Letter from Espargal: 30 June 2017

Last Friday we fetched my sister Cathy from the airport. The terminal heaved with arriving visitors. They streamed out of the impressive new hall, trailing their cases, lighting their relieving fags, looking for all the world like superior refugees.



BORROWED PIC

I reflected that a little less food and a little more exercise wouldn't have done most of them any harm. Not that I should talk. Judge not lest ye be judged, the book says.



Early on Saturday I dropped into Loule hospital for a little interior rearrangement. Cathy and Jones accompanied me. We arrived as the gates opened and had the reception hall to ourselves. After signing in, I waved my companions goodbye and accompanied my guide upstairs.

CATHY WITH DAVID & DAGMAR

In my absence the ladies caught up with friends and neighbours.



Here are some of the expat Sunday brunchers at the Hamburgo.



Jones reported from the restaurant that the skies had darkened and five minutes' worth of rain had fallen. It was welcome, token that it was, for ominous clouds of smoke have been rising over the distant hills.

RELAX FELLOWS, IT'S JUST A TEMPORARY ARRANGEMENT

Late on Monday I emerged, still trailing the odd rubber tube. (Don't ask) Cathy and Barbara came to fetch me. I felt uneasy being driven home in my own car, as though something I couldn't figure had gone awry with my personal world, depriving me of my independence. While I remain tangled up, a capacious towelling wrap of Barbara's is coming in most useful.



On Tuesday, as Natasha set about the house,  I joined Cathy and Jones at the Funchais snack bar somewhat hesitantly for a sandwich lunch. There I bumped into, and was warmly embraced by Carla, one of my off-duty hospital carers in spite of (my) decidedly odd appearance. I was grateful for a dearth of other clients.

RITA

I might add that to thank the nursing staff for their attentive care, we presented them with a small coffee-making machine, a facility they greatly appreciated. Previously, they'd had to go downstairs and outside to the day kiosk set up in the yard to find such refreshments. Loule's small (private) hospital, renovated a few years ago, lacks a canteen. Patients' meals are ordered-in from a nearby restaurant. Jolly good meals they are too although they inevitably arrive luke-warm.



Apart from assuming driving and dog-adopting duties, Cathy has been doing sterling work in the irrigation department. Jones has divided the garden into four sections, each of which gets watered twice a week. There is much discussion about the welfare of various plants and trees. Trees are of particular interest to Cathy, who can identify most.



Some years ago I tried installing an irrigation system but was defeated by the steep slopes and extensive surface rock. So irrigation is done mainly by hand, typically for about an hour a day in high summer, although we do resort to a sprinkler on occasion.



While watering one afternoon, Cathy spotted a snake that was trying to hide behind a blue stool intended for a flower pot. Using one of her grippers, I was able to persuade the serpent, about a metre in length, to seek pastures new. Much to my regret, neither of my companions thought to take a picture. So you have to make do with this reconstruction.

SCABIOUS - THERE ARE WHOLE FIELDS OF THEM TO BE FOUND

Let me add that the previous sinewy visitor to the garden got short shrift from one of the dogs, not that Tuesday's visitor appreciated the kindness I was doing it by moving it on. Indeed, it hissed its displeasure in no uncertain fashion. We see lots of snakes in the summer. They do us no harm and we merely encourage them to stay away from the house.



Following my hardware upgrade I have been slightly indisposed, unable this week to join Jones and the dogs on walks. My excursions have been limited to a gentle afternoon amble along the pedestrian circuit in the park, with a pause to treat the eagerly waiting beasts at the top.

CONCRETE PATH THROUGH THE PARK

Jones reported after one outing that, as the pack returned to the property, she heard Russ barking fiercely up front before he raced back to her.  Fearing an encounter with some other creature, my wife hurried forward to find the two orphans spooked stiff. Above them a grimacing balloon bobbed around a bush in which its tether had caught.



After bringing the dogs home, Barbara returned to photograph and retrieve the balloon. For the time-being it resides in the living room. As it deflates, I've been blowing it up, which has rather weighed it down (as I can't exhale helium).



For their part, the dogs still pause at they approach the bush to let Jones go ahead, lest any more demons leap out at them.



This is a shot that Cathy took of seven azure-winged magpies at the water bowl in the garden. I've had to zoom right in on it to show the birds, so it's a bit hazy. I've never seen more than three of the magpies together. Nor have I seen them bathing before.



The shy magpies, which are particularly fond of cat nibbles, are by far the most exotic visitors to the bird tray. They are outnumbered by the squabbling sparrows and bossy doves. The latter scatter the seed all over the show as they feed. There are more spectacular birds to be seen in the area but they tend to keep themselves to themselves, well-used to the hunters' depredations.



Friday I'm due to be a free man once again. Roll on!

