Whenever I mop my brow and remark to Jones that it's extremely hot, which in the summer is quite often, she generally suggests that we sell up and go somewhere cooler. While this may sound sensible, it's not to be taken seriously. Apart from the associated costs and any difficulties we might have in finding a buyer, Sod's Law dictates that we'd encounter something equally burdensome anywhere else. So, for the foreseeable it's a case of putting up with it. With reports of east European temps in the mid 40s, I suppose that I ought not to complain about 36.
It helps if we walk earlier in the day. Five minutes from home on the far side of the hill, where the path stumbles down a stony descent, there's a pause-point with a view across the hills to the sea. Framed above me in this photo are the dead branches of a long-abandoned carob tree, one of many such. The tree has bushed out, expending its energy on suckers rather than carobs. Some of these trees are hundreds of years old, often with hollow trunks, sustained and supported only by a flimsy outer ring.
When they're bowed down with the burden of carob beans and bent by a boisterous wind - forgive a little exuberant alliteration - such trees are liable to come crashing down, as this one did, right across the path we take each day. It took us ten minutes, while the dogs looked on, to clear a passage through the barricade of fallen branches. The brittle twigs snapped off easily. The branches took more effort.
We'll leave the owners, if owners there be, to cut up the boughs and collect the carobs scattered across the ground. The carob-picking season is just getting underway. In August and September the local people do little else. Jones and I have filled several large tubs already, starting with fallen beans and those hanging from branches within easy reach.
Once we have a tractor load, we'll take them down to our farmer neighbour to thank him for the brilliant job he's done grafting our roadside almond trees with fruit. More than this, he arrives at our gate with occasional loads of fruit and veges, such as this pile of peaches, which I'm about to distribute among all and sundry.
It's not only the carobs that await picking. This year's almond crop - a bumper one - is also ripening on the trees. We donate the nuts to an appreciative villager who runs a domestic sideline in pastries. Each year she brings her extended family to help gather the crop. It's a big job that takes the better part of a day - spreading nets under the many trees, knocking down the nuts and bagging them.
In the local press we read that new legislation requires all dog owners to keep their pets on leads when they exit their properties. Fortunately, for us it's not an issue. On our walks in the wilderness we might bump into other folk two or three times a year but, unless they are out with dogs of their own (which can make life a bit complicated), there's no problem. Our dogs make a distinction between locals working on the land (whom they tend to ignore) and walkers (at whom they bark).
WANNA KISS?
An expat neighbour informs us that we may expect a new approach in driving licence renewal process that we septuagenarians are now required to suffer every two years. It's not uncommon for the medical doctor, who signs applicants off, to conduct only a brief and superficial examination, especially on regulars. No longer. The neighbour warns us that we now face a proper medical check up, including an eyesight test. What a pain!
HERE YOU GO!
We have also noticed a change when collecting postal items from the parish office - whether registered post or ordinary parcels. Until recently a simple signature has sufficed, certainly from known residents. Now parish officials insist on recording the number of the recipient's ID document as part of the process. Whether these "reforms" are the brainchild of Portuguese bureaucrats or an EU import is hard to know.
HOW WAS THAT?
One such parcel contained snake tongs, an item that I had ordered on Amazon and which - to my surprise - took the better part of a month to arrive. The reason, as we discovered, is that it came all the way from Shenzhen in China. It's a solid piece of equipment that ought to prove a lot more reliable in the event of more serpentine visitors than my grippers did last time around.
With any luck, news of its arrival will get around the local snake community, who will get the message and hiss off. Some years ago I went to the assistance of a neighbour who had come across a snake in her house. Although I managed to get the serpent out, it proved anything but cooperative; the tongs would have been really useful. (As I've remarked, Portuguese snakes present little or no threat to humans. Our desire is merely to move them on.)
I'M OFF HOME! SEE YOU NEXT TIME!
We joined the Masseys one evening for a visit to the Sao Bras fair, a favourite of ours. There I came across a stall manned by the town's volunteer fire brigade, stout fellows who were looking for sponsors to support their efforts. It's a mission that I believe in, given the huge demands made on the fire service during the summer months when Portugal is tormented by wild fires.
AT THE FAIR
Rather than sign up with the Sao Bras brigade, I called in on the Loule fire station in a bid to become a supporter of theirs. No luck! It wasn't possible, an official told me, because, unlike Sao Bras, the Loule brigade is fully funded by the council and doesn't look for back up from the public. More's the pity!
STRANGERS AT THE GATE!
Slavic and I have been building more walls, bearing the heat and burden of the day, the better to contain and frame Barbara's shrubs and trees. I have to say that I like the results. More importantly, so does she. You may admire them yourself.
Looks pretty good, if I say so myself. It's not finished yet. Next week it will look even better.
That's all folks! Time for a shower and bed!
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