Last weekend we went for a long walk - one we recommend to any visitors to the Algarve. It started out at the Quinta do Lago car park and skirted around the golf course in the direction of the airport. (For any who don't know it, Quinta do Lago is an extensive, luxury development overlooking the Rio Formosa estuary on the approach to Faro. Its mega-priced mega-villas cocoon the mega-rich.)
The route passes through a nature reserve, an area popular with both joggers and cyclists. Along its course lie several small lakes that are fed by the tidal estuary. On their waters a host of bird life nests, floats, feeds and breeds.
Further along, the route leaves the development and swings past a series of salt pans that are fed via a network of pipes and valves. Most of the pans now lie idle in the pale winter sun.
This one was the exception. As we paused to take pictures, mountain bikers whizzed past, couples pushing strollers ambled past and curious dogs hurried to establish their fellows' credentials.
Just beyond the pans, a salt mountain awaits distribution. (For any interested, there is also a salt mine that is still being worked in chambers deep under Loule.)
That's a serious pile of salt, intended for water softeners and similar industrial purposes as well as for the table. Note the Portuguese flag planted on top.
Beyond the salt mountains (at Ludo), the route turns sharp right along a causeway, as indicated by the orange line in the map below. It shows the extensive salt pans laid out both horizontally and vertically in this area - a serious business.
The causeway, in turn, links up with the dyke that runs directly from Quinta do Lago to the airport fence. (That's the airport runway lower far-right.) The whole walk comprises a two-hour circuit along a giant triangle with 3km sides.
Above the final leg, beyond the runway, planes thunder full throttle into the skies. The miracle of huge metal creatures soaring skywards never ceases to fascinate me. In the bright sunlight it was hard to get good pictures.
At some point that day Barbara lost a piece of jewellery. We returned to search a spot where she might have dropped it. No luck! These things happen.
On Monday afternoon, Pally went missing. He failed to return after our walk. Pally, I should add, never actually comes walking with us. He shoots out of the gate and goes off deep into the bush to look for only he knows what. We hear him yipping and yapping deep in the valley. Usually, well after the rest of us have returned, he reappears at the gate in time for supper.
O SINNER MAN!
Well, Monday he didn't reappear before dusk - now around 17.45. Every few minutes we'd go to the gate with a torch - and call. Jonesy was convinced that we'd seen the last of him. She finds his absences hard to bear. At 7.30, as we were about to launch a search party, Pally came hop-skipping three-legged down the path and settled contentedly down to his supper. As I warned Barbara, it wouldn't be for the last time.
Tuesday I invested in not one, but two, bottles of fine malt whisky to celebrate the drawing up of a deed - after a 20-year struggle - to acknowledge our ownership of Casa Nada - the old house on our property. Three neighbours accompanied us to the notary to testify on our behalf.
CASA NADA
Next the deed has to be published in the official journal - before we are able to register the property with the Conservatory of Title Deeds. In short, it then assumes an official existence.
Wednesday the most wonderful rain poured down. We could see the water building up on the patio beyond the bedroom door at dawn as a squall lashed the glass. Then the clouds blew away and the sun came out to add sparkle to the trees. We slithered off on our morning walk, glumping down the steep muddy paths with the greatest of care. I carry a walking stick in either hand. A welcome 17mm registered in the rain gauge on our return. And there's more forecast. We need it so badly.
Thursday dawned dull after light rain overnight. Slavic got in half a day's work before the showers returned. That evening my printer/scanner died. I suspected the worst and had it confirmed by the suppliers on Friday morning. The printer gave me five years of service, which isn't too bad - although Jones thinks it just ridiculous. A new one is to be installed over the weekend. As I write, the skies are greying over again. The valley has vanished in the mist. Rain looks likely at any minute. It's lovely stuff. Let if fall.
STAYING WARM ON THE SOUTH PATIO
No comments:
Post a Comment