Letter from Espargal: 27 November 2016

Behold the gloomy landscape of an Algarve storm - bringer of grey days grumbling with thunder and nights lit up by lightning strikes. I've been pulling out the plugs to spare our electronics. Barri, who hates celestial fireworks, has been joining us in bed for solace.


THE REAL STORY OF RED RIDING HOOD AND THE WOLF 


A SERIOUS STORM BREWS
Given that Jones, Ono, Prickles and Mini like to retire early, things have got somewhat crowded. There's been a little elbowing, growling and grousing all round. Sleep has been at a premium. 


We've still got out into the soggy hills at least once a day although it can seem like slogging through the slush of the slough of despond.


The cloud formations have been spectacular. Jones has been busy with the camera. If you look carefully, you can see a bear's head. (It helps if you've had a few beers.)


SON ET LUMIERE OVER CASA NADA. We're waiting to hear from the lawyer whether she's made any progress with registering the cottage.


News is that a Swedish couple have bought a house in the village although they'll be commuting for a while. They joined the gang for dinner at the Hamburgo one night. I think there was mutual approval.

I downloaded Patrick Smith's Cockpit Confidential - everything you ever wanted to know about passenger aircraft and flying them. The book is excellent - a boon in the disturbed night hours.


Mini never fails to join me on the recliner. We had her to the vet one day as she's been sick most mornings (on the bed!). Not that her appetite or energy have been affected. Poor Jones! The bedclothes have spent more time on the line than the mattress. (Yes, we know. Don't tell us!)


Jones spotted this amazing rainbow, a full semi-circle of luminous glory. I hope it portends well. Truly, we could do with a little good news. (I haven't had the courage to watch the Boks being thrashed yet again! It wasn't like that in my day.)


RAINBOW OVER ESPARGAL

 

 

Letter from Espargal: 18 November 2016

This week we marvelled as the superest super moon in 70 years slipped up over the eastern hills and lit up the night sky. No doubt its passage through your skies has been just as impressive. We are both lunar fans at any time but the satellite's fly-past presented a rare photographic opportunity. Our combined best efforts appear below. Jones says one can have too much of a good moon. You may decide for yourselves.



In my English class on Monday we talked about Portugal's black economy, estimated at 28% of GDP. To begin we made a list of situations where people were likely to pay cash. And then we reflected on how often in such circumstances we ourselves had asked for invoices. Saints among us there was none. When VAT makes up nearly a quarter of the cost, there's a powerful human impulse to avoid it  - all the more so where substantial purchases are concerned.



On Tuesday I finished ploughing the fields with a scarifier - a light, toothed plough. When thus engaged I endeavour to leave neat parallel lines across the earth, as much for my own artistic satisfaction as to impress my tractor-owning neighbours. However, the steep slopes, rocks and trees on our property combine like defensive football backs to frustrate my designs. The result resembles agricultural crazy paving.



On Wednesday, Ono and Prickles accompanied me into Jodi's rooms as it was too hot to leave them in the car. Prickles camped underneath her treatment table, insisting that I scratch his head while Jodi worked on my back. My task that day was to spray the prickly weed clumps along our borders with Roundup. I dislike Roundup - whatever its ecological pretensions - but not as much as I dislike pricklies. Given half a chance, they erect a formidable semi-impenetrable barrier and throttle any trees where they get a grip.



We are in the process of cancelling our landline (289-472248) as we use it less than pain-in-the-butt cold callers. We remain contactable at all (preferably convenient) times via our mobile phones - whether by email, message or voice. For longer conversations at home, we make use of a Skype phone. While we can also Skype from our iPads, neither of us is enthused about screen appearances.  



Although the solstice looms, nobody has warned the Algarve weatherman that it's time to flick winter's switch. Day temps peak in the low 20s; nights dip into the low-teens. The occasional mosquito still whines around our heads. We learn that 15 of the 16 warmest years on record have taken place this century - although I doubt that the news has penetrated Trump tower.



The invasion of Christmas's dreaded ads and decorations is underway. Yuletide is not my favourite time of year. My intention is to dig a hole, climb into it and pull the lid over my head until I'm reassured that the last Christmas carol is played out. I cringe at the end-to-end Xmas carols that hypermarkets inflict on shoppers and wail when Joy to the World fills the loo. Jones used to enjoy Christmas until she met me. Sorry!



You may wonder from all this how Jones has been occupying herself this past week. Well, this is what she has been doing: gardening, salting olives, picking fruit, preparing meals, washing, mopping, removing dog-poos, ironing, visiting Portuguese neighbours, feeding stray animals, watching sunset from the hill summit, exhorting me to cut back on dog treats - and much more.



Yesterday we joined friends, Peter and Monique, for lunch at the Hamburgo before leading them home for a brief tour of Valapena and a walk to the summit. The couple are in the process of moving permanently to the Algarve - she Belgian and he British.



