Letter from Espargal: 30 March 2018

Saturday Slavic and I dodged passing showers to get a few essential jobs done. Mid-morning the local techie arrived to sort out my wifi. After leading him upstairs, I brought up the wifi-installation guide-page on my computer. To my astonishment, the software that had balked at installation two days earlier was now happy to play ball.  The techie checked the settings, inserted the new code and bingo! I was back online.  He didn't even bother to check the antenna that I'd micro-adjusted to spot the beam. It either worked or it didn't, he said, and it was working. QED



After lunch we joined the throng at Nave do Barao's spring wine-fest, just down the road. So did the neighbours. A payment of €2.50 at the entrance bought a glass in which to taste the numerous offerings on display in the hall. Eats were available for consumption inside or out. We opted for the generous tapas board at €7 a time, a spread of cheese and smoked hams with half a loaf of sliced fresh bread - accompanied by a glass or two of wine.



From the table beside us a traditional male-voice choir serenaded visitors between courses. Each singer leads in a verse, which is then taken up a cappella by the rest of the group. I love their music. We came away with several boxes of wine, 10 euros for five acceptable litres from the local vineyards. The only drawback with the boxes is the ease with which one can draw another glass.


AZURE-WINGED MAGPIES
Having discovered the cat biscuits that we've been putting out at the second bird feeder (as well as the first) the magpies are now flocking to it. But they're so shy and so quick that we've battled to get a decent picture of them. The moment they glimpse Jonesy at the kitchen window or the upstairs balcony, they're gone.



Monday: I nipped into Benafim with Jones to fetch an Amazon-supplied rain-gauge from the post office (a replacement for the cracked unit in the front garden). Prickles and Russ came along for the ride, Prickles tucked in as usual behind the front passenger seat and Russ sprawled across the back seat; on our return we like to pause in the valley for a stroll with the dogs.


RUSS
The police were stopping vehicles on the main road to check papers; they pulled me over. My papers (passport, residence, car test, car ownership, insurance) were in order but a 30kg dog unsecured on the back seat was not. We waited nervously. One  policeman took his time to leaf through my documents while another nosed around the car. Russ, bless him, didn't move, his bulky presence obscured by the darkened back windows. Eventually we were waved on. Jonesy said she needed a baggy but we made do with coffee at Ponte de Encontro.


PRICKLES
Prickles has not been on top of the world. He would seem to have eaten something that's upset his stomach, an ailment that manifests itself in a distinctly unsociable manner. He's not the only one. All the dogs appreciate the new grass brought on by the rain. Jones is the main mopper-up. But I'm not far behind. The washing machine works overtime. We debate sometimes whether (having) eight dogs is more work than eight kids. It's hard to know but it seems like it.


MAGNIFICENT "JONES" MAN ORCHID
Several times I've had to put off phone-callers for 30 minutes or so while we feed the dogs. As I explained to one of them, we have three dogs that have to be persuaded to eat and five that can't get enough. Their twice-daily meals comprise three varieties of dog biscuits and four kinds of canned meat (with gravy please), along with pills for a heart condition (Ono & Pally), arthritis (Ono & Bobby),  leishmaniasis (Bobby) and hip dysplasia (Barri, who has to be hand-fed). Did I say 30 minutes. Better make it 45.  I forgot to mention the waifs and strays and the cats.


YELLOW BEE ORCHIDS
Tuesday we lunched with Marie and Olly on tapas in bright sunshine under a lapis lazuli sky in Salir's church square, cringing each time the church bell clapped painfully in our ears. Conversation ranged over lots of things including our plans for a remodelled kitchen and Trump's action against transsexuals in the military. In London we  were acquainted with a ship's captain who had left his wife and kids to become a woman before settling down with a guy. Marie said that she for one was perfectly happy being female. Olly said that he preferred her that way too.


