Letter from Espargal: 27 June 2020

STORKS IN LOULE
It's been the week that was. For a start, here's a change from cats and dogs. As we returned from Leroy Merlin on Saturday I circled the block in the car so that Jones could hop out to take a picture of the storks on their nest. Also present but out of sight is baby stork. If one were to take the old road to Lisbon, one would find such a nest atop every electricity pylon along the route.



After shopping we dropped around on the tractor with a packet of chocolate biscuits for Joaquim and Maria. Poor Joaquim is suffering from both arthritis and sciatica, maladies of which I've had a taste. But he joined us for a little neighbourly conversation over a glass of honey-flavoured medronho. (It's delicious.) We were pleased to see that, their frisky highly-excitable bitch, Iris (pronounced "e-rees"), is settling down. She actually came to us to be petted. Her looks are striking, with one blue eye and one brown (heterochromia iridis).


VENUS HIGH IN THE DAWN SKY
Sunday, en route to the Hamburgo for supper with the gang, we stopped to free our latest ratty captive at the road side. Ratty scampered off into the long grass on the verges where he'll have to take his chances with the snakes. At the restaurant our party made up one of only two interior tables although there were other diners outside - thin pickings! Manuel is hoping for an influx of holiday makers next month. He needs them and we need him to stay open.



Monday I dropped the car off with Vitor for its annual service and road-worthiness inspection. At the same time he'll put in the new battery it needs before dropping the car back this evening. Truly, it's VIP service. The previous battery lasted five years so we can't complain. We cut our early dog walk short as the temperature was close to C*30 by the time we set out. Summer's here. At least the pool is inviting.


ASIAN HORNET
Speaking of which, while fishing out the inevitable drowning insects, I came across a large creature that I've not seen before. It was, I regret to say, an Asian hornet, an invasive species that has been working its way westward across Europe. The insect is a real threat to the existence of bees, on which it feeds. The Iberian authorities have been going to great lengths to destroy the invaders' nests. I shall certainly do the same if I come across one. Meanwhile, I may need to put up my wasp traps once again.



Still Monday, there was a frenzy of excitement as (three-legged) Pally put up a small rabbit. The little creature shot across the path and down the hill in a furry blur with six well-fed, clamorous dogs on its heels. They loved the chase - not that the rabbit was in any danger - and returned sparkly eyed and panting with pride. Of more interest was simply the fact of the rabbit. It was the first we've seen in yonks. The species was almost wiped out by viral hemorrhagic disease some years ago.



After breakfast the house turns quiet as pets seek out cool places to sleep away the heat of the day. Jones disappears into the garden where (she insisted I make clear) there is always work to do; I occupy myself in the study, grateful for our heavily-insulated home and for the quiet air conditioners that we put in a few years ago.



Tuesday morning a helicopter circled low over the village before heading off across the valley in the direction of Alte. I was slow with the camera and managed only a distant shot. (My midnight jacuzzi was disturbed by another that clattered overhead).  Helicopters are frequent visitors during the fire season, which is well underway.



Also Tuesday we made a coffee stop at our favourite (nearly empty) snack bar after dropping off the dogs' ID books (with vaccination records) with the vet in preparation for a visit tomorrow. Then I spent an hour standing on the threshold of the council "shop", clutching a file and waiting to speak to the solitary clerk on duty (there are usually three) about a water connection for Casa Nada. (All visitors are required to "safe-distance" in the sun while waiting their turn.) The clerk gave me a form that I need to fill in and present to another council office before returning to his office to fill in more forms! Bureaucrats rule!



On several evenings we have taken Jones's salad supper on to the front patio, with the ever hopeful dogs scattered about us. Apart from the occasional yapping of village mutts, there is just the background murmur of crepuscular creatures to accompany us. The evenings are pleasantly warm, the mosquitoes are few and a glass of cold spritzered Borba white wine tastes extra good.



Much of Wednesday morning I spent strimming the park with Slavic before taking Barbara to a favourite snack bar on the outskirts of Tor for a sandwich while Natasha set about the house. Friends call it The Old Geezer bar because there are always half a dozen rustic locals on the patio engaged in loud conversation between relieving sips of their beers. Even though they are within comfortable whispering distance, they seem to feel the need to out-bellow one another. Wednesday was no exception. The sandwich was delicious.



