Letter from Espargal: 31 March 2017

A WET WEEKEND

The pictures must tell the story, which comes in diary form. After a three day absence, Pally limped home last Friday evening, his front right leg dangling. He was clearly in need of surgery - a tired, wet and very unhappy little dog.



The vet said he couldn't operate until Monday so we dosed Pally on pain-killers all weekend. The rain poured down. Monday morning we dropped him off at the surgery.

DOWN AT THE ALGIBRE RIVER

Then we went to the airport to fetch our goddaughter, Caitlin, who was paying us a three-day visit. She and Barbara wandered around Loule while I took my last English class before Easter. We'd warned Russ that he'd have to share the guest bedroom - his retreat - for a few days. He didn't seem to mind.



Caitlin settled in fast, which was fortunate - especially for Mini. Tuesday we took our guest west to Foia, near the town of Monchique - the highest point in the Algarve. A few visitors were admiring the views which, on a clear day, extend to both the south coast and the west coast. The car park was barely a quarter full. The craft centre wasn't doing much business.



On the way home we fetched Pally from the vet. His injured leg was heavily bound. The vet said Pally had been shot with an air-gun. The pellet had destroyed the elbow joint. The dog would spend the rest of his life on three legs. Meanwhile, he needed painkillers and anti-biotics.



Wednesday, Bobby, who relishes his meals and loves his walks, refused food and lay down trembling. Back we went to the vet for a comprehensive 90-minute consultation. Bobby is not a model patient. We had warned the vet to await us on the pavement outside with a tranquiliser shot in hand - and he did.



X-rays and blood tests threw up nothing beyond normal wear and tear. But a physical examination showed that Bobby had a nasty infection in both ears. We came away with more antibiotics and instructions to clean out Bobby's ears twice a day.  Bobby is NOT enthused.



What the other dogs make of it is hard to know. What they do know is that there are treats in my pocket for Bobby when we're done. We have to block the entrance to the kennel to prevent Bobby diving into it after breakfast. Once he's in, there's no extracting him.



After Bobby's examination we made a brief visit to the Baroque country manor known as Estoi Palace (now part of a fancy hotel). Jones and Caitlin spent half an hour while I joined the dog in the boot of the car.

IN THE GARDEN AT ESTOI PALACE

Thursday both Caitlin and I enjoyed a therapeutic Jodi massage. (Poor Jodi had had to call in a drain-clearing crew as the roots of a tree immediately outside her rooms had blocked the pipe.) Then we sat ourselves down at a newly-opened Tapas bar for lunch. Thumbs up!



Back at the ranch, Pally has been getting along as best he can. He still enjoys his meals before taking himself off to camp in the sunshine near the gates.



Trying to pee on three legs has been proving a lot more difficult. We had the poor fellow neutered at the same time he was mended, in the hope of reducing his wander lust.



All the while Barbara has continued to hand-feed Barri, who is on a permanent diet of pain-killers and supplements for her hip displasia. The kitchen worktop looks like a pharmacy shelf.



Caitlin proved to be a good walker, which was fortunate. We do a lot of walking. On recent outings both Barbara and I have had encounters with individual bees that took umbrage at our passage.



Caitlin confided that she often walked home 90 minutes from the office where she works in Manhattan to the apartment she shares across the river in Brooklyn.



Bobby awoke on Thursday with all his old sparkle. His appetite was restored and he couldn't wait to go walking. We wonder if the ear infection had been the cause of his problems. Whatever it was, he's back in form.



Thursday afternoon we ran Caitlin back to the airport. Her days with us passed quickly and she's approved several of our favourite restaurants. Come back any time!

Letter from Espargal: 24 March 2017

'Tis Thursday very early - with the chimes of midnight still fading.

WELCOME HOME - AFTER A NIGHT OUT

The house sleeps and so does the village, those residents who are able to ignore the cacophony of neighbours' dogs. I call it the music of the hills and in truth most of the locals are completely deaf to it, unless it's their dogs that are upset about something.



For once our beasts are not involved. That's probably because the night is both cold and miz; late snow has fallen over the northern mountains and the animals are more concerned with staying warm than adding to the din.

AEONIUMS IN FLOWER

The Westminster attack dominates the midnight news as it has occupied the media for much of the day.  Our attention has swung between the coverage of the incident and checking the tractor gates to which the dogs return after excursions. We are concerned about Pally, who has been absent all day. He broke out of the property before we were up, we think in pursuit of an amour, and hasn't been seen since.



My poor Jones is beside herself with visions of traps, poison and other evils of a kind that haunt her every time a dog fails to return promptly (which is fairly often). Better that Pally should die doing what he loves than live fretful behind our fence, I tell her - not that I've any reason to think that he has perished. She does not find such reflective nostrums of much comfort.



