Letter from Espargal: 20 December 2019

The pictures must tell the story this week. Barbara is in Cape Town for a family wedding and catch-up. I dropped her at Faro airport at 04.30 on Wednesday. TAP flew her to Lisbon. BA took her on to London and then flew her south overnight.



At Cape Town airport a Jones welcoming committee awaited her. That's (her brother) Robbie and Carol top of frame and (her nephew) Chris bottom right.



A wine farm was the venue for a champagne lunch with nephews Martin and Chris.



Jane, Chris and family were her hosts on Thursday evening. This morning, Chris ran Barbara inland to the farm at Natte Valleij where the wedding of her great niece,



Julie, pictured above, takes place tomorrow. (http://www.nattevalleij.co.za/) I have taken the liberty of lifting the picture of Julie and fiancé Stefan from their online picture album.



At this point I'm going back in time to last weekend when we met friends at Faro beach for lunch. During a stroll afterwards, we peered through the fence at the major renovations taking place at the caravan park before it reopens in the summer.



Shellfish diggers were busy on the estuary side of the beach.



Mid week the weather turned wet - at times very wet. A terrified Barri joined me in bed one night as a storm dumped two inches of rain on the area. In all, we've had nearly 6 inches - 150mms if you're metric. In three days that's a third of all the rain we've had this year. While we haven't always welcomed the delivery methods, the rain itself is precious.



I've tried to get in at least one decent walk with the dogs in the hills each day. That's another way of saying slogging up and down steep, soaked, stony paths, trying to stay upright with a walking stick in either hand. It's not fun but it helps to settle the hounds and I return with that positive feeling, however soaked.



When it's too wet or nasty to get out, we take a couple of turns around the park. My concrete paths have proved their worth more often than I can count.



Much of the rest of the time, the beasts (cats and dogs) simply camp out around the living room fire. What a boon it is!  I'm still treating my back with the greatest consideration. It seems to be on the mend, if somewhat erratically, with Jodi's regular ministrations.



After the wedding, Barbara flies to Johannesburg with Robbie and Carol, with whom she spends a couple of days. She flies back north overnight on Christmas Day, returning home on Thursday.



In her absence I have been delegated to feed her several waifs, which sometimes means being kidnapped by neighbours, Joaquim and Maria, for conversation over almond nuts and a dram of the local liquor.



I haven't sent out any Christmas cards. May I beg the kind people who send them to us to accept a Christmas blog in lieu. Although I will spend the day in the company of our (mainly) four-legged brood, my thoughts will range to far flung family and friends as I wish you a Happy Christmas from a damp, misty Valapena.


FRIDAY MORNING IN THE DRIZZLE
(I'm not sure about a blog next week.)

Letter from Espargal: 12 December 2019

The season is upon us. If one were to judge by the shops, it began early in November. Although it's not my favourite time of year, there are bits to relish, especially the gleeful anticipation of the children...



and the simple nativity scenes (known here as presepios) that one finds on the approach to villages. Visitors to Alte (where I continue to submit myself to Jodi's healing hands) can follow the presepio route that takes them past houses whose occupants have created elaborate nativity scenes on their thresholds.



Speaking of Alte, it is our custom (prior to seeing Jodi) to take a coffee and share a rice-cake at Rosa's cafe. I thought it was time that Rosa and hubby were elevated to the blog and they kindly allowed me to take their picture.



As it happens, I have long been irked by a misleading sign on Rosa's loo door reading "CUSTOMER'S". Please note the apostrophe in my text. Until this week, there was a similar apostrophe after the "R" on the door. On our last visit I grasped the nettle and used a thumbnail to erase it. Rosa was quite happy for me to do so, commenting only that a Brit had written the sign in the first place. You may be aware that controversies rage in certain circles over the role of the apostrophe in English, especially in name signs.



Returning to my seasonal theme, Loule has a tradition of erecting Christmas lights that drew admiring crowds until austerity dimmed their appeal some years ago. This year the council has gone somewhat overboard with a low-flying biplane. It's certainly an eye-catcher although such a presence might have come as a great surprise to the three kings.



Over the weekend my neighbour, Joaquim, asked me if I had sown fava beans this year. I confessed that I hadn't. Well, he said, he would sow them for me. And before I could protest, he arrived at my gate on his tractor with disc-plough attached. Joaquim, I should say, has abandoned the traditional method of sowing favas, which is to drill the seeds uniformly with a scattering of fertiliser pellets.



Instead he turns over the soil with the discs, throws handfuls of seeds about the field and then ploughs them in. He swears that they grow just as well. Time will tell. Fava beans are picked in early summer. The reason I hadn't sown any myself is that we are so generously provided for by our neighbours, who are better farmers than I am.