On the way home we took a diversion to look at developments at the Quinta da Ombria, the huge new luxury estate that is taking shape on the far side of Tor. The golf course was looking immaculate -  those greens and fairways that we could see from the road. No doubt the skeletal structures rising behind it will look equally impressive in due course. The place is being advertised as a rich man's retreat. Jonesy hates it. She preferred it the way nature had it. I shrug.



Wednesday evening the vet & assistant arrived to give the dogs their annual shots. If I make it sound simple, I do myself a disfavour. First and foremost we had to get Mello inside the house where we could secure her. It's not an occasion that the dogs look forward to; nor, for that matter, do we. Much blandishment and distraction activity are called for.



This year was particularly complicated because new legislation requires that all dogs being vaccinated against rabies (required every third year by law) must now be chipped. We weren't sure whether any of ours were so - in fact, only Bobby was; thus two lots of injections were required all round.


RUSS & MINI POISED TO POUNCE ON ANY BISCUITS BARRI MIGHT LEAVE
For months I have been receiving spam emails from various Republican politicians in the US, warning me of the dangers of the liberal left and appealing to me to donate to their rightful causes. Now the Democrats have joined the fray. Nary a day passes when Nancy Pelosi and Joe Biden don't urge me to help them unseat the unsavoury occupant of the White House (a cause towards which I might feel more sympathetic). Between their appeals, lustful invitations and daily reminders of generous additions to my Bitcoin account, my spam folder overflows.

Letter from Espargal: 19 June 2020

PHAGNALON RUPESTRE
There's not much to say this week, so rather than risking the wrath of subscribers by trying to say a lot about a little, I'll keep it short and insert such modest pictures as we have to offer.


PREPARING SUPPER
A good time and place to begin would be Tesco's supermarket car park in Almancil last Wednesday morning. Barbara had gone into the store to get a few items while I sat in the car and read. When she reappeared some 15 minutes later, the car wouldn't start. I had left the headlights on. And because I hadn't opened my door, I hadn't got the usual (turn your lights off) warning  beep.



So I phoned the road rescue service, the first time I've had to do so in 20 years. About an hour later the rescue man turned up. He fired up the engine and was happy to accept an acknowledgement of our gratitude as we got underway. From Almancil we travelled east along the motorway to the village of Cabanas, where we met Liz Brown for lunch at a little eatery on the water.


(Forgive the poor stock photo. It didn't blow up very well. But you get the idea.)

Cabanas is a lovely little village, popular with holiday makers - of whom there were few. We lunched at a pavement table overlooking the boats bobbing around on the swell. The ladies sat on wooden stools; I stood, the better to humour my back. The occasion was the first time we'd seen Liz since Mike's death. It was good to catch up.


RUSTING BARREL INTO WHICH JONES ONCE PLANTED A COUPLE OF ALOES
Thursday Slavic and I put in a Herculean effort to clean up a thickly overgrown patch just across the driveway. Over the years strands of stubborn vinka, a metre long, had  all but swallowed up a barrel holding aloes. The vinka combined with various tough and thorny creepers, intertwined with several muscular bushes and overhanging trees, to construct a no-go area to all but the smallest creatures.



We took it on an inch at a time, engaging in no-holds-barred hand-to-hand combat with the invaders. In the process we rediscovered the rough stone floor that we'd laid all of a decade ago. Two tractor loads of greenery were dispatched to the heaps of browning cuttings to await burning - probably next winter.


TRYING TO SNAP MELLO IN HER BATH
Also Thursday Jones and I plotted how best to catch Mello, who had a bothersome leg. The little dog - she's a smart cookie - twigged that we were after her and wouldn't be enticed inside the house. Eventually we managed to secure her - she is completely passive once held - and inspected the leg.


WICKED ARROW-HEAD GRASS SEED
A thorny seed - not the one in the picture - had become embedded in it. Little wonder that she was troubled. Jones managed to remove it while I distracted Mello with treats (and tried to keep the other slavering mutts at a distance). Then we cut back her long curls, removing several more spiky seeds, before releasing her none the worse for wear.



Friday - that's today - is another story. Because of the delay with the flat battery on Wednesday, we'd had to postpone some shopping. Friday morning the car once again refused to start. I tried to run it down the driveway to force-start the motor but without power steering, I couldn't negotiate a corner.



