Letter from Espargal: 23 February 2017

Thursday has dawned, a reluctant, grey, dusty dawning, suggesting that much of the Sahara has blown across the Atlantic to the Algarve (which, we subsequently learned, it has). We are spattered with dust blotches, as though a vast container of paint dust had exploded in the sky above.



My tractor, which spent the night outside - as it often does - is covered so thick with dust that I could not read the instruments. The very plants are submerged under dust. The authorities are warning citizens to avoid prolonged physical activity. Rain is promised later in the day; it may help clear the skies if not the spattered windows.



If the dust served any purpose, it was to present Jones with some outstanding picture opportunities at sunset on Wednesday. She takes a lot of good pics but these are in a different category, the kind that romantic holiday mags love to splash across their covers. Effusive compliments are welcome.

LIFE'S GOOD

Dust or no dust, we completed our 4 km morning hike, noting the absence of the usual Thursday morning shooting. The hunting season must be at an end. It was warm enough to sling our jackets over our shoulders. The first mosquitoes are back on station already and I fear that the ticks will not be far behind.



Dusty reflections aside, it's been a busy week. Sunday's task was to complete the repair and refurbishment of two elderly chairs that Jones has rescued from the tip. My wife doesn't hesitate to salvage discarded items of furniture or reparable ceramic pots. The fact of the matter is that she prefers old things to new; she seems to feel more comfortable in their presence. It's not a preference that I share, possibly because my primary interest is in function and hers generally in form.



A combination of love, elbow grease, glue, sandpaper, oil and varnish has served to restore both chairs to an acceptable state. One of them really needs professional attention to replace its grubby plaited seat. But that can wait. Meanwhile, we have to find somewhere to put the chairs.  There's certainly no room in the house.  (Every so often I contemplate briefly the daunting task we will face one day when we need to downsize.)

ON THE DOG POO RUN

Monday's English lesson dealt with the painfully belated investigation by the state into the alleged misdeeds of a former prime minister, one Jose Socrates. While in office he is alleged to have accepted bribes worth millions. If one is to believe detailed reports in the media, he practised corruption on an industrial scale.  But nearly two years beyond the official deadline, no charges have yet been brought. Portuguese justice in notoriously slow!



Mr Socrates, who has endured both prison and house arrest in the meanwhile, is threatening to sue the state, complaining of political persecution. It should be said that few people have been reaching for a sympathetic tissue.



Tuesday we renewed Jones's stock of baggy. This is a visit that we make several times a year. Generally our 5 litre bottle is thrust under a tap at the base of a large tank. On this occasion the tank was out of action; instead, the liquid was transferred from a plastic container with the help of a metal scoop.



Wednesday was complicated. In the morning I had my usual weekly back tune-up with Jodi. The afternoon brought my annual appointment with the local accountant, who manages the paperwork required for our employment of Natasha.  



I returned home to find that Peter (a retired electronics engineer friend) had already arrived at the house to see how we might improve the audio from the flat-screen TV in the lounge. The tinny speakers at the rear of the screen have never been more than adequate. They serve well enough for news bulletins but muffle the dialogue in any poorly articulated movies and documentaries.  I had earlier sent him a photo of the ports at the rear of the set. Sadly, these lack the ideal "audio out" connections so that his task, while doable, is complicated.

WHAT A PICTURE!

We were deeply frustrated over the weekend by our inability to follow the dialogue in a new series on the BBC, entitled SS-GB. Jonesy kept on asking me what one or other person had said and I kept on telling her that I had no idea. We were relieved to hear several mentions subsequently on the radio that most other people had endured the same frustration as a result of the dreadful recording. The BBC promised to take note.


CELEBRATING A DISTANT 70TH BIRTHDAY - AT THE HAMBURGO

One night I sat up to watch a German-language (art-house) film entitled Phoenix, after a night club that it features. The movie's theme was the return to Berlin of a Jewish woman who had been sent to a concentration camp after being betrayed to the Nazis by her treacherous husband. In the interim she had undergone facial reconstruction surgery sufficient to enable her to hide her real identity from him.  Things go from there. (There are detailed descriptions online for anyone who might be interested.)



