Letter from Espargal: 18 August 2017

ANOTHER SCORCHER IN PROSPECT
All I can offer you after a hot gungy week is a sweaty mish mash of murky miscellania, a battered basket of tatty bric-a-brac. It's a week in which Portugal has endured hundreds more wild-fire outbreaks - 268 according to one TV report. Our temps have ranged from the mid to the high 30s. It is with envy that we have noted accounts of rain in other parts of the world - Sierra Leone excluded.



To escape the worst of the heat, Slavic has been starting his Saturday morning labours at 07.00. Our first task was to revive a distressed fig tree by removing the paving that had enclosed it and renewing the surrounding earth. A low decorative low wall put the finishing touches to the project. The tree has been losing its leaves in spite of extensive watering. I hope it rewards our efforts.


SIDE VIEW
The harder task was to retrieve a substantial tree stump from an adjacent field and convey it on the tractor to the pen, where it was destined to become a natural sculpture. We had to walk the stump across the low boulders (on the left, below) in order to position it, before building up the stone foundations and admiring our efforts.


FRONT VIEW
We rather liked the results. As I informed Slavic, were I an artist of note, I might have sold it for vast sums (although any buyer would have had a devil of a job to remove it). More to the point, Jones - who had wanted something sculptural there - pronounced herself well pleased. Several other tree stumps with sculptural potential remain in the field. (For some reason, my left big toe was unhappy.)


BOBBY IS A HANDSOME FELLOW, WHO'S HAPPY TO POSE
Apropos of nothing, I sent a phone message to a neighbour, Anneke, concerning a lift for herself and her partner, Nicoline, who happens to be a smoker. But my phone, with a mind of its own, changed her name to Nicotine - an alteration that I didn't spot until after the event - and which caused me (and them) a great deal of mirth. We have grown used to phones that correct their users but a phone with a sly sense of humour is something else.


ONO, 17 YEARS OLD &  SLOWING BUT STILL GAME
At our Sunday brunch gatherings we try each week to resolve at least one important international issue. Just to get the conversation going I raised the topical question of breast-feeding in public. Was it acceptable, I asked the group.  "Why not?" responded my companions in unison. Well, that was that resolved. As you can see, we don't mess around. Next week we'll deal with North Korea or maybe global warming. (My big toe is really miserable.)


YUP, THEM'S GALS
I watched England's amazons mauling some unfortunate Italian lassies who thought rugby was supposed to be a gentlemanly game. Gotta say the girls played terrific rugby in the ladies'(?) world champs - no holds barred.  I wonder what the Saudis would make of it!  So much for that baloney about the weaker sex!


THE HOYA IN FLOWER
Monday: I made an appointment with Jodi in Alte to inspect my ailing toe. (She has recently undergone a specialist course on foot care to add to her physiotherapy skills.) After reporting that the toe was both inflamed and infected - the result of some over-enthusiastic nail cutting in Benafim - she set to work with a probe. Ouch! But I think she's done the trick. I've bought new sandals to ease the pressure on it.



Tuesday: Portugal enjoyed a public holiday to celebrate the feast of the Assumption of Mary. In my (distant) days as a Marist Brother, it was a feast that the community observed with some devotion - as if to substantiate the credentials of our patroness. From Madeira at lunch time came tragic news that a giant tree, an ancient hollow oak, had toppled over, crushing worshippers taking part in an outdoor ceremony.



Thirteen people died and scores were injured. The village, Monte, on the slopes above Funchal, is one we know well. I couldn't help thinking that there was sometimes a case for divine intervention! But it also occurred to me that if God had to intervene in human affairs, He would be hard pressed to know where to start.



Speaking of oaks, here's a splendid one, a tree that offers shade to half a dozen picnic tables in Benafim's official picnic park. We stopped there briefly to give the dogs leg lifters.



Tuesday evening: Neighbours gave Jonesy a lift to the birthday celebrations of friends who live in the hills half an hour away. I nobly stayed home to water the garden and look after the household. To mark the occasion, the gang presented Helen (turning all of 40; how old can you get?) with the solar lamp (below).



