Letter from Espargal: 9 November 2018

It's a cool, cloud-smudged Thursday. The cobbles glisten with the sheen of the dawn showers while grey cotton wool reinforcements muster in the distance. (Warning: lots of dog pictures coming up.)



Jones has a fire going in the stove for which both beasts and humans are grateful. We have just seen off our house-sitting guests, Ian and Jennifer. For once Ian didn't join us for a tramp through the hills. He didn't fancy muddying up his departure outfit. The sounds of silence echo through the house.



I use two precautionary walking sticks on days such as these as the wet paths and smooth rocks on our hillside hikes can be treacherous, especially the steeper bits. And falling isn't fun!



This spectacular cloud and mist effect was snapped by Jones as we set out this morning. That's my distant figure lower right.



When we get back home we dry off the dogs, mainly for the benefit of our chairs. The animals have long since secured chair-occupation rights - to Jennifer's surprise.



"You allow  dogs on your chairs?" she asked, somewhat taken back. "They're not ordinary dogs," I explained, "they're family. And, anyhow, they don't mind if we sit beside them." Which is true, as you can see!



What they don't appreciate is having the mud washed out of their paws after a cloggy walk. Bobby, whom we've cornered above, usually makes a dive for the kennel and refuses to come out until the coast is clear. That's Ian under one hat and me under the other.



Last week Slavic and I erected a light chicken-wire fence along the top of the cisterna (from which we think Barri leaps down to wander around  outside when we go out). Undeterred, on the next occasion she knocked down the fence and went wandering again. Either that or it blew down, which I doubt! (PS Barri is female, so named because she was born in a "barril".)



So now I've invested in some serious fencing panels. Putting them up should occupy Slavic and me for most of the morning. We used to keep Barri inside when we went out but she objected to being locked up by our house sitters and destroyed the cat-flap trying to get out.



I've found the same model cat-flap online and installed it but it was available only in white and jars with the brown surround. I might have to paint it out of sight.



A visit to Leroy Merlin (fabulous store) provided us with lots of info about a small raised pool we're hoping to install over the winter as well as rubber draft-excluder linings and magnetic door closers for a couple of rooms whose doors refuse to shut quietly.



I've also bought a new smart-watch, a Samsung Galaxy, to replace my aging and battery-failing Pebble. Reviewers said it was the next best thing to the Apple watch - the unchallenged leader of the pack. The Galaxy is certainly a great advance on the Pebble.



Although I was tempted by the Apple watch 4, I resisted. The price is just crazy and I'd then be tempted to get an iPhone to go with it. Anyhow, I really like the Galaxy. The health app is a bit of a bossy boots but I can always gag it if it gets on my nerves.



Wednesday evening we celebrated at the Hamburgo. Fintan (left) and Pauline are off to Ireland shortly. Beside me is Paula (a blog fan who commutes from the UK) who came over to say hello - and Ian.



And here's the rest of us.  The Hamburgo has now shut for several days. Manuel is planning a couple more closures to catch up with other things over the quiet season.



While Ian and Jennifer were away in the Alentejo for four days, Jones and I got in a load of carobs - the last from our trees.  Our farmer friend came around this evening to collect them.



I've advised him and neighbours that I'll be away visiting family in South Africa next week. So no blog this coming Friday. Jones went up to the talefe at sunset this evening. I like the picture she took.



Fim!

Letter from Espargal (Part 2): 3 November 2018

MONCHIQUE SQUARE
From Monchique we proceeded westwards, stopping to wander around Aljezur, an ancient town that squeezes a great deal of history into its narrow streets.



Archaeological sites indicate that humans have occupied the area for at least six thousand years. The Romans were there and so were the Moors until the mid-13th century when Aljezur castle fell to the Christian armies.



It was the last Moorish stronghold to resist the Christian reconquest of Iberia. These days all that remains are the walls and an underground water tank.



For hundreds of years after that agriculture sustained the town, supplying grain and other foodstuffs to the ships that sailed up the Aljezur creek to replenish their stocks. The creek has long since silted up.



We hiked up and later down the steep cobbled streets that lead to the castle, passing several small museums that - to our regret - were closed on Mondays.



When the town was partially destroyed by the great earthquake of 1755, it was rebuilt on the far side of the fertile river plain.



Aljezur remains so divided until this day. These days it attracts a great many tourists, especially backpackers, and it's common to hear German and Dutch spoken in the streets.



Our destination - an hour to the north - was a remote lodge called Paraiso Escondido (Hidden Paradise) with a number of diverse luxury suites and cabins. Barbara is seated outside Marula, the one we occupied for the next two days.



It's owners are Glenn and Berny, pictured either side of Barbara. He's British; she's Portuguese, born in Mozambique and educated in South Africa. The couple have been meticulous in developing and furnishing the lodge to their tastes and requirements.


THEIR PHOTO
It's hard to describe as it's a low-build development in several layers that lie against the hillside, one above the other, leading down to the dam that's used for irrigation.


THEIR PHOTO
The main house, upper centre-right, holds several of the suites as well as the library, lounge and dining area. The owners live lower left. That's their private pool in front. Guests have their own somewhat larger pool. We didn't try it. Just too cold!



Dining is taken seriously, whether breakfast (which is part of the package) and served by Marcia - or dinner, which is an optional extra. Meals are prepared by the resident chef.



The room is full of objets d'art, selected and sometimes designed and even made by the proprietors. Jones was in her element.



