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