Fintan and Olly, bless them, turned up to save us but - cutting a dusty story short - on the advice of Vitor the village mechanic, after thanking them for their kindness, we awaited his arrival instead. He warned me that their cars did not have batteries big enough to do the job.


HOYA
Of these events, exciting as they were, I have no pictures. One doesn't think of taking pictures while trying to figure out, peering under a bonnet and trying to stay upright on a steep driveway, which terminal of a car battery is which. (No, there were no positive and negative symbols, nor was there a clue from the cable colours.)


STRELITZIA AMONG THE SPIDER'S WEBS IN THE FRONT GARDEN

After lunch Vitor arrived at the house in his jeep and started the car with his jump leads. I followed him ten minutes back to his workshop where he installed a temporary battery. This he will replace with a new one this coming week when he services the car and takes it for its annual inspection. There you have it.


LARKSPUR

Letter from Espargal: 12 June 2020

Saturday we woke to news of the death of our friend and former neighbour, Michael Brown - seen with us here at the Hamburgo beside his wife, Elizabeth.  Michael had been hovering between life and death for weeks at their home in the village of Cabanas. So his death came as a painful release for Elizabeth, on whom much of the burden of care had fallen.



Barbara said we should take her some flowers, a gesture supported by our expat neighbours. At a nursery on the highway we chose colourful plants that we hoped would serve to remind Liz of the many happy times we enjoyed together. RIP Michael. You were a good friend.



Sunday morning the animals drew our attention to the arrival in the study of a small unwise bird. It fluttered around the high ceiling, ignoring the doors we opened to persuade it to leave. For its protection, Jones locked Dearheart in the bedroom while I bade Mini keep her distance. As the little creature darted around, I tried to catch it in the pool net - with eventual success. We released it, none the worse for wear. The background titles are not intended to impress. It just so happens that the bird preferred religious books to those on evolution.


CENTRAL LOULE
Our Swedish neighbour, Annchen, has impressed us for some time with the range of perfumed soaps and lotions that she has been making at home. They are spectacular and have been selling well. Now she and Lennert are about to open a shop in the heart of Loule. The blue arrow points the way for any who might be interested.



Barbara is worried about the state of one of her adopted cats, Not Robbie, who has been losing weight. Since being elbowed out of Casa Nada by another feline intruder, Not Robbie has taken up residence at Sarah and David's cottage, some 200 metres away. Barbara trots across there twice a day - and sometimes more often - with a can of nutritious food. She stands protectively over the cat while he eats as her charitable visits are well known to the local feline bruisers.


STILL LIFE
I am locked in a losing battle with the post office courier firm, known as CTT Express. This is the courier favoured by the nearest Amazon outlet, that in Spain. The last three items I ordered there have not arrived. Instead I have received emails informing me that the items could not be delivered because of a wrong or incomplete address - which is nonsense.



The problem is that the mappers, Google included, have not caught up with local street name changes. But while the other couriers leave a slip in our postbox or phone to make delivery arrangements, CTT Express sits on its bottom. Little wonder the group earns just a single star from other disappointed clients - one I'm about to endorse.



With public holidays on both Wednesday and Thursday, many Portuguese enjoyed a long weekend. We were lucky to find parking overlooking the estuary when we took ourselves to Faro beach for a take-away lunch midweek. Snack bars were doing good safe-distance business once again - but still no movement across the water at Faro airport.



A nightly struggle continues between Mini and Squinty for possession of my Netflix lap in the recliner. Mini's preference is to relax on her cushion nearby but, when she catches sight of the cat, she leaps on to me to frustrate him. On occasion, Squinty gets there first. Whatever the case, I spend the next ten minutes trying to fend the reluctant loser off.


THE VIEW ACROSS THE VALLEY
It's been surprisingly cool and cloudy for June. We even had a drop of rain midweek. Although we've braved the the pool once or twice, we have been more grateful for the warmth of the jacuzzi.



On Thursday Slavic and I did great work cleaning up the right-of-way passage that runs below our bottom fence, down through Idalecio's property, to the road. Over the years the area has blossomed with the many succulents that Jones has planted along the fence. During winter it gets very overgrown, along with low-hanging almond branches that dissuade Natasha and Slavic from parking there.