 

Letter from Espargal: 23 June 2017

The week started badly in Portugal. Sixty-four people died and three times that number were injured in terrible forest fires in the north of the country. A thousand plus fire-fighters struggled to bring vast infernos under control in torrid conditions. Most of the victims were caught in their cars as they fled the flames. Portugal suffers from particularly devastating forest fires, for reasons that this BBC article explains: http://www.bbc.com/news/world-europe-40341180



With some relief we noted the passing of the solstice as the sun changed tack and started its journey back south - not that we expect any relief until at least September. Our day temperatures hover around the mid-30s. I have been grateful for the air conditioner that we installed in the study. My sister, Cathy, who is flying in from Berlin this morning, will be equally grateful for the unit in the guest room.

A LICK OF PAINT IS ALL IT LACKS

Vitor called to say that he'd replaced the welded scarifier arm and finished renewing and servicing the implement. The toughest part of the repair was levering off and then putting back those heavy springs, not a task for the faint-hearted.



He did a great job, angle-grinding off numerous rusty bolts/nuts, replacing them and greasing the implement (for the first time in years) through newly-installed nipples. The previous ones had rusted into invisibility. I wasn't even aware of their existence.



Here, rather belatedly, is a picture from Natasha of her young son (right) competing in the synchronised trampoline. His mate/partner is on the left. Little wonder the judges are impressed.

JUST MY SIZE

Prickles laid early claim to a dog basket donated by Marie & Olly. They were among friends who joined us for several meals, out under the stars. The weather, prickly by day, is perfect for al fresco dining in the evenings.



For the rest, the week hasn't proved particularly bloggable. We did lots of unmemorable running around. As well as doing sterling work in the garden, Barbara took lots of pictures. She was fascinated by the play of light in the wine glass.



As dazzling as it was, I found the contents more appealing. At this time of year we tend towards the light, petillant vinho verde wines, which are both refreshing and forgiving. One can find perfectly acceptable bottles for as little as two euros.



Russ took his blue (comfort) blanket out on to the cobbles and posed prettily behind the marigolds. I trim him at least once a week. Prickles and Barri have also come under the shears.



You will all be familiar with the spectacular Tecoma Grandiflora. The gates and car in the background provide proof that I'm not just downloading other people's pictures from the internet.



And here's the voluptuous Hoya, now out in flower beside the back patio.



Jones also snapped this rare Zebra Swallowtail. (It's rare in our garden, at least!)



She wasn't as keen on the colony of long-legged spiders that she found breeding in the guest bathroom and on the south patio. I'd have vacuumed the lot up but she did her best to relocate them. A snake that found its way into our garden wasn't as lucky. One of the dogs did for it.



Suspicion has fallen on Pally, who continues to spend his days rooting around excitedly in the rockeries and the park. His three-legged agility is quite remarkable. As I say, it hasn't been a famously bloggable week, so I'll leave things there.

Letter from Espargal: 16 June 20178

Eight-thirtiesh each morning we set out on our morning walk through the hills. Most days we are two humans and seven dogs although we now encourage (3-legged) Pally to join us - he's growing fat and needs the exercise - and Prickles occasionally comes too, at least as far as the top gate. Prickles fails to see the point of exercise.



Midway we pause for a tick-check and to take in the view to the coast. We give the horizon a mark out of ten for clarity. This one is about a seven. In Madeira, the horizon is generally a pencil-sharp 10. We hope to be back there in October.



If the wind is from the east, the airliners on approach to Faro drift in low over our heads. From the winglets one can tell Airbuses from Boeings. We stop to stare up at them. In my dreams I'm a pilot and have been for as long as I can remember. I made my first flight at the age of 10 in a Dakota DC3, a noisy, twin-prop stalwart of regional air travel, now found mainly in books. Although the turbulent flight over the Drakensburg had my fellow passengers groping for sick bags, it inspired me to fly. For better or worse, the Air Force Gymnasium failed to recognise my potential.



On Friday, after a couple of hours of UK election result-racked sleep, we went to fetch the welded plough arm from Arsenio at Cerca Velha. En route we stopped for coffee at a new pastelaria in Alte. Inside we found Marisa, a feisty, heavily-tattooed young woman who had worked at the Hamburgo last summer. The new enterprise was the brainchild of herself and her partner. They had barely served us coffee and nut cake when three women walked in.



One of them was evidently in the process of having her hair done. It glittered with mysterious metal thingies that were presumably an important part of the process. I confess to an occasional habit of addressing strangers in coffee bars. Leaning across, I asked her politely in my best Portuguese if she could reveal from which planet she came, a question that caused herself and her companions some surprise and considerable mirth.



She had to look ugly now, the tin lady responded, in order to look beautiful later. Not ugly, I assured her, just different, which seemed to cheer her up. (I sometimes reflect on our relentless pursuit of beauty, an elusive target at the best of times, although not a theme for the present blog.)



Having wished the lady and her companions good day, and Marisa every success with the pastelaria, we headed back to the car 50 metres away on the pavement. If the pastelaria has a drawback, it's the lack of easy parking. Moreover, right beside it is another newish enterprise, the bicycle cafe, whose customers face the same problem.



