Letter from Espargal: 26 July 2014

I am still recovering from the accolades, encomiums, panegyrics and paeans that I sat through last Friday night while endeavouring to make a favourable impression on Loule council.

You may recall that I was invited to represent South Africa at an occasion on which ex-President Jorge Sampaio came to share his thoughts with the city's worthies and the public at large - marking 40 years of Portuguese democracy.

Although Sampaio himself spoke largely off the cuff, the line of fawning praise-singers concentrated unwaveringly on their hand-written notes. On and on they droned, over-awed by the presence of such celebrity, and determined to do it justice.

Even worse, the questions that were afterwards invited from the audience evoked only lengthy winges from disgruntled citizens who were reluctant to surrender the microphone to the anxious organisers - not what the latter had in mind.

Jones watched the start before wandering off to look at the fair on the courthouse square. Finding the amplified music there deafening, she twice returned to the hall in the hope that matters were concluding, only to be disappointed.

Clutching my large South African flag, I had joined the international cast of expats who had been rounded up to pay tribute both to great man and to Nelson Mandela, whose "day" coincided with the event. Several speakers acknowledged to his considerable role in history.

As a musical slide-show depicting Mandela's life finally brought matters to an end I held my flag aloft. My part in the events was evidently appreciated, at least by the organiser who sent me a congratulatory text. Maybe it's time to remind the council that I am still waiting for a response to our five-month old application to have Casa Nada registered.

On Monday I went back on diet, having plucked up courage to mount the scales and finding, as expected, that I had tipped myself over my 90kg limit.

BRENDAN AND ASSISTANT, JULENE, AT THE GATE OF THE HOUSE

While I don't regret a moment of the hospitality I enjoyed in South Africa - thank you Brendan and Julene - the good times are over for the moment. Beyond 90kg I start feeling increasingly uncomfortable.

ON MAY DAYS, JONES JOINS THE BOYS IN THE BACK

On Tuesday we took May to lunch. Our favourite restaurant, Cassima's, remains closed for the renewal that was due to be completed two months ago.

The "We're opening soon" notice on the door is starting to curl at the edges. Evidently, there's a problem. Fortunately, the Calpyso, just around the corner, is an excellent alternative.