The lamp can be turned on and off  with a remote zapper and can be set for either (bright, medium or low) white or yellow light. We gave one to neighbours on a previous occasion and it has been a decided hit.



Wednesday: Slavic, who had a day off from his usual employment, worked for us instead. On arrival he waters the fruit trees and plants in our fields next door while we walk the dogs. Then he rides side-saddle with me on the tractor to a nearby carob plantation, whose owner is happy for us to remove rocks from his property - the more the better.



These rocks are everywhere piled up into great heaps by bulldozers that first cleared the land. Wednesday's task was to construct more low walls along the steps that lead down from the cobbles to the pedestrian gate at the bottom of the garden. As a result of our efforts these past few weeks, the lower garden is looking most attractive.



Thursday: We woke to a smoke-filled valley and the stink of wild fires. The bombeiros said the pollution wasn't local but had come drifting down from fires raging up north. The government has proclaimed a state of emergency - that will free up funds - ahead of scorching temperatures and high winds forecast for the weekend.


SMOKY SKY OVER MONCHIQUE MOUNTAIN
We went into Faro to get some essential information from the department dealing with expats but as we didn't have an appointment, no-one would talk to us. So, after standing around hopefully for 15 minutes like statues in Charlottesville, trying vainly to get someone's attention, we came home again, none the wiser - and watered the garden instead. Welcome to Portugal,  poised uncomfortably between the electronic age and the stone age!



I leave you with The Portugal News, a local English newspaper intended for expats, well known for its famously optimistic front pages. For its income it relies on advertising and for its content on the Portuguese media, which it retails in (frequently suspect) English. Free copies may be found in supermarkets and at the airport, presumably to make up numbers. The paper's editor has an unflinching determination to emphasise anticipated good news, no matter how remote and dubious. Judge for yourselves!



Fire in the sky! Another smoky day dawns. Stay cool!



 

 

Letter from Espargal: 11 August 2017

HOT SUN RISES
Last weekend we made our annual pilgrimage to the parish fund-raising party - the Benafim Corn Festival, highlight of the summer season and an occasion we never miss. And since there's not much to report, you might as well get to meet a few of the characters.


CORN FESTIVAL
"We", in this instance, was the Bensons and our neighbours, the Masseys. Pictured above - down from Dublin - are Massey daughter, Anita, and her niece, Chloe. More Masseys follow. (Feel free to scroll up if you're not in the mood to meet people.)



We settle ourselves around tables on the cobbles that slope down to the community centre and the dance floor.  There's a choice of wine, beer and soft drinks to accompany either the traditional maize porridge (my preference), salads or barbecued chicken. Dress code is relaxed. As long as you wear something, it doesn't matter what. As ever, the ladies tend to take more care with their choice of garb than the lads.



This is Fintan (daddy Massey), arriving with a jug of sangria. The concoction didn't meet with universal approval, prompting wrinkled noses and pursed lips. I can't tell you why. There was certainly nothing wrong with the wine and the beer. What was a problem was the occasional, unpredictable gust of wind that sent our plastic cups and their contents flying across the tables.



After each gust we'd clutch our cups for a few minutes and then forgetfully put them back on the table. Three times Barbara's red wine narrowly missed her skirt. She was just proclaiming her good fortune when it got her with another gust. (Fortunately, the stains washed out!) Here she exchanges some thoughts with Pauline (momma Massey).



The festa is a mighty convivial affair. Come to say hello were - right to left - Selina (daughter of Manuel & Graça, who run the nearby Hamburgo restaurant), Luis (who assists Manuel) and Luis's wife (Marisa). The Hamburgo, as you may have gathered, is at the centre of our social lives. We hardly know what to do with ourselves when it shuts its doors for a winter break.



Selina (in the red dress above), like Chloe (right) is an ace social media exponent. Chloe's thumbs piston up and down on her mobile phone keyboard like a couple of sewing machine needles. She can even text one-handed with her phone in her pocket. From her I learned a great deal about Snapchat, Instagram and other apps that are apparently integral to the lives of every wifi-wired, smartphone-equipped teenager.



