Letter from Espargal: 27 April 2018

FRENCH LAVENDER
What Ronald regrets this week is that his publishing software froze as he was completing his blog in the early hours of Friday morning and wiped it in its entirety. No amount of effort, no extended googling of blog recovery methods sufficed to restore it. So here it comes again, rather more briefly and blandly.



When Prickles continued to limp for a third week in spite of having no visible injury, we took him to the vet. After carefully and gently feeling the dog's leg and hip the vet informed us that our pet had snapped his cruciate ligament. Although surgery was possible, he didn't recommend it for old dogs (nor did we or Pricks). He felt that Pricks would still manage perfectly well on three legs even if his horizons were limited.



One drawback is that like Ono, Prickles is no longer able to manage the stairs, which we now block off to deter them. Barbara takes the pair of them out on a short separate walk morning and evening while I head off with the rest of the pack.



Returning to our guests: Brian is pictured here holding what appears to be an ordinary tile in Armenio's little museum. What distinguishes the tile is its age - some 2,000 years. It is is one of a number of objects that a team of German archaeologists recovered from the ruins of a Roman farmhouse that lies buried on Armenio's land. The clue to their existence came from the recovery of several Roman coins in the area.



Since our last visit to the museum, Armenio has turned the upper floor of the building - his former carob store - into a gallery for his striking root sculptures, derived from the stumps of mastic trees. Armenio digs them up, cleans them up, sands them down and varnishes them. His visitors were much impressed and agreed that they would find ready buyers. But the sculptor's interest, as he insisted, is to exhibit them rather than to market them. Each is unique; nature's handiwork, he told us, which is perfectly true!



Our visit concluded with the signing of Armenio's visitors' book and a dram of his finest baggy. Our neighbour is proud of his exhibits and would love to attract more visitors to view them. We will do our best to assist him.


From the museum we went on to meet another former NBC colleague, Jim Maceda, pictured back left with his hand on his wife, Cindy's shoulder. Jim was a correspondent in London when Brian was a cameraman and they travelled much of the globe together on assignment. Like us, Jim and Cindy have made their home in Portugal although they have families and interests scattered around the world.



As I was strimming the edges of our field one evening, two neighbours strolled by and we engaged in conversation, as neighbours do. Was I aware, they wondered, whether a tiny, heavily overgrown triangle of property just up the road also belonged to us. I had no idea. They took me up the hill to show me. When the road was constructed, they explained, it had cut the triangle off from our field.



So the following day Jones and I set to work to clear the patch. Over the years the area had been colonised by a thorny, fiercely resistant bramble known here as "silva". It presented a semi-invincible chain-mail of thorns and was slowly killing the vine and almond tree that it had infested. Local people bring in diggers to rip the stuff out by the roots. Lacking a digger and not wishing to destroy the vine or the tree, we are doing it by hand. It's hard work.



We are not the only ones at work. Villagers have been clearing fields and trimming trees ahead of the deadline to meet the new wild-fire legislation. Branches overhanging the road have been ruthlessly culled and scrub cut, dragged into heaps and burned. One neighbour pointed out to me that we'd never had fires close to Espargal but he has nevertheless cleared his lands as carefully as the rest of us. There is no point in arguing with the authorities or facing a stiff fine.



Someone in distant Brunei has acquired a spam email list with my address on it. For the past week I have received numerous invitations from IP addresses there to invest in dubious products or to meet gorgeous girls. This is in addition to the frequent (Dear Beneficiary) invitations that I receive from Benin and numerous other inquiries from people (or bots) wanting to know whether I am Terry Benson, do I remember them or why I am sending them my personal photos. I am also being plagued with emails trying to interest me in making a fortune from crypto-currencies. If only!



One email - this one genuine - informed me that my UK Barclaycard would shortly be cancelled as new EU legislation outlawed the issuing of such cards to non-residents. As I've made little use of the card, except as a back-up on our travels, the cancellation will not impact on our lives.



We've been running around as well as working. The picture was taken at Quinta de Calma, a centre for meditation, yoga, organic products and alternative therapies. Most visitors hail from the British and German communities, at least to judge from the conversations around us at lunch. I've had three visits to Loule hospital (where I'm now qualified to conduct tours) to follow up on a spot of cardiac arrhythmia. It's merely precautionary and hasn't stopped me from walking or working.



For her part, Jones (here pictured again holding a basket that Armenio's wife had woven) is due to make a follow-up visit to an ophthalmologist this coming week. She has developed a condition known as macular pucker. With luck it will require only a new prescription for her spectacles.