They join half a dozen similar businesses that cater for the town's many tourists as well as locals. There should be visitors enough to keep them all busy, in the summer months at least. From Alte it's 20 minutes to Cerca Velha. There, Arsenio showed me the preparatory work he had done on the scarifier arm (that should have been ready the previous evening). But he hadn't got around to welding it. He could do it straight away, he told me, but it would be too hot to remove until the afternoon. We said we'd come back another day.

STRIMMED & RAKED

Saturday: Andre strimmed and Slavic raked the strimmings. He must have collected 20 barrels full. The tractor took load after load to the cuttings heaps in the park. I called the bombeiros in Loule to ask if we could still burn the remains. In principle, yes - the fireman told me - BUT not today; the fire risk was too high. With no rain in sight and temps already climbing well into the 30s, I doubt that further opportunities will arise.



Although the park is much improved by the strimming, it hardly compares with the pitch-perfect surface that our neighbours, David and Sarah, have produced 100 metres away. They did it with the assistance of two donkeys belonging to Ivan, a German expat who is setting up a donkey outings business near Paderne. He had walked the beasts an impressive two hours up the river to Espargal to graze them. David further obliged by delivering a trailerful of grass strimmings to Ivan's donkey base.

WHERE'D IT GET TO?

Sunday: Pally, as though in revenge for the ills inflicted on him by society, has set about methodically destroying Barbara's garden. He gives excited little barks as he roots out low-growing plants in a frantic search for his holy grail. Daily, Jones comes to me with a distraught tale of yet another devastated rockery. I have offered to erect a low fence around the garden. She says it's not a fence she wants but sympathy. Hmmm! Sympathy is unlikely to deter Pally.

GOTTA BE HERE SOMEWHERE

Monday brought my last English lesson of the term, on the plague of wild boar rooting up the Alentejo. There, farmlands deserted by younger folk seeking an easier life are reverting to nature, and in many areas the pigs now rule - echoes of Animal Farm. (My hunter pupil) Ignacio said he'd shot 14 before the season closed in February and he wasn't permitted to shoot any more until it opened again in August.

HAND-FEEDING BARRI

Before the lesson we stopped at Lidl where I like to eye the specials while Jones gets the groceries. Idly, I gave myself a couple of squirts with a perfume tester as I often do in airport (so-called) duty-free shops. It was an error of reeking proportions. The suffocating stench of cheap scent followed me down the aisle. I would have been shown the door of a budget brothel by any self-respecting madam. Jones wrinkled her nose in disgust and ordered me to the bathroom.



Tuesday we treated our electronics guru, Peter Kenyon, to lunch at the Funchais snack bar after he helped us to diagnose a problem with our TV reception - arising, it emerged, from a faulty DVD player. Peter is a fan of two-wheeled transport. He has just added an American battery-powered motorbike to his conventionally-powered Honda, one that looks something like this model from Zero in California:



Such battery-powered bikes are silent and boast phenomenal acceleration although their range is limited. However, it wasn't his motorbikes that accounted for the broken wrist visible in the previous picture. That came came from a nasty tumble when he lost control of his battery-assisted bicycle on a gravelly corner a fortnight ago. Until it's healed he won't be riding anything.

NEARLY HOME

Wednesday dawned grey and cool (ahead of torrid weather forecast for the rest of the week). I'd just emerged from a Jodi back tune-up in Alte when I had a call from a courier who wanted to hand over the workshop creeper I'd ordered from Amazon to thank Vitor the mechanic for his many services.



The timing was great. We met up with the courier in Benafim a few minutes later. Thence to Cerca Velha to fetch my welded plough arm and finally to FNAC in Guia to get a new CD player. I dropped the creeper and the welded arm off at Vitor's workshop on the way home, snatched 30 winks and installed the new CD player. That's what I call a productive and satisfying day.

30 WINKS WITH SAUSAGE

Natasha, whom we found still hard at work on our return home, had reason to be proud of her son's recent gymnastic performance. With the first of two leaps in the Portuguese national gymnastic championships, Alex had led his age group. But he'd landed badly in his second and final attempt, blowing his chances of the title. This was taken by his close friend and main rival instead. The pair of them dominate the junior sport.



Thursday is as hot and oppressive as forecast. We returned bathed in perspiration from our morning walk. Mello refreshed herself in her newly rejuvenated (plastic bowl) pool.



Now I am at work on the blog. A gentle waft of cool air washes across me from the air conditioner above. I have offered to do the ironing and anything else that doesn't involve leaving the study or, at least, not for more than a few minutes.



One task will be to gather up all our old movie videos - the new CD player doesn't take videos - and find a home for them, possibly the retirement home at Monte Palhagueira. Jones is concerned, as ever, about her garden and is plunging into it regardless of the weather. With luck it will be a nice, quiet day.

VALAPENA SUNSET