Anita is another accomplished iPhone exponent. She has the gift of mixing easy charm and discretion so that companions are aware of the former rather than the latter. It's possible to enjoy a pleasant evening's conversation with her, only to realise later that you're none the wiser as to whether she's a model, a mechanic or a hospital matron. Somewhere along the lines at the festa, she acquired a hat. Wish the camera were half as kind to me.



On the patio below us, a crooner belted out popular songs and folks did a little old-fashioned whirling around. As always, there were more gals than guys on the dance floor so the girls simply danced with one another. If the evenings have been perfect for partying, the days have been cooked up in hell as Portugal sweltered on the fringes of the Lucifer heatwave that has stifled southern Europe.



The mornings have been just tolerable. In the afternoons I've had a fixed appointment with the air conditioner in the study - the dogs sprawled supine around me. Jones says she feels cooler if she works in the garden. With luck, the worst of the weather is behind us. It's almost time to look forward to our coming holiday in the Portuguese islands although the weather news there hasn't been encouraging.


YES, IT'S TRYING TO LAND
For three days high winds semi-closed (Madeira's) Funchal airport - considered one of the world's most demanding - stranding some 15,000 travellers. Departing passengers were being transferred several hours by ship to the neighbouring island of Porto Santo, whose small airport was still operating.



We're also planning a few days in the Azores, undeterred by the gale that shut down our departure airport last time. On that occasion passengers were taken in a corkscrewing ferry across to an adjacent island with an airport in the lee of the wind.  The flight that followed was almost as hairy as the boat ride!



Changing tack: In the centre of the picture you may see a most beautiful butterfly that Jones spotted clinging to a flower in her garden, and hastened to photograph. It's wings were folded together so she couldn't get a full shot.



Judging by similar pictures on the internet, it would appear to be the Scarce Swallowtail, also known as the Pear-Tree Swallowtail. What a gorgeous creature! I reflect often on the irony that some creatures need to be ugly or, at least, plain in order that others may be beautiful.

HOMEWARD BOUND
Barbara found Portuguese neighbours deeply upset midweek when she went round to fetch the cheese and bread delivery that they take in on our behalf. A  day after their bull terrier bitch had given birth to seven puppies, she consumed the entire litter. The shocked neighbours had no explanation. They had endeavoured not to interfere with the pups, which the mother had moved once or twice. From my subsequent reading on the internet I gather that the phenomenon is not uncommon.



Another neighbour, Armenio, to whom we give our carobs, arrived at our gates one evening with a load of melons, grapes and tomatoes. He told us about events in his orchard (just beyond the village) where a heavily-laden bough had broken away from a huge old plum tree - one whose fruits we have enjoyed in the past. This windfall delighted the wild boar that have been raiding the orchard nightly by the light of the moon.



The visitors have not only scooped up the plums lying on the ground but have also stripped the tree of all the fruit within reach. Between the pigs and the birds, not a lot has been left to humans. Let me add that after 15 years of walking the hills, we've yet to come across wild boar during the day - although others have, and we have seen a couple on the road at night!

Enough unto the week!


JONES SUNSET FROM THE HILLTOP ONE CLOUDY EVENING

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Letter from Espargal: 4 August 2017

Whenever I mop my brow and remark to Jones that it's extremely hot, which in the summer is quite often, she generally suggests that we sell up and go somewhere cooler. While this may sound sensible, it's not to be taken seriously. Apart from the associated costs and any difficulties we might have in finding a buyer, Sod's Law dictates that we'd encounter something equally burdensome anywhere else. So, for the foreseeable it's a case of putting up with it. With reports of east European temps in the mid 40s, I suppose that I ought not to complain about 36.



It helps if we walk earlier in the day. Five minutes from home on the far side of the hill, where the path stumbles down a stony descent, there's a pause-point with a view across the hills to the sea. Framed above me in this photo  are the dead branches of a long-abandoned carob tree, one of many such. The tree has bushed out, expending its energy on suckers rather than carobs. Some of these trees are hundreds of years old, often with hollow trunks, sustained and supported only by a flimsy outer ring.