On our return from holiday in Madeira a month ago, Jones became aware that a favourite black velvet scarf had parted company with her. It was a garment of some nostalgic value that she'd inherited from May. She recalled having it at the airport hotel where we had spent our last night. But the hotel found no trace of it. So we contacted the Lost and Found office at Madeira airport which, after some delay, confirmed that it had been handed in there.



The office agreed to return it if we would foot the postage bill. When we asked how best to pay, the secretary responded with an email saying that the scarf was already in the post; she attached a copy of the parcel registration. Grateful for her efforts, I got hold of the flower shop at Madeira airport and arranged for a posy to be sent to the lady. She was delighted; the florist was pleased and we were contented. Not often that one gets three birds with one stone.


MOBILE PHONE PIC OF THE POSY FROM THE FLOWER SHOP

Letter from Espargal: 12 November 2016

TREATS AT THE END OF A WALK
Saturday: I'd planned to work with Slavic but put him off following heavy rain the previous day. In spite of a generous inch of the wet stuff, we found not a drop flowing in the bed of the Algibre river that winds through the valley separating us from Loule. We're really puzzled and suspect that the stream is being dammed at the site of a fancy new golf-hotel.

LOOKING FOR ROCK CRYSTAL
Sunday: As I have remarked to Jones: "It's tough being a god!" Don't get me wrong. I'm neither blasphemous nor illuded about my mortality. What I am is the focus of nine demanding dogs. Although Jones loves them as much as I do and they're always pleased to see her, in the Valapena hierarchy she is, at best, a useful middle-ranking deity.

Canine worship is reserved for god at the pinnacle of the Valapena pantheon. Flattering as it may be, it's also exhausting. As soon as I sit down, Mini is onto my lap, Ono is at my feet, Prickles wants his tummy scratched and Bobby his head. Gods don't get time off! Little wonder that I'm losing my hair.

AUTUMN CROCUS - ONE OF FEW WILD FLOWERS OUT NOW
Monday: In my English class we talked about poverty in Portugal. Of its ten million people, two million are estimated to live on the breadline. We began by listing major household expenses and working out how much money a typical 4-person household might require to get by. The consensus was around €1000 a month. Given that the minimum monthly wage is less than €600, life is tough for most families with a single bread-earner. Without food banks and clothes banks I don't know how people would survive.


ON THE TRAIL
Tuesday: I was seriously relieved when my third and final 90-minute session at the dentist was over. I don't claim to have borne it stoically. At least this time I emerged with a new tooth, albeit an enamel facsimile, glued to a peg anchored in my jaw. We retreated to the Electrico at Faro Beach where a cautious sandwich followed by a sunny afternoon snooze in the car greatly improved my disposition.

BARBARA WITH ONO - GOING ON 17
Such outings always entail a leg-lifter snifto for our travelling companions, Ono and Prickles. They had the adjacent lawn largely to themselves. Summer's crowds are long departed. The car parks were occupied mainly by recreational vehicles, TV antennae angled to the sky. EasyJet and Ryanair took turns on the runway beyond the estuary.

On our way home, we took a look at the airport alterations. It's been mired in construction materials all summer as it's transformed into a travellers' shopping mall.

Our thoughts were on the US election taking place across the pond. We had noted with dismay the impact of the FBI's new inquiry on Hillary's lead. I didn't expect to get much sleep on Tuesday night.

COURTESY OF AN EQUALLY CONFOUNDED NEPHEW
Wednesday: Nor did I - or Barbara for that matter. Earnest TV reporters spent most of the night telling us just how close the race was - until the swing-state results emerged. At 04.30 I retired despondently to bed. It was clear that Americans had elected a draft-dodging, tax-dodging, abusive, lying, climate-change denying, racist demagogue as the new leader of the free world - a banner they might as well hand to Zimbabwe. The outcome is as depressing as Brexit and even more frightening.

HOOKING DOWN POMEGRANATES AT SARAH & DAVID'S HOUSE
I shared my fears with Jodi later that morning during my weekly back fix while Natasha was busy at the house. She also had an appointment with the dentist to look forward to. I wished her well.

ALEX, 3rd FROM LEFT
Natasha passed on to me a photo showing her son, Alex, with his gymnastic team on podium after they secured 2nd place in a recent international competition. She is proud of him and little wonder.

SPOT THE MOON
We supped early at the Hamburgo. For once the restaurant was nearly empty. The swordfish steaks that Graça prepares are a treat. We shared a bottle of the house wine which, as I acknowledged to Jones & Manuel (the restaurateur), was quite acceptable. The more enticing offerings in Manuel's wine cellar have been placed off-limits until the pound settles down - or should I say settles up!
PICTURE FROM ROLF, HIKING IN SCOTLAND
Thursday: It's gorgeous in the autumn sunshine if you can avoid the cold wind that's tugging at the shutters and unsettling the trees. I visited Benafim mid-morning for a toenail trim from Mary (the hairdresser), a service I greatly appreciate. I've both weed-spraying and ploughing in mind but the former is impractical in the wind and the latter unpleasant. Fortunately, tomorrow's another day.