Our guests, Nancy and Brian, have headed back home. They seemed to enjoy their stay and bonded brilliantly with the dogs, even to the extent of waking up one night to find that Russ, who usually sleeps on the mat (when guests are present) had joined them on the bed.


RUSS
Fortunately, Russ doesn't mind sharing. And he and Brian developed a special relationship!


SUNSET BY NANCY
That pretty much brings the week and my (repeated) blog efforts to an end!

Letter from Espargal:: 20 April 2018

Last Saturday was sunny, the first in several weeks, and we exploited the good weather to put in a decent day's work.  Slavic and I were both grateful. He's missed several visits and the income that he earns from them. We got a great deal of clearing done, plus a lot of minor jobs.



Sunday dawned dull and damp. We decided that we might as well do Monday's shopping.  The picture shows a group of people heading resolutely towards the church on the hill just beyond the town, in preparation for the ceremony of parading the statue of the Virgin. It's done with much pomp and circumstance and usually draws huge crowds.



However there were no early takers for the seats that had been erected in anticipation, presumably for the VIP contingent.



Monday's mail included a demand for a toll road payment of €2.56, much to my surprise, with accompanying warnings of the dire consequences for non-payment. The surprise arose because I have a contract (and transponder in the car) that permits me to use all toll roads, with the charges debited monthly to my account. A visit to the relevant office in Faro followed. There the mystery was solved.



The payment was apparently for a single journey that we made months ago on a day between the failure of my previous transponder and the issue of the new one. That it cost rather more than€2.56 to process the infraction clearly didn't deter the authorities. I should add that, as austerity gripped Portugal, a number of freeways were turned into toll roads. Gantries with cameras were erected overhead to monitor traffic. With no payment booths available at entry and exit points, the system requires road users to pay at various centres (or online) either before or after using the network.



On Tuesday we discovered that some unknown party had proceeded along one of "our" paths down the hillside and erected an impressive if somewhat precarious cairn. As a work of art it would have won prizes. A tractor ride into Benafim later in the day served to deliver our strimmer to Helio's workshop for an overdue service. The strimming season has arrived.


STRIMMED SECTION OF GARDEN
As it happened, I had been keeping an eye out for a second bigger model (we have a considerable acreage to strim) and came across one on promotion at the hardware store, which the staff kindly assembled for me. Slavic (who put in a couple of hours' work that evening) tried it out. It worked impressively for an hour before playing up.



Late afternoon two GNR officers - from the force that polices rural areas and smaller centres - arrived to take a look at our property with a view to our fire precautions (See last week's blog.) I had feared for the future of numerous trees surrounding the house (like those in the background) but the pair couldn't have been more impressed with the scene.



In fact, they declared that they might send other people to come and see how things should be done. The bottom line is that their visit saved us a great deal of work that I had been anticipating - and all the trees can stay. Big sigh of relief!


HARD DAY'S NIGHT
I also found time during the day to help a neighbour cut up and transport a load of firewood from a property that he was clearing (with fire precautions in mind).  So I might have drifted off for a few minutes that evening while watching Simon Schama's documentary on the history of the Jews.



Before supper Jones called me on to the upper patio to witness the crescent moon close to Venus (the dot just visible upper-right of the orb).  It was a lovely evening, a prelude to several sunny days before rain returns at the weekend.



It required several minutes of pillar support to hold the camera still enough for a clear shot of the moon. This one we quite liked. Jones is into the sky, stars and planets, as I might have remarked before. She follows an astronomy blog. Early each morning, while the rest of house sleeps, she gazes through the window to see what the night skies have to offer.



On Tuesday it became apparent that Monday's cairn had not survived the night. Whether its downfall was due to some agent or merely the forces of nature we will never know.



Wednesday afternoon I fetched my old (newly-serviced) strimmer from Helio (once I'd managed to distract him from the boxes of spares that he was rummaging through). With the agreement of the hardware shop, I left the new strimmer with him to investigate. Helio knows more about machines than the manufacturers themselves. Barbara prepared for guests arriving this evening while Natasha cleaned.



For the first time we left Ono behind when we went walking. In the nascent heat of summer the hike through the hills is proving just too much for him, even with my supporting hand behind him on the steeper rises. That's a "chewy" that he's keeping for later consumption.



Wednesday evening we went to the airport to meet Nancy and Brian, both newly-retired former NBC colleagues of Barbara. (Several photos of whom follow!)



They had a rousing introduction to the dogs and a comprehensive tour of the garden. The wild tulips are a delight.



Thursday our guests joined us on the morning circuit.



And we took a few pictures.



Brian is an ace photographer. I warned him that we are just snappers!



We've a lot of catching up to do these next few days!



And a few moments to record.



