away, keeping an eye on things.



Jones's garden is putting on its summer colours. She's been working hard, tidying it up.



This section of the garden still awaits attention. Most of the greenery in the picture comprises borage plants that the bees love; Jones is reluctant to rip them out while they are still in bloom.



Nature still makes the main contribution to our flower palette, encouraged by recent rains. They have brought our seasonal total to 500 mms, just about enough to see us through the summer. With luck we get a little more before the wet season draws to an end. We need it. The Algibre river a few kms away is already running dry.



I know that this week's offering is more of a picture album than a blog. I think my muse might have had a better offer.

Letter from Espargal: 2 April 2016

This has been a frustrating week. The frustrations began when I set out to help a friend whose computer keyboard has been playing up. With me I took a spare keyboard as well as the usual canine travellers. When I arrived, it was minus my spare keyboard. I can only think that I must have put it on the car roof while I attended to the dogs.



There was no sign of it back home either. Its likely landing spot was the deep ditch (right of the flowers) below our exit road. But no amount of searching from above or below has revealed its presence. Nor has there been any response to a note I pinned to the village notice board. I keep on expecting to see the keyboard lying in the verge. I can't believe that it's gone.



Saturday my workers returned to widen the concrete strips down the steep little-used public track that separates our house from our field. I laid the strips down years ago to improve the steep and awkward access to Casa Nada. At that point they were intended really just for pedestrians and tractors. The track, which runs to the top of the hill, is too rough to accommodate other traffic apart from determined 4x4s.



Now that we have created a route across the field to the house, the car and delivery lorries will appreciate the additional width. Much of the time we park the car in a shady spot beyond the fence. Opening the main gates is an invitation to the dogs to rush out. Our five will return immediately but the orphans frolic off to find amusement where they can.


THE SISTERS SUNNING THEMSELVES

Their principal diversion is to bark at dogs belonging to Idalecio's guests. Since they're able to slip through his fence and are not easily hushed, this can be a proper pain.



They also delight in hassling Barbara's cats. Inside the house, the cats fall under our protective umbrella and share the warm places around the fire with the dogs. But outside, in spite of our vigorous dissuasion, the orphans reckon they have free rein, leaving the cats feeling nervous and intimidated.



Nelson has returned twice to continue clearing and burning off cuttings. I spent several hours on the tractor turning over the heavy growth in the park and the field. As you can see , it was knee-high. If only there were a way to leave the wild flowers in place while taking out the clawing and clinging weeds. Barbara cordoned off areas of special floral interest that she didn't want me to disturb.



The old sheep pen (above) is an area that she has been weeding by hand for several years. It's a floral symphony, a delight to both eye and heart. She has also started working on the areas around the house that we know as Mary's garden and the secret garden. Her established plants tend to disappear under the wet season's invasive green mantle.



The picture shows me holding two "grip-grabbers", a gift - much appreciated - from my sister, who wished to spare my back. (The photo was intended for her benefit rather than posterity!) For some time I had been using a smaller model lent to me by Marie, especially useful for picking up the dogs' plates. Like an elephant's trunk, the grabbers are both sensitive and versatile - equally capable of picking up a match stick or small log.


VINCA LINING THE ROAD

The week's - nay, the month's - serious frustration has been dealing with Meo, our Telecoms provider. It began on Feb 5 when I cancelled my internet service because I now subscribe to a vastly faster internet by satellite. Their technician assured me that I could still keep my Telepac email account.

The next day I visited their shop in Faro, as advised, to confirm the cancellation and other changes to the contract. On March 16 - more than a month later - when I found my account was still being charged for the service,  I revisited their shop to query it and was reassured.



Midweek I got a call from a Meo operative to trying to convince me to stay with the service which he insisted had not yet been cancelled and still had to be paid for. Because virtually all Meo negotiations are done by phone, the client is left with no written record of any resulting agreement.

Yesterday Meo messaged me to say the internet service had finally been cancelled; at the same time my Telepac email account went down. Yet another visit to Faro and three helpline conversations seem unlikely to revive it. I spent much of Thursday afternoon informing contacts and organisations of the change.



Mind you, if I thought I had troubles, they were minor compared to those of Llewellyn's London neighbours whose cars took the full impact of a collapsing tree during a violent storm early in the week. Llewellyn's car - luckily - was parked further along the road.



Portugal had its own high winds, the tail of the British storm, and strong enough to bring down much of a huge old carob tree in the garden of Anneke and Nicoline. A Portuguese neighbour with a chainsaw and tractor came to their assistance.



We were lunching outside a snack bar when this restored Ford Capri drew up. It was much admired and deservedly so. Back in the 70s I drove a Ford Capri - acquired from my brother - and loved it in spite of its bad manners. At that point, the muscular bulge in the hood/bonnet indicated the presence of the 3-litre engine. Later Ford adopted the bulge as standard on the 1.6 and 2-litre models as well.