BACK FROM THE WALK
Friday: We have arranged to meet the long-standing maid of our late friend, May Bunch, to hand over the bequest that May left the good woman in her will. To keep things simple, the Scottish executor has made a transfer to our UK account that we are passing on in euros.

DISTANT SEA AT SUNSET

Letter from Espargal: 4 November 2016

Friday morning: It's raining gently. The world beyond the windows is outlined in shades of grey. For once the dogs are not bothering us to get dressed and go walking. Indeed, four of them are still half asleep on the bed where they sought comfort during the black-out last night.

Shortly, I shall revive the fire that sustained us as we passed the evening in the lounge, wondering when we'd get power back. (It rarely fails these days and, unlike our South African brethren, we are not accustomed to black-outs.) Every so often the lights would flicker and the house electronics squeak as the EDP's technicians worked to reconnect us.

We were grateful for the wifi hotspot that enabled us at least to listen to the radio on my iPad. I don't make much use of the device for the 7 euros a month that Vodafone charges me but it's worth every cent on stormy nights when the world turns black.

Since last week's blog October has morphed silently into November. The clocks have gone back and the evenings have drawn in. The first two days of the month celebrated the feasts of All Saints and All Souls. I note from Wikipedia that "Christian celebration of All Saints' Day and All Souls' Day stems from a belief that there is a powerful spiritual bond between those in heaven (the "Church triumphant"), and the living (the "Church militant").

Whatever the case, All Saints is a national holiday on which many Portuguese tidy up and lay flowers on family graves. This flower seller was doing good business outside Alte cemetery this morning as I passed by en route to a session with Jodi.

On Barbara's behalf I have downloaded to my phone an app called FlowerChecker that Marie brought to our attention. (www.flowerchecker.com) Via the app, for a small sum, one can photograph any plant or flower and submit it to experts for identification. The experts are real people, not computers, who guarantee to give one an answer within 24 hours. In the two submissions we made, they proved timely and correct on both scores although they were uncertain about the first.

OLIVES THAT BARBARA HAS PICKED AND IS SALTING

If you should wonder why Barbara didn't download the app to her own phone, it's because mine has a far better camera. At my insistence she carries a smart-phone for more versatile communications; at her insistence, she has the cheapest model available. I have several times offered to get her a decent one - an offer that she resists for fear that it might join several chewed-up previous models on the scrap heap. Some of our neighbours can still be seen wielding the old Nokias that once ruled the world but Portuguese youth would hardly recognise them.

TRYING TO WASH A RELUCTANT RUSS'S MUDDY PAWS

In the background, as I write, there's yet another radio discussion of the latest developments in the US presidential race. I don't expect to get much sleep on Tuesday night. While neither of us is exactly enthused about Hillary, we are both appalled at the prospect of a Trump victory.

On the other hand we both cheered at the UK high court ruling yesterday that parliament - rather than the government - had to approve the country's exit from the EU. The financial markets welcomed it too because the pound immediately strengthened (although not very much). However, the Brexit zealots were enraged, hurling abuse and invective at the judges who had shown the temerity to interpret the law unfavourably to their cause. I don't often take pleasure in other people's frustration but Thursday was an exception. Schadenfreude has a sweet taste .

Wednesday brought another 90 minute session at the dentist as he completed the root-canal treatment he set about last week. It was a tough one that left me flat the next day. I have (what I sincerely hope is) a final appointment this coming week to fit a new crown. There are times when I wonder whether I can avoid any more dentist's appointments in the years ahead (presuming on such!). Of course this prompts a question: just how soon does one plan to die or for how long is one prepared to suffer toothache.

Natasha spent much of last weekend at an international gymnastic competition held in Loule's impressive pavilion. We watched something of the live feed although we didn't see young Alex competing. Natasha was pleased to inform us that Alex had been placed 6th (out of 20 plus) in the individual competition and that his group had been awarded 4th place overall.

Fintan returned for another hour of cutting fire-wood from the boughs piled up on our top field. The heap, one of several, is the fruit of the pruning exercise we carried out on the almond trees last winter. Fintan grasps the branches with the ends just over the rim of the tractor box while I slice off sections as required. (The side of the tractor box separates my blade from his hands.)

Before we began, I changed the chain (which I'll take up to Helio for sharpening). The bandage on my thumb bears witness to the razor sharpness of new chain blades. They are not forgiving of clumsy handling. Also, as I learned last time round, the saw works better when one puts the chain on with the teeth pointing in the right direction.

The garden - returning to the rain - has welcomed the recent wetness with explosive growth. It's as though the trees and shrubs have taken a deep breath of autumn air. The little (supposedly) anti-fly plants that Jones sticks into spare corners are suddenly colonising our paths and steps. One has to walk around them, ducking under the long branches that the shrubs are enthusiastically stretching out. As we took the dogs on a damp tour of Slavic's steppes (the concrete pedestrian circuit through the park) I reflected on how lucky we have been to chance across this corner of Portugal. Nowhere is perfect but Valapena comes pretty close. Now, it remains only to register Casa Nada!
DOWNTOWN ESPARGAL IN THE RAIN