THE AMAZING SPIKE
The damp weather has gone away for the moment. Jones says it's time that she got into her garden. The park is already waist-high in spring greenery. Following the devastating wild-fires last year, the government has passed legislation requiring property owners to comply with new wild-fire safety measures. Exactly who is included in the measure is a cause of some confusion. We have trees dotted all around the house and the park and no wish to remove any of them.


BUMBLEBEE ORCHIDS
Wednesday afternoon I received a call from Loule Hospital asking me if I would kindly arrive at 16.00 rather than 16.30 for my appointment with a dermatologist. I kindly obliged, only to wait until 17.00 to be admitted to the surgery. There the surgeon spent 20 minutes removing the troublesome cyst from my back, commenting to the nurse as he did so. Good riddance. The cyst caused me problems enough. I'm back to bandage-changes at the hospital every second day.


BARBARY NUTS
The (see my private pictures) ladies and (dear beneficiary) scammers whose missives arrive daily in my spam folder have recently been joined by people anxious for me to win a fortune in their online casinos. Typical is the "20 Jaw-Dropping No-Deposit Free Spins" unmissable offer from MrFree Slots. The only jaw-dropping element I can see is the amount of money I'm likely to lose.  There are apparently tens of thousands of online gamblers already addicted to these digital machines.


EMERGING TONGUE ORCHIDS
Thursday Jones and I had yet another extended discussion over our rival ideas for modifying the kitchen. We think that we have reached a compromise. I won't pretend that it has come quickly or easily. We have submitted an outline design to our friends at Austral Kitchens, whose visit and suggestions we await.



I'll leave you with a final orchid, a sawfly. They'll soon be gone, back to where-ever they hide until next spring. Every year we discover them anew and every year they bring us as much pleasure as the year before.



 

 

 

 

 

 

Letter from Espargal: 23 March 2018

Some weeks leave one feeling a little uneasy and this is one of them. Where shall I start? Possibly at O Regresso in Salir after a good dinner a few days ago. The restaurant is at the bottom of a steep awkward drive. As I drove out of the gates, turning right into the road, a policeman on the pavement a few metres ahead pulled me over. He chided me for careless driving - pulling out in front of an approaching vehicle.


SAWFLY ORCHID
I was dumbfounded, as were my three companions. None of us had been aware of an approaching vehicle. So I apologised profusely and promised to drive with the greatest care - and he let me off with a warning.


YELLOW BEE ORCHID
That was just the start of things. I confused two elderly villagers, both named Jose, and reported the death of the wrong man - for which I have apologised. Even so, we were pleased to attend the funeral and to join other expats in showing our faces and expressing our sympathies.


O BARRI, WHERE WERE YOU?
The episode doesn't end there. We returned home to find that Barri was missing. Our hearts sank. Every manner of evil possibility ran through our minds. It was impossible to relax or think of other things. We hunted uphill and down, under bush and behind boulder.


BUSHES AND BOULDERS
There was no sign of her! Late pm, as I checked the upper fence yet again I came across the dog waiting outside the gate, as casual as nonchalance herself. We have no idea how she got out or where she went. And she's not saying. Most unsettling!



On the digital front life has not been easy either. For the past two months I've exceeded my 30GB download quota with my satellite wifi provider. In terms of a new contract agreed with them, I should still get a guaranteed minimum download speed. Instead the system's been crawling along (severely restricting my blog photo options) - and I've been complaining.



On Thursday the provider updated my software and supplied me with a key to authorise it. It didn't work. Long phone conversations followed. In short, the antenna needed micro-adjusting (a fiddly spanners job that I managed) but the software still wouldn't play ball and I gave up. A technician is due to sort things out on Saturday morning.



It's not been all mishap. In-between times and showers we have joined friends for leisurely luncheons.



Served alfresco in spring sunshine. The couple, Mike and Lyn, are frequent visitors to the Algarve and knowledgeable about flora and fauna, embarrassingly so. They have recently extended their home on the Isle of Wight. We shared ideas on how we might update our kitchen. Stay tuned!



We also went hunting for orchids with them in Fonte Benemola, a wilderness open to the public.