ANY DOG THAT NIPS MY FINGER FACES A WEEK IN SOLITARY!
The passage is little used, other than by Jones who goes down each afternoon with treats for her adopted animals. One hardly need add that our pampered pooches don't lack for treats either. There's nothing like a rustling packet to get their attention.

Letter from Espargal: 5 June 2020

The week has passed. That's about it. This might be a good point to end. But I've got a few photos show you. So I'll add a few lines between them. One of my duties is to clip our numerous bushes.  It's less topiary as an attempt to maintain discipline in an unruly garden. That's Mello's green plunge pool on the cobbles.



On some days, as the sun and clouds  have vied for control of the skies, our pool has stood idle, excepting for visits from numerous suicidal insects. (We're forever saving bees! Leroy Merlin lost our first order for a new pool cover; we've now placed another.) So we fired up the jacuzzi again and decided on dips according to the weather.



One afternoon Barbara led me along the road to the scene of a collapsed fig tree, a tree that had long anchored the steep bank below the road. We can only think that it was caught by a strong gust of wind.  Fig trees, as you may know, have frangible branches. They're treacherous to climb and make hopeless firewood. On the other hand they produce excellent figs.



Just beyond the concrete pole (top right), the road leads up to the parish "deposito" from which council water is pumped to villages in the vicinity.



Barbara alerted me last Sunday evening to a flood gushing down the road. I in turn alerted the council. The man who took the call didn't sound very enthused. I suspect that he was just sitting down to Sunday supper. Whatever the case, the flow stopped a little later. I suspect that the problem lay with ball valve controlling the inflow.



While we're on trees, here's a shot of the thicket of oak trees at the top of the park. (They're not cork oaks but a species with prickly leaves. We're not sure which.) Several dozen trees cluster around the path to the upper gate. I love them - repositories of the souls of former occupants. Much to my dismay, a number died in the drought last year. Even then, their limbs served to keep us warm.



Jonesy has been as active as ever, dashing around the neighbourhood to feed her adopted animals. She collected a basket of lemons from a neighbour's particularly productive tree - ours does its best - and turned them into a pot of marmalade. It's delicious -  best served on toast with a cup of coffee at 7 in the morning.



The scarab beetles are still busy collecting poo balls. This hard-working character's prize had attracted a fly who's playing cock of the hoop. We take care not to step on the beetles as we make our way along the path from the top gate, where they seem to be most active. We show no such consideration to the flies.



This is a not very good photo of a most beautiful plant, commonly known as a figwort, and scientifically known as a mouthful that doesn't belong in my blog. This one sprang up on the edge of our drive and survived a crushing from a passing van. Note Barbara's "hands off" ribbon to warn workers not to touch it.



Here you see Bobby with his friend Mello. Mello is far the most alert of our beasts and always the first to give warning of strangers. She loves a good bark and seldom misses the opportunity to rouse the neighbourhood. From the tone of her barks Bobby discerns whether she's just sounding off or really has cause.


CAT GROOMING AMONGST THE POOCHES

If so, without bothering to get up, he then barks too to let me know that Mello is barking outside and I ought to go out to see what's afoot. There's no denying that Bobby has style. 




Sun or cloud, we've kept up our twice-daily walks. Before we set out, Jones ties my bootlaces - a service she's provided since I put my back out attempting to tie them myself.



For some months I have been wearing thin-soled slip-ons (that I can shoe-horn on myself) but I reverted to wearing boots after bruising my (right) foot.



Our steep, narrow, twisty paths hide malicious stones in the thick green verges. I'm planning to do a lot of pruning with Slavic one day when Jones isn't looking. Meanwhile, I've ordered laceless boots from a site online. What I really need is a bendy back but they're harder to find.



Thursday we woke to rain. That's a lovely sound and most unusual in these parts in the month of June. We snatched a gap in the showers for a damp walk, impossible to avoid the dripping plants brushing our clothes. Another downpour chased us home.



The rain collected on top of the jacuzzi, where it looked ever so pretty when the sun came out again. The gauge registered a welcome 8 millimetres. I fear that it's the last we shall see until October. For the next several months it will be all hands to the hoses. There - that's enough ado about nothing.


Time for a snooze.                              Fim.