The reason I mention the film is the moral issues it raises and its stunning conclusion, on a par with that of The Shawshank Redemption. (You've really missed something if you haven't seen that movie.) While most movies feel compelled to end with "happy ever after" or "into the sunset" scenes, this final scene is anything but and yet utterly compelling. It left me long pondering the many issues it raises.



On the dog front Jones continues to hand-feed Barri twice a day (while the rest of zoo congregates round in the hope that a crumb may fall). The dog simply shows no interest in conventional food and has to be persuaded to take it a biscuit at a time. I should add that she's more than happy to consume treats and seems to enjoy her walks as much as ever. The rest of the day and night she spends semi-immobile on a chair or the divan. It's getting up and getting down that seem to trouble her most.



 

Letter from Espargal: 17 February 2017

There's bad news and there's good this week - along with a lot of dog and sky pics. Saturday was bad news. And the irony is that the bad stuff came about because of the good stuff.  The good stuff was braving stormy weather to buy a welcome (food & drinks) pack in Loule for members of May's family who were flying in that night to stay in her house.



The gritty details are painful to spell out! While in the car, I handed Barbara my phone to check a message. And when she handed it back, I didn't seat it properly in my shirt pocket, where it habitually resides. As I was wearing both a jacket and a raincoat over the shirt, I didn't notice. That was a mistake, a bad mistake!



It was only an hour later, after stocking up at Lidl, that I became aware of the phone's absence - clapping my hand to my pocket, with a lurching feeling in my tummy. We returned in the pouring rain to the store, where inquiries proved fruitless. I've no doubt that the phone slipped out between my coats as we were scuttling across the car-park - and that somebody found it and thought their lucky day had come.



Back home, Google's Android Device Manager informed me that it was not able to locate the phone. (I suspect that the finder had either turned it off or removed the simcard.) However using this software I was able remotely to both wipe and lock the device - or so it confirmed. Whoever has it should get no joy from it.


OVER THE WALL

Losing one's phone ranks in my universe with disasters like developing a prominent pimple before an important first date (I once did!) or, even worse, living with Donald Trump in the White House. So you can well imagine my distress. To add to my troubles, I had to brave the elements a second time, taking my back-up phone to a rain-soaked Faro to get Vodafone to insert a new sim-card with my old number.All that I can say in my favour is that all my info had been backed up online and synced. I may be a fool but I'm not stupid! Or is it the other way around?

Pause here while I consider the week's other news.

SEE ANYTHING?

In my English class we discussed plans by two companies to grow and process cannabis in Portugal for medicinal purposes. Portugal has some strange laws concerning cannabis. It is legal for individuals to be in possession of as much cannabis as they can reasonably consume in ten days. But it's not legal for them to grow it or trade in it. Presumably their only resort is to obtain it (illegally?) on the black market.


DID YOU CALL?

Whatever the case, my pupils are mainly retired folk with little personal interest in getting high, and they weren't too concerned one way or the other.


WHAT IS IT?

While Natasha took over the house on Wednesday, we made a trip to a large pet-food supplier, Tibi, who is based down on the main east-west coastal road. With nine dogs and three cats to support (not to mention the hangers on) we find it expedient to purchase biscuits in 18kg bags.

HAND-FEEDING BARRI!

At the same time we bought a small bag of ultra special food, which the supplier assured us, no dog could resist - organic, no artificial ingredients and all that! He spoke truly. Barri, although she continues to enjoy her walks, won't get up to eat and has to be hand-fed crumb by crumb.

GROOMING AFTER A WET WALK

From Tibi we progressed up the road to Apolonia which, for those who don't know it, is a smart supermarket that caters largely for expats. The store stocks an extensive range of products beloved of northern European visitors. It also offers exceptional service and the security of a guard in the car-park - all at a price. 

HAD ENOUGH OF DOGS? SO HAVE WE!

The above paragraphs are not really about anything except making room for a couple more pictures.



We have had several social engagements - events on which I always find it hard to report. Jones, on checking my blogs, sometimes remarks that I've said nothing about going to lunch with X or supper with Y. But since X and Y mean nothing to most people, the food was not remarkable and the conversation produced no surprises, I can't see the point. Most of the time we patronise either the Hamburgo or the Chicken Shack, both of them excellent restaurants.



Okay, now for the conclusion of the phone saga.