MAN ORCHID
It's an area where delicate man orchids thrive.


DAFFS
Let me leave you with the scene below. Centre-right is old Ono, now half blind and deaf, who has put his chewie down on the pad in front of him to contemplate before he consumes it. Centre-left is the all-consuming Mini who has long since eaten her own treat and is anxious to acquire Ono's. (She's lightning fast!) Ono is giving her the look. He was once top dog and he hasn't forgotten although at 17 he's having to come to terms with senescence -  and he's not the only one.



(PS: Our clocks go forward this weekend.)



 

 

 

 

 

Letter from Espargal: 16 March 2018

MISTY MORNING IN THE PARK
I have only slim pickings to offer you - a few flowers and some country scenes, by turns sunny, drizzly and misty. We haven't minded the mist. It's served to shut the world out and (given the mess it's in) that's fine by us.



When the sun did shine, we went looking for orchids. It's the season. Here's Jones taking pics in a field where naked man orchids thrive.



They're still in first bloom, retarded by the dry autumn and possibly the recent rains. It's not hard to see where they get their name.



Monday my English class discussed the state of the busy road and railway bridge across the Tagus. Engineers have warned that fissures, cracks and loose bolts need urgent attention. The government assures travellers that there's no immediate danger of collapse. As we cross the bridge each time we take the train to Lisbon, we declare an interest.



Closer to home, it's the state of old dry-stone walls that's of more concern. Each spell of wet weather brings another few metres crashing down.  The wonder is, when one beholds the muddy mortar used to bind them, that they have lasted so long.



In years past, when we had just two or three dogs, we used to drive a few minutes down to the valley floor and walk them along this agricultural road. Every now and then the dogs would startle a rabbit and go off on a glorious chase. (I don't think they ever caught one.) So this was an excursion for old times' sake.



A little further down the road, the view from the bridge shows the detritus from the cane bank drifting down the swollen Algibre to the sea. As dull and damp as our days have been, we've welcomed the rain - and still need lots more to survive the summer.



Back at the ranch, we have our own flowers to admire.



There are none more beautiful than the early purple orchids blooming in the park. (Below) this sawfly lies right in the middle of the path. We've placed stones around to protect it from canine traffic.



Wednesday morning we braved the drizzle to deliver last year's financial bumph to the accountants. Time was when long paper-clutching queues would form outside the Finanças. No longer! These days the taxman accepts only digital returns.



The afternoon brought an appointment with a dermatologist at Loule Hospital. A provisional date has been set for minor surgery at the end of the month.



Still on a health theme, Jones's deep-chested cough, which bears my undeniable footprints, now matches anything that I was able to produce last week. On that front gender-equality reigns. When it comes to explosive sneezes I'm still ahead by a nose. Even so, for a girl-cold, hers is pretty impressive.

CORRECTION

BARBARA AND I ATTENDED A FUNERAL LAST WEEK OF AN ELDERLY PORTUGUESE NEIGHBOUR. WE WRONGLY CONFUSED THIS NEIGHBOUR WITH ANOTHER EQUALLY ELDERLY NEIGHBOUR OF THE SAME NAME, TO WHOM WE APOLOGISE. PLEASE IGNORE ANYTHING THAT YOU MAY HAVE READ ON THIS SUBJECT IN THE BLOG PRIOR TO THIS CORRECTION!




Thursday morning brought the first tick of the year. We spotted the unwelcome visitor clambering about in Pally's thick coat. Jones grasped the reluctant dog while I removed the intruder. Time to replace the bug collars.



Middayish, between the showers, we took Pricks and Russ down to the valley. It was wet underfoot with swampy patches and extensive puddles, but passable with care.



There wasn't a soul around, just traces of piggy diggings among the trees. The birds were singing their hearts out. Russ ran free. He thought he was in heaven. We shared his feelings. Joy is a country stroll on a spring day with a breeze in one's hair.