Barbara, turning to matters domestic, is an enthusiastic texter.  Whatsapp could fairly claim to be her favourite means of communication. The reason I mention this is that, like most of us, she is subject to the whims of predictive text. "I wrote a strange message to X," she confided one morning, "Not even I could work out what I was trying to say." Far be it from me to comment.



I have had my own run-ins with predictive text as the message one sends is often different from that intended. We have all of us had to fire off rapid corrections.


NOT NECESSARILY WHAT YOU THINK
It was only after Whatsapping a cigarette-smoking neighbour that I saw that the message had addressed itself to "Dear Nicotine." I hope the recipient saw the funny side.


BJ'S WAIFS, FEEDING UNDER THE ROADSIDE BIN
Apropos of nothing, there are occasions when I enjoy a Portuguese chit-chat. While topping up my (impressive) monthly pill prescription at the pharmacy in Almancil, I wondered how the attractive young lady behind the counter could be a pharmacist as she looked no older than 15. She replied reflectively that she would be 32 on her next birthday. I was astonished. I don't think she was displeased.  She certainly wouldn't have gotten a drink in the US without her ID.



Thursday morning Slavic and I set about the garden, especially the succulents, which were overpowering the paths. The equally energetic ivy has to be cut back from the roof of Casa Nada at least twice a year. And, unless savagely curbed, the morning glory creeper colonises its neighbours with a ruthlessly attractive zeal.



Russ and Mini declare themselves the willing servants of anyone who might just have a treat in their pockets.



Monday afternoon Natasha returned. Her news was not good. Alex was in bed with a virus, having fallen ill in Tokyo; consequently, he had been unable to impress in the international gymnastics competition. She had rushed him to the health centre on his return to Portugal. His training partner, meanwhile, had taken the gold medal .



Now is Thursday night. There's a cold wind blowing. Barbara has made a wondrous fire that is warming the whole house. The dogs are laid out like drunks around the living room. Although my fingers are on the keyboard, my thoughts are on the result of the UK election, which should shortly become clear!


MOON OVER ESPARGAL

Letter from Espargal: 6 December 2019

Friday I took neighbours Joaquim and Maria to Mar Shopping to help him find a phone to replace his push-button Nokia. It was Black Friday and we were hoping for a bargain. So was everybody else; there wasn't a vacant spot to be found in the vast car parks. Eventually we did what everybody else was doing and double parked. Vodafone were most helpful, assisting Joaquim to choose a phone, setting it up and transferring his contacts.



The weekend brought intermittent drizzle and mist. Barbara gave me some cat biscuits to leave on the verges for our latest ratty captive (number 11 or thereabouts) when I set him free in a field beyond the village. Ratty leapt out of the trap and shot into the undergrowth without so much as a backward glance at any biscuits. I left them anyhow, as instructed. Meanwhile, I have begun inducting Joaquim into the workings of smart phones.



Sunday we joined the crowds enjoying a walk along the promenade at Quarteira, a town 40 minutes away on the coast. We came across the little hotel where we had stayed half a lifetime ago while workmen were restoring the cottage at our home to be, the Quintassential. It was mid summer then and we'd had to choose between oppressive heat with the room window closed and the racket from a band below with it open.



Since then the town has seen an explosion of low-rise apartments, many of them rented to holiday makers in season. We stopped for coffee and a cake at one of the numerous cafes. On a nearby town square, a Christmas party was in full swing.



Monday, when Joaquim came around for a lesson, I found that his grandsons had already loaded his phone with useful apps and shown him how to use them. It soon became apparent that he needed no further coaching from me. We agreed that he would call me if he ran into a problem. Otherwise, he was up and running.



With him, by way of thanks, Joaquim brought a substantial bag of his own (hand-picked and shelled) almond nuts and a bottle of wine, along with the promise (which he kept) of a bottle of quality medronho. What more could one ask?



Tuesday half a dozen pictures arrived - as requested - from Natasha of herself and her surroundings at the gymnastic competition in Tokyo.



And of the young competitor himself.  We've yet to hear how things are going.



Also Tuesday Luis the electrician arrived to replace a faulty light switch for the patio lights, a minor job that took him only a few minutes. Except the lights still didn't work. "Somewhere, you've got another light switch that's turned off," he informed me. I didn't believe him but I checked the adjacent guest room anyhow. And there, behind the curtain, there was indeed a second switch for the same lights. And the problem was solved. I can only think that someone must have bumped the curtain, turning it off. Twenty years we've been here. Live and learn!