Marula (it's hard to know whether to describe it as a cabin, a lodge or a suite) was tops. I loved the mega-special mattress - an item, as I ascertained, that alone cost close to four figures. My fusspot back hasn't been so happy in ages.



From this base we set out to explore several of the small beach resorts along the west coast. The picture above shows the Ceixe river that frames the beach and Odeceixe Beach village above it.



The beach is vast and we had it largely to ourselves.



The tidal river had created a patchwork of pools along its bank. On the far side a number of camper vans had pitched camp.



The weather wasn't kind. Our stay was marked by frequent squalls and periods of rain. Regrettably, I was to leave the umbrella you see protecting me at our next stop, the beach hut at Azenha, pictured below.



Beneath the table to the left, half a dozen cats were perched on the chairs, making the most of the intermittent sunshine.



The cats were content to mind their own business on the understanding that customers did the same.



To our great surprise, we came across a scene that could have come straight out of Africa or possibly North America. Behind the fence was a collection of animals and birds including bison, various buck, zebra and ostriches. They looked pretty content with their lot.



And so farewell to the west coast and back home through the rain.  Here I must pause for a moment.



A major unreported event in our lives was the death of Prickles, just before we went away. He had been ailing for some time.



He now rests beside Ono in a grave in our field. My thanks go to the neighbours who helped me bury him. RIP Pricks! You were a big dog in a small body. You have left a hole in our lives.

Letter from Espargal (Part1): 3 November 2018

Dear reader, if such there be, the tales and pictures posted below are intended as record of our adventures. You will find little in them other than an illustrated account of a pleasant holiday break. But you're welcome to page through if you've nothing else to do.



Here are our house sitters, Ian and Jennifer (his aunt) enjoying sun-downers with Jonesy on the eve of our departure on a six-day get away. We had booked two days each at a hotel on the outskirts of Faro, the Spa complex at Monchique and a remote country lodge on the west coast.


The visits were arranged around our mid-point day-long Portuguese exam, conducted at Faro university. As ever, the dogs came first, with treats handed out to the well- behaved.



As we were preparing to leave, Jones's badly stubbed her toe (on my shoe), which pained and displeased her in equal measure (although it didn't seem to slow her down).



Our first two nights were spent at the comfortable Estoi Palace pousada. (A "pousada" is the name given to smart government-run hotels, subsequently taken over by a hotel chain.)



The crumbling 19th century Rococo palace has been fully restored and now houses the hotel reception area, lounges and dining room. These are open to the public, as are the palace gardens.



Accommodation is provided in 63 low-profile rooms constructed alongside the palace so as not to mar the original outline. The view from our balcony was across the gardens and the Algarve plain to the sea.



The weather was patchy and not particularly warm. Even so, we swam both days, gasping in the outdoor pool before plunging into the heated indoor pool. We gave the adjacent sauna a miss as it's not our scene. As we swam a stark-naked couple emerged from it and took an open shower as casually as Adam and Eve. Those jolly Germans!



For refreshments and exercise we strolled 15 minutes through the streets of old Estoi to the central square. The shortest route was via steps leading from the lower to the upper town.



Two women who ran the cafe on the square were happy to serve us coffee. Their laid-back dog would make itself comfortable beside the customers of choice.



Senior citizens sat nearby in silent contemplation!



A few minutes further along was the Branquinho restaurant where we dined on both evenings. (Casa de Pasto is literally a "House of Pasture", indicating a restaurant without pretensions.)



The fare offered was anything but basic and we promised the manageress a glowing write-up (which we gave it). On the second evening we emerged without brollies to find that the heavens had opened while we dined. There was nothing for it but to scurry back in the rain.



We made several small purchases in a Portuguese products shop whose enthusiastic owner delighted in telling us where they came from and how they were made. His workshop below the shop was full of planks that he worked into bread boards and the like.



Just behind the palace some imaginative gardener had put the old urinals to good use. We were left in no doubt as we wandered around that the opening of the pousada had brought a surge of enterprise to the town.



At 09.00 on Saturday morning we reported to Faro University's school of Tourism for a language exam that proved a lot tougher than we'd anticipated. We were divided into three groups of about 30 and allocated to classrooms.



The most demanding part was a new test - on the ability to listen to a passage and then answer a series of questions about it. That was in addition to tests on comprehension, writing skills and conversational ability.



During the lunch break - at Faro beach - before the orals, we wondered how we might have done. In principle we think that aspiring citizens should learn to speak the national language.



Citizenship should not just be bought or handed out. On the other hand, an easier test would have been welcome. We'll get the results in a week or two.



From Faro we set out for a hotel at the Monchique spa complex a couple of hours distant. For miles around Monchique, the hills were scarred by the dreadful wildfire that had raged there in August.



The fire had burned to the very edges of the spa village. Staff and guests were evacuated, along with local residents. It took nearly a thousand fire fighters and scores of appliances and aircraft several days to bring it under control.



We were surprised on arrival to find the hotel reception closed - and made our way to a central reception point as advised. After checking in, we were assigned to a room in a dark, deserted, locked building 100m away that claimed to be a four star hotel. It was blowing a gale. What's more, there was no porter to assist. So, after a brief inspection, we declined to accept it and asked for our money back.



There followed a somewhat heated conversation with the receptionist on the resort's failings (later we bought her a box of chocolates; she wasn't to blame). In the end we agreed to move into a modest room in the reception building, the only section that was staffed around the clock. Like most of the resort, the accommodation was dated although, as Jones observed, the lounge was perfectly comfortable.



Thus ends Part 1.













 Le