When they're bowed down with the burden of carob beans and bent by a boisterous wind - forgive a little exuberant alliteration - such trees are liable to come crashing down, as this one did, right across the path we take each day. It took us ten minutes, while the dogs looked on, to clear a passage through the barricade of fallen branches. The brittle twigs snapped off easily. The branches took more effort.



We'll leave the owners, if owners there be, to cut up the boughs and collect the carobs scattered across the ground. The carob-picking season is just getting underway. In August and September the local people do little else. Jones and I have filled several large tubs already, starting with fallen beans and those hanging from branches within easy reach.



Once we have a tractor load, we'll take them down to our farmer neighbour to thank him for the brilliant job he's done grafting our roadside almond trees with fruit. More than this, he arrives at our gate with occasional loads of fruit and veges, such as this pile of peaches, which I'm about to distribute among all and sundry.



It's not only the carobs that await picking. This year's almond crop - a bumper one - is also ripening on the trees. We donate the nuts to an appreciative villager who runs a domestic sideline in pastries. Each year she brings her extended family to help gather the crop. It's a big job that takes the better part of a day - spreading nets under the many trees, knocking down the nuts and bagging them.



In the local press we read that new legislation requires all dog owners to keep their pets on leads when they exit their properties. Fortunately, for us it's not an issue. On our walks in the wilderness we might bump into other folk two or three times a year but, unless they are out with dogs of their own (which can make life a bit complicated), there's no problem. Our dogs make a distinction between locals working on the land (whom they tend to ignore) and walkers (at whom they bark).



WANNA KISS?

An expat neighbour informs us that we may expect a new approach in driving licence renewal process that we septuagenarians are now required to suffer every two years.  It's not uncommon for the medical doctor, who signs applicants off, to conduct only a brief and superficial examination, especially on regulars. No longer. The neighbour warns us that we now face a proper medical check up, including an eyesight test. What a pain!



HERE YOU GO!

We have also noticed a change when collecting postal items from the parish office - whether registered post or ordinary parcels. Until recently a simple signature has sufficed, certainly from known residents. Now parish officials insist on recording the number of the recipient's ID document as part of the process. Whether these "reforms" are the brainchild of Portuguese bureaucrats or an EU import is hard to know.



HOW WAS THAT?

One such parcel contained snake tongs, an item that I had ordered on Amazon and which - to my surprise - took the better part of a month to arrive. The reason, as we discovered, is that it came all the way from Shenzhen in China. It's a solid piece of equipment that ought to prove a lot more reliable in the event of more serpentine visitors than my grippers did last time around.



With any luck, news of its arrival will get around the local snake community, who will get the message and hiss off. Some years ago I went to the assistance of a neighbour who had come across a snake in her house. Although I managed to get the serpent out, it proved anything but cooperative; the tongs would have been really useful. (As I've remarked, Portuguese snakes present little or no threat to humans. Our desire is merely to move them on.)



I'M OFF HOME!    SEE YOU NEXT TIME!

We joined the Masseys one evening for a visit to the Sao Bras fair, a favourite of ours. There I came across a stall manned by the town's volunteer fire brigade, stout fellows who were looking for sponsors to support their efforts. It's a mission that I believe in, given the huge demands made on the fire service during the summer months when Portugal is tormented by wild fires.



AT THE FAIR

Rather than sign up with the Sao Bras brigade, I called in on the Loule fire station in a bid to become a supporter of theirs. No luck! It wasn't possible, an official told me, because, unlike Sao Bras, the Loule brigade is fully funded by the council and doesn't look for back up from the public. More's the pity!



STRANGERS AT THE GATE!

Slavic and I have been building more walls, bearing the heat and burden of the day, the better to contain and frame Barbara's shrubs and trees. I have to say that I like the results. More importantly, so does she. You may admire them yourself.



Looks pretty good, if I say so myself. It's not finished yet. Next week it will look even better.



That's all folks! Time for a shower and bed!