So anxious was she that she went hunting around the hillside in the hope of finding Pally, only to discover that she herself was lost. High walls loomed around her and huge shrubs did their best to conceal old paths. After a "can you help" phone-call, I set out with the dogs on a rescue mission, only to hear that she'd rescued herself before I had a chance. The picture (reconstructed) gives an idea of the countryside concerned.



Such adventures aside, we've been busy. Slavic joined us on Saturday morning to continue his assault on the flowering alexanders and knee-high greenery that colonises the property each spring. (I read that alexanders are edible; we've enough to feed an army.) We concentrated on the area around the house. He wielded the strimmer while I pruned dead wood from the trees and thinned out the branches.



In the park beyond the inner fence the asphodels and cistus are still in full flower and we'll leave them to flaunt their colours a while yet.



Saturday afternoon we took ourselves a few kilometres down the road to the village of Nave do Barao for its annual wine fest. This is a splendid event if one is into local colour.  The venue is the community hall; cars, parked nose to tail for several hundred metres along the narrow road, testify to its popularity.



A dozen Algarvian wine producers and other merchants erect their stalls and promote their products. The rise of Algarvian wines is a recent phenomenon. Until a few years ago, vineyards of note were concentrated in the north. Now the Algarve can boast at least half a dozen wines that would please most sophisticated palates.



This year the organisers provided food as well. The menu was advertised beside the entrance at which visitors paid €2.50 for a large "tasting" glass. A platter of cheese and ham, along with several slices of bread, cost €5. It was good value. Inside the hall, a traditional male-voice choir paraded past the stalls in tight formation.

MEMBERS OF THE CHOIR RELAX AFTER THEIR PERFORMANCE

Soloists lead the verses and the choir responds with the chorus. I love such singing although it can be something of an acquired taste. After an excellent late lunch we purchased a selection of the wines on offer and then made our way home in time to walk the dogs.

NAKED MAN ORCHIDS - ENOUGH FOR A NUDIST COLONY

On Sunday I prepared Monday's English lesson on reports that Portugal's champion footballer, Cristiano Ronaldo, was about to become the father of surrogate twins. Ronaldo is already the father of a six-year old boy who was born in similarly mysterious circumstances. As a mega-rich celebrities' celebrity who is seen with the slinkiest of curvaceous companions, Ronaldo decorates the covers of numerous magazines.



He also features on products whose manufacturers are anxious to share his glamour, boosting his millions. At the same time he is also able to lock his private life behind some impressively high walls. So while there is a great deal of speculation about the circumstances of his renewed fatherhood, very little is known.

CLOSE UP, WITH BJ'S NEW iPHONE

Tuesday we joined friends for lunch, a Briton married to a Luxembourger, both of whom - like us - spend a lot of time considering the implications of Brexit. Inevitably, the question was a topic of some intense conversation. I might add that Jones, who likes to be prompt (but not too, too prompt) expressed her concern first that we were leaving our house too late - and then that we might arrive at their house (some distance away) too early. In the event our timing was spot on. (Okay, we arrived two minutes early!)



On Wednesday I submitted myself to Jodi's massaging hands while Natasha set about the house in inclement weather. Between the demands of her several clients and the requirements of her talented gymnastic son, she finds herself with little time to spare. She confided proudly that Alex had come within half a point of qualifying for a world championship competition (for which he may still qualify).



Thursday lunch hour: After the usual trek through the hills, we visited our neighbour, Idalecio, to report Pally's absence, in the vague (and vain) hope that he might have come across the dog. The truth of the matter is that Jones can call the little fellow from the hilltop - as she does - until she goes hoarse, to no avail.

BARBARY NUTS

He will come home when he's ready to come home and not before. We used to have the same song and dance years ago with old Samson, who would howl to the heavens until set free to court a fragrant damsel - only to return days later chewed up by younger and larger rivals. He never learned. His genes ruled his head. (Okay,don't say it!)

YELLOW BEE ORCHIDS

I am making slow progress through my thick electronic tome on The Reformation. What's clear is that it was very important to the reformers that their ideas should be adopted and woe betide those who disagreed. (Indeed, woe betided a lot of disagreers!)  I wonder what they might have made of a TV documentary  aired this week, exploring the size of the universe and the prospect of millions (billions, trillions) of parallel universes. That's not galaxies - but universes! As to dark matter and dark energy, I'm still working on it.

AN UNUSUAL BUTTERFLY (A SPANISH FESTOON) IN THE GARDEN

We watched another documentary on Porton Down, Britain's extensive chemical and biological (warfare) research centre. It illustrated the effects of such weapons with images of WWI soldiers afflicted by mustard gas and chlorine attacks and of villages wiped out in Saddam Hussein's Iraq. It's hard to sleep well after such sobering stuff. As so often, we give thanks for our blessings.

VINKA IN FLOWER

Come home Pally! Please do! We can't relax without you.