Let me leave you with the shy bluebells in the park. They're modest flowers, not given to flaunting themselves, but happy to reward passers-by who've a moment to spare and an appreciative eye. As I said, it's been a quiet week.

Letter from Espargal: 9 March 2018

DAMP, COOL, MISTY DAYS
This week has dodged and dived, ducked into doorways, snuck into basements, peeked between the curtains and peered through the foliage. It's been an elusive, evasive week,  a hard week to pin down. And it certainly hasn't been the best of weeks.



Without trying to make too much of it, I have been assailed by a malicious man-cold of such monstrous malevolence as would have maimed a lesser mortal. The house has resounded with explosive sneezes while litter bins buckle beneath garbage-heaps of grubby tissues. (You can't accuse me of hyperbole!)



Jones, who has a better immune system than I have, has so far resisted the onslaught. (A double dose of recent antibiotics hasn't helped my case.) She has brought me numerous cups of brandy-reinforced, hot lemon and honey tea and borne my hacking coughs with admirable patience.


PRELUDE TO ARISING
The news is not all bad. The nurses at Loule hospital (I have come to think of them as "my nurses") have finally decided that my back does not require further attention. They attached a final bandage with a tinge of regret (I like to think) before wishing me well and on my way. (Old men will dream their dreams.)



Anticipating such a farewell, I presented them with a gift packet containing boxes of coffee capsules for use in their coffee machine (a previous gift of ours). I should add that the hospital lacks a canteen - and staff have to rely for refreshments on an "office hours" kiosk that operates in the grounds. So coffee on tap is appreciated by the day staff and a life saver for the night staff.



Given my lingering recuperation and the intermittently inclement weather, our daily walks have sometimes been confined to the park (two acres of wilderness fenced off from the house). There the asphodels have turned the countryside white as they bloom. Although they're lustrous in March, they soon fade and are a pain for the rest of the year.



While the dogs nose around on the terraces, I wander around among the trees and boulders looking for flowers. In nooks and crannies one may spy delicate daffodils celebrating the season.



And in dells among the rocks, lithodoria whisper among themselves although one has to listen very carefully.



Less welcome is the thriving espargo, the thorny wild asparagus weed that gives the village its name. It's an unforgiving brute and best tackled with respect. I have on numerous occasions retired bloodily from the fray.



Our leisurely meander concludes with the distribution of doggy treats at the top of the park and our return down the path to the house.



Two minutes from Valapena there's evidence of the visitors who passed by in the night - wild boar. We are content to leave the nights to them and they seem content to leave the days to us - a felicitous arrangement.



Our days are accompanied by the most delightful bird song. The principal soloist is, (we think) a song-thrush, a virtuoso who likes to perch on the phone pole from which he serenades us with an ever-varying melody. From a distant field comes a faint, equally melodious reply. Of an evening this blissful duet can continue for an hour or more.



Update: Wednesday morning. I enjoyed my first shower for several weeks. Barbara has now succumbed to the lurgy, although so far without matching my impressive nasal firepower or resonant brontosaurian cough. When Natasha arrived 11.30, we left the house to her and took ourselves to the beach.



The impact of recent severe weather along the coast  - including two twisters that hit Faro - was obvious. Large quantities of the beach sand had been washed on to the road that forms the spine of the offshore island.



Although the road itself had been partially cleared, tons of sand still occupied the pavements. Diggers were at work at numerous piles, shoveling the sand into trucks for removal. They had a long job ahead.



Between outings I have been chasing the EDP (energy company) to discover why we are no longer being paid for the electricity our solar panels generate on their behalf. Two visits to EDP offices and several phone calls have not yet resolved the issue although a clerk at the Loule office said she'd heard rumours that payments were now being made biannually rather than monthly.

THURSDAY MORNING
The drizzle that started pizzling down yesterday afternoon pizzles on. A misty hush has settled over the village. I have lit an early fire. The beasts approve. Indeed, there is some competition for the best seats.



Jones's cough is sounding more impressive. I have no idea how one even begins not to share an infection with a partner with whom ones shares a life.