Later we went walking among the olive groves in the valley, and I wished we'd had a dog with us. It doesn't feel right without one.



Not that there's any shortage of dogs to choose from. But since the demise of Ono and Prickles, we've fallen out of the habit. We considered taking Mini with us. The hard bit would be explaining to the others why they weren't coming.



Wednesday and Thursday merit little attention. Slavic put in a useful morning's work. He's losing two of his regular employers, which is a bit concerning. My back threw an unexpected wobbly, for the first time in months. I've no idea what upset it. Jodi did what she could. And Joaquim called for help one evening when his new phone wouldn't work. I went down (the short-cut passage) with a torch, upsetting all the local dogs. The phone had lost its connection. All it required was a reboot. Wish I could reboot my back.


CAT BURGLAR?

Letter from Espargal: 29 November 2019

It's been another slushy week - not that we're complaining. And if we have had to do a lot of dog-drying and paw-wiping, there've been compensations -


WHAT A BEAUTY!
- such as a rainbow with pots of gold at both ends. And a blackbird singing his heart out on our phone pole.



The weather clearly didn't worry the wild boar that rove our paths at night. Although we never see them, they stamp the earth with their passage.



Saturday morning, the sun shone - mostly. After doing the recycling, we continued to Alte for coffee and cake at Rosa's cafe - our favourite. Rosa and her husband have been running it for as long as anyone can remember. Then we went walking, shrugging off a spot of drizzle. Others were taking no chances.



In summer this area is thronged with youngsters when the local authorities turn the ditch into a public swimming pool by closing the sluice gates.



In winter there's just the occasional family barbecue along the banks.



Spectacular stones pose for pictures along the way.



And a platoon of tabbies begs for scraps. They made short work of the dog treats we had in our pockets.



The stream that flows through the town originates from two springs at the foot of the hill.



In the main street Saturday shoppers were heading home. Such rear-seat passengers are not uncommon, especially in the carob-gathering season when the passenger is often to be seen seated atop a mountain of bulging sacks.



Another visit was to the Benafim community centre and retirement home. We like to take the folks a little cheer each Christmas. Most of them busy themselves with knitting and making small items of felt. Their paintings adorn their walls. Indeed we have several on ours, five and ten euro investments in Portuguese art!



Sunday we had a visit from our neighbour Joachim and his grandson Joao. The issue was what to do about a semi-functioning iPad with a cracked screen that Joachim had been given. I'd had an attempt at setting it up with little success. Joao said he'd repaired similar damaged models and thought he could replace the touch-screen.



Harmony is four dogs and two cats gathered around a fire on a cool night. I lost my balance while kneeling to add a log to the stove one evening. Ouch! A very hot ouch! Jones smeared muti on the sore bits.



Monday afternoon we returned from a shopping trip to find smoke billowing up from Jonesy's compost heap. (There she is, framed in the gap in the trees.)



Ash - it looked completely dead - from the living room stove had set the interior of the heap alight - and the deep-seated fire in the dense vegetable matter proved really difficult to extinguish. The danger was to a couple of trees.



In spite of the week's showers, it took us 30 minutes to soak the heap sufficiently to quell the fire - and it still required further attention later. Apart from muddied shoes, no harm was done!



Tuesday afternoon we slid off round the hills with the dogs while Natasha finished up in the house - not that her floors stayed immaculate for long.


STONE WALL COLLAPSE AFTER THE RAIN
She'll be away for the next fortnight in Tokyo where (her son) Alex is part of a Portuguese junior gymnastics team.



Wednesday morning brought the upholsterer with the sofa that Jack - our big canine guest - had gnawed during his stay. It's the upper arm rest that's been restored. Although the repair is not identical, it's close enough to pass muster.



There was no rush to get it back, we told the repairers, when we took it down in the spring, and they took us at our word. I thought the driver would arrive with a mate to help carry the sofa inside. But as he came alone, the dogs and I lent a hand. 



Thursday Slavic came. We took the tractor down to the valley to load a pile of rocks. Then we lined those sections of the path where soil had been washing down across the concrete. It was hard work carrying rocks and concrete up and down the paths. That was in the morning.



In the afternoon we burned off last year's cuttings. This was one of four piles around the property. They were all damp and, unlike the compost heap, not at all eager to catch alight. But the day was ideal and the bombeiros gave us the go-ahead.



Jones wonders what the alternatives are. She hates resorting to fires. I'm on her side. The smaller branches go through the shredder. But there's masses of stuff for which we've found no other solution. And it's better to burn it under control in winter than to risk a blaze in summer.


TOWARDS THE END OF A HARD DAY