FRIDAY LATE: PALLY IS BACK. WE FOUND HIM WITH A BROKEN LEG NEAR THE TOP GATE. I FETCHED A DOG CARRIER FROM THE VET THIS EVENING AND WILL TAKE THE POOR DOG IN TO THE VET SATURDAY MORNING.

Letter from Espargal: 17 March 2017

This week mostly we tried to evade the wind, which wasn't easy, because it blew hard and without let-up. It was a malevolent wind, a wind that shrieked and howled about the village like the spirit of a world in torment.



It flung heavy flower pots over the cobbles, strew the budding almond nuts across the road and scattered buckets and watering cans around like paper cups. It gusted against the house like waves against a boat, testing the shutters grip on their hinges.

ALMOND NUTS SCATTERED ACROSS THE ROAD

The only escape from the wind was to flee over the brow of the hill where, in another world, we led the dogs through leafy glades lying tranquil in the sunshine. The contrast was hard to credit, a bit like the first and third world cheek by jowl.



Happily, the wind didn't arise until Sunday, which meant that on Saturday morning Slavic, Andre, Sasha and I could complete the pedestrian paths around the park. Sand and stone had been delivered the previous day, along with a dozen bags of cement.



So while Sasha mixed concrete, Andre helped me deliver it to site and Slavic laid it; he emptied buckets of fresh concrete on to a bed of gravel, raked the mixture roughly level and then shaped it with a hand float. That's the end of my path building; we must have about 300 metres in total.

A HOST OF BUMBLEBEE ORCHIDS

Whatever the weather, we can now leave the house via the back door, make a leisurely pedestrian circuit of the park and return five to ten minutes later via the front door. (This - Thursday pm - is just what I've done at the end of a wet and windy day.)

NAKED MAN ORCHIDS

Beyond the gates the season's orchids are a joy to behold. The first tongue orchids, among the last to bloom, have now appeared. They flourish in a tiny dell that only we know about - we think!

TONGUE ORCHID

As well as these beauties! Woodcock? Sawfly? I'm not sure.



On the social scene we have enjoyed several get-togethers with our UK friends, Mike and Lyn, frequent visitors to the Algarve who are staying at a villa nearby.


IBIS: Mike & Lyn

They come mainly to watch and photograph the region's fauna and flora, especially birds and orchids. You may judge for yourself the quality of their work, bearing in mind the reduced sizes of the emailed pictures.

HOUSE ORCHID, JUST COME INTO BLOOM

I have received two emails from "Paypal" warning me of the need to take action. The first of them, the idiot version, was addressed to "Dear Coustemer", possibly from the same West African gentlemen who are forever offering me (Dear Beneficiary!) vast riches in exchange for a small down payment, concluding with a "God bless you! - not a blessing that I reciprocate.


WILD PEONIE IN BARBARA'S GARDEN

The scary email was from "service@paypal.com". It was addressed (in Portuguese) to Dear TE Benson, it gave the correct final four digits of my credit card and it advised me correctly that the card was about to expire - adding a request to update the card. The only suspicious feature was the Paypal link in the email, the kind of link that people are advised never to click on.


MY BUTTERFLY

I forwarded the email to Paypal's security division who responded promptly, advising me that it was a scam. Well, if it was, it was a very convincing scam from people who clearly had access to my personal information. I am resolved to be even more careful than usual.


MIKE'S BUTTERFLY

For some months the erratic performance of Barbara's inexpensive smart-phone has been causing me almost as much frustration as it causes her. She insisted, when we purchased it, on the cheapest model available - after the last of her several phones was remodelled by the dogs. Both of us have subsequently paid the price of her thrift in stress. I can't count the number of times that I have threatened to throw the device away. Eventually Jones agreed that something had to be done about it.

A SUNNY MOMENT IN THE GARDEN

The options were to use my points with Vodafone to discount a better model or for her to take over an iPhone that I received as a gift a few years ago. After some musing, she agreed to the latter. I have to say that, a few introductory hassles apart, my wife appears to be very pleased with the phone (as indeed she should be) and I am equally pleased that it has found a good home.


GREEN SANDPIPER: Mike & Lyn

In my English class we returned to the subject of Brexit, specifically to easyJet's plans to establish a base in the EU - possibly Portugal - to ensure its future right to fly within the Union. The Luton-based budget airline offers flights not only between the UK and mainland European destinations, but also within continental Europe.


HELEBRINE ORCHID: Mike & Lyn

Like many other businesses (and pensioners), it's been hammered by the devaluation of the pound. We daily curse the turkeys who voted for a Brexit Christmas, as fascinated as we remain by the politics swirling around it. Watching Theresa May and Nicola Sturgeon squaring up to each other in the Ladies' Mixed Martial Arts might be prime time entertainment if there wasn't so much at stake.

STAYING WARM IN FRONT OF THE FIRE