Thursday evening: The strimmer is back. It had a washer missing, Helio informed me. No charge. I left him a fiver anyhow to say thank you. Slavic is hard at work in the park this evening in lieu of Saturday, which looks very wet again.



Time to sign off on another week!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Letter from Espargal: 13 April 2018

Last Friday we drove an hour east to the coastal village of Cabanas where our friends, Mike and Liz, are settling into a mobile home. Their new residence is situated at the top of an extensive and sophisticated campsite alongside a number of other homes.  The layout of the site is impressive - colourful borders, spacious avenues and ample facilities. These include a shop and restaurant on site, generous washrooms, a cooking area and a large pool.



The site caters for campers of every description - ranging from permanent mobile homes through coaches, vans and caravans to tents. There are also wooden cabins to let. About half the bays were full - with vehicles from across much of Europe. Their occupants either relaxed under their awnings or worked on their tans in the sun, unconcerned about passers-by.



Saturday morning brought intermittent sun and showers and a trip to town. I'd already called Slavic off. We found parking right outside the coffee shop around the corner from Loule Hospital.  The duty nurse said he'd remove only half the stitches from my back as bending over might otherwise cause the wound to reopen. On the way home we stopped at an animal food wholesaler to top up our dog biscuit supplies. With 8 dogs to feed, 18kg sacks don't last very long.


TREE ON THE HAMBURGO PATIO
Sunday, as we were sitting down to brunch at the Hamburgo, the GNR Environment Police arrived on the scene. They were clearly intent on noting overgrown plots along the main road that required clearing under the new fire regulations.



Desirous of of learning exactly what was required, I joined locals who were chatting to them and popped a couple of questions. No problem, said the police, we'll visit your house to see what's necessary. It wasn't what I'd anticipated (don't Say it!). Jones was not pleased.


YELLOW BEE ORCHIDS BY BJ
Monday I had the last of my stitches removed and my English class discussed the new fire regulations. Ignacio said the town council had issued him with a notice to clear a bushy plot of his by the mid-May deadline but that he was struggling to find workers. The fines for failure to comply are stiff. From the university secretary I was saddened to learn of the death from cancer of one of my longstanding pupils, Canadas, a really nice guy.



Ono and Prickles came with us to town. Ono, burdened by advancing dementia and extreme old age, is gradually receding into his own private world (although he still staggers around the walks each day). His travelling companion, Prickles, has somehow hurt a leg. Although we can find no evidence of an injury, the dog has adopted a severe limp and whimpers at the bottom of the stairs. (We carry him up.) Puzzling!



Tuesday dawned wet and windy and stayed that way for most of the day. The beasts settled down around the fire. Although the rain was gentle, the wind was anything but. Powerful gusts thrashed the branches of the trees and battered the glass doors. We took the opportunity to pack up movie DVDs and books gathering dust for delivery to folks at a retirement complex.



Towards the end of the afternoon as the dogs grew restless, we decided to brave the elements. I donned an additional jacket. Jones took an old golf umbrella to keep the showers at bay. In the circumstances, it wasn't the wisest choice. She got blown around like a yacht in a gale. Note the wind catching Bobby's ear in the picture below. And that's Jones trying to keep her balance.



Wednesday the sun returned. I took my first shower in a fortnight. Then we set out to deliver the DVDs and books to the retirement complex at Monte Palhagueira. The nursing home there has a DVD player in the lounge where the "seriously" old folk spend much of their time; the cottage residents run a weekly book-exchange. I hope the items will prove of some use. We hated the idea of merely dumping books in the recycling bin, even though many of them are just paperback pass-ons.



Thursday dawned dull and wet. The dogs hardly stirred. It was a change to enjoy a sleep-in for once instead of being dragged out around the hills. The morning news was even more depressing than usual. Missiles to be delivered by tweet. What a mess the world is in!


BENAFIM FUNERAL CORTEGE STRAGGLE
Mid-morning the drizzle gave way to torrential rain, delivered in squalls. Even so, we had a couple of overdue letters to post in Benafim. There, in monsoon conditions, we came across the dregs of a funeral cortege. The poor bedraggled mourners staggered back to their cars, clutching brollies seemingly infested by demons.



I reckon the only dry body in the place was the one in the coffin. Streams of muddy water poured down the road. We made damp dashes into the parish office and the supermarket before deciding that it wasn't worth stopping for coffee.



In the valley the vineyards were collecting water in neat parallel rows. At home the rain gauge declared that we'd had all of an inch in a couple of hours. The media report that the country's dams, which were severely depleted at the end of February, are now filling nicely. That's reason for a little cheer! Time to get on with sorting the books!