A couple of days after losing the phone, we returned to Lidl to check whether by any chance it had been handed in. Indeed it had. The phone was produced, along with its soggy leather case and a scrap of paper bearing the name and phone number of the finder.  When I turned the phone on, a message appeared on the screen saying that it had been locked by Android Device Manager. According to the shop assistants, someone had brought the phone in the previous day; that's to say some 24 hours after I'd locked it.



My suspicion is that the finder initially planned to keep the phone or sell it. But on discovering that the device was useless, he had decided to hand it in, hoping for a reward.  I certainly left him a reward - and later had a call thanking me for it. What matters is that I have my phone back. It's a brilliant HTC model, no longer available except on the second hand market. Joy, according to the New Testament, is finding a lost sheep. These days, I should make that a lost phone.
P.S. Although I used Google's online software to delete my personal info from the phone, in fact it wasn't deleted, maybe because Google couldn't locate it. Dunno!

Letter from Espargal: 10 February 2017

THE VILLAGE - from our hill - AND DISTANT ROCHA DE PENA

The highlight of the week was undoubtedly the gathering of Espargalian eminences at Alte museum for the opening of Armenio Palmeira's exhibition of tree-root sculptures.


THE PALMEIRAS, WITH SCULPTURES IN BACKGROUND

Let me take those elements one at a time. Armenio is a villager of whom we are very fond; a man of our age; father of our immediate neighbour, Idalecio; grafter of our almond trees with a variety of fruits; advisor on local matters and proud creator of his own mini-museum.



On rainy days and in his spare time, Armenio collects the roots of mastic trees that are often torn up by diggers clearing the land. These he cleans up, sands down and varnishes to produce a fantastical array of natural sculptures. The exhibition is entitled Nature's Caprices (or Whims) and that just about sums it up.



The one unfortunate aspect to the occasion was my failure to note carefully the details of where it was being staged, as a result of which I directed our expat neighbours to Loule Museum (which featured prominently on the notice) rather than Alte (which falls under Loule). Although I spotted the mistake in time to issue a warning, not everybody received it. Go to the bottom of the class!



One day, with time to spare, we took the dirt road through the citrus orchard en route to Benafim. For some weeks we'd heard a digger at work in the area and were curious to see the results. These were impressive. Scores of saplings, housed in protective sheaths, had been planted in two large fields on either side of the road.



Even more impressive were the walls that had been created around the plantations from boulders cleared from the land. We've often seen diggers placing rocks to build a boundary wall but never with boulders this size. Some were even taller than I am. It must have been a brute of a digger.

We took Barri into the vet again this week to have her hips x-rayed. The vet pointed out on the plates how "disjointed" the top of the right femur had become. The left side was also problematic. He discounted surgery, saying that in her situation the only remedy was continued medication - a combination of pain-killers and supplements. The dog still enjoys her walks but otherwise spends her day sprawled on the divan or a chair. She struggles to get up and shows little interest in food, other than treats. Not good!



We have watched Disk 1 of a two disk documentary by Werner Herzog about the rise of the internet. Entitled Lo and Behold, it's a series of interviews with the net's founders, developers and visionaries - both fascinating and scary. One of the interviewees was relating how on the very first occasion that scientists tried to link two computers over a distance, the message began: Log in. The first two letters went through before the system crashed. Hence, Lo and Behold.



After months of intermittent audio drop-out on our Portuguese satellite TV channels, I finally plucked up courage to phone the suppliers. The hassle is picking one's way through a lengthy series of options (in Portuguese) before finally trying to communicate intelligently with an operator about the nature of the problem. I struck lucky with a patient woman who led me systematically through a software upgrade (it didn't help) before concluding that the problem lay with the HDMI cable.


EIGHT OF US AT PEACE

She said she would send me a new one, that duly arrived. The hard work was crouching down to remove the old cable from confined cupboard spaces that it shared with piles of crockery, and then replacing it - a task I couldn't have carried out without the assistance of Olly. No more drop-out. How nice!



From my brother in South Africa comes this interesting image of a stamp issued by the local police. I shall let it speak for itself as its eloquence far exceeds mine.



And here is a rare picture of the man himself, consuming biltong under the eager eyes of his hopeful fans. Charlie, who squats on his tummy, belongs to his assistant, Julene and likes to run the office - Charlie, that is!


On the home front, twice this week little Sparky has appeared carrying a rabbit nearly as big (if not as fat) as herself. On each occasion she has somewhat reluctantly traded her prize for a generous portion of "chewy", her favourite treat. The first rabbit I dumped into a large barrel in which Barbara is growing succulents, only for Sparky to retrieve it.



The other I placed high in the fork of a tree.  As nimble as the little dog is, it proved beyond even her powers to get it down. She knows that the rabbit is concealed in a tree somewhere but has forgotten which one, so she checks likely trees out as we go walking.


JONES MOON

Leltter from Espargal: 3 February 2017

You may (or may not) be aware that I'm a bit of a dreamer. The other night I dreamed that the president of Loule council had called me in. When I entered his office, I thought that I could see the outline of my brother seated in a corner. Both men were smiling. It became clear to me that my brother had done a deal with the president that would lead the council to register Casa Nada. This was a source of great joy to me. In my dream I expressed my appreciation to the pair of them, declaring: "Yes we can", which I thought was the president's motto. (Wrong president; I know!) This was one of the few dreams that I was really sorry to wake up from. Mainly, they're a pain in the butt.


BLOSSOM RAINING DOWN

The dream inspired me to chase up our lawyers to discover what progress, if any, they were making with the project to register Casa Nada. I gathered that the sticking point was a council office that was being tardy in checking satellite records - three months tardy that is. Although Portugal has taken (largely successful) measures to attract foreigners to settle in the country, its bureaucrats don't seem to have got the message.


EVEN THE LEAVES ARE SPRINKLED WITH BLOSSOM

It will not surprise you to learn that our disapproval of potus grows with his every tweet and declaration. When we became aware of an online petition to oppose his coming state visit to the UK, Jones hastened to sign it. I would have signed it too had I been eligible. For some time we watched the website pleasurably as the figures leapt up by a hundred or two every few seconds. Regrettably, they seem to have hit a plateau somewhat short of two million.


THE FIRST SOMBRE ORCHIDS ARE OUT

For several years I have been using an internet-by-satellite service. It's rather expensive but it delivers a steady speed some eight times faster than those available in the sticks by landline or mobile data download. Until a few weeks ago, it was trouble free. Then it started playing up, telling me at odd intervals that it was offline for no reason that I could discern. I phoned the suppliers who reassured me that there was no problem on their side. Then I noticed that even when I lost the internet on my desktop, it was still available on our phones and tablets. Clearly the problem lay with me. A visit to my computer shop resulted in a high speed wireless adapter that seems to have cured the problem. Joy is functioning technology.



Midweek we attended the funeral of our old neighbour, Zeferino. When we first arrived in Espargal, around the turn of the millennium, he was still picking his carobs . Some years ago, he decided to leave the carob-picking to his son, but still performed a daily tour of the village, pausing to chat and to watch anything as exciting as a house being painted or a plot being ploughed. Gradually the old man retreated into himself under the burden of his years until, finally, having clocked up 95, he went to join his ancestors.



We were pleased to be among those to say a last farewell. RIP Zeferino. You were a good man and an inspiration to the rest of us.



We have been trying to discover the owner of a mysterious bunch of keys. I found them on the dining room table some time ago. Jones thought I had left them there and vice versa. Neither of us has the faintest idea to whom they belong nor how they came to be there. I have emailed the neighbours and placed a notice on the village notice board - thus far without positive response.



On the dog front, there is good news and bad. Pally's paw appears to be much improved. That's the good news. The bad news is that Barri seems to be developing dysplasia. We had her into the vet one morning. He has to take x-rays to determine the seriousness of the problem, an event that we've postponed. For the moment we'll see if medication eases things. If not, the alternative is surgery. We don't look forward to it.


WALKIES!!!!!!

I am able to inform you that I have successfully resolved the first 5,000 Freecell games, an achievement that has rocketed me to level 83, with the exalted title "Duke of the Deck". Three of the games proved so difficult that, in spite of any amount of trying, I had to go online to discover their solution. My average time per game has been a little under 5 minutes.


AFTER A DAMP WEEK, THE ALGIBRE RIVER HAS SWELLED REASSURINGLY

(I hesitate to do the arithmetic lest it weigh on my conscience.) On the positive side I heard somewhere that the mental challenges of a game like Freecell serve to keep the brain healthy and the memory sharp, warding off Alzheimers and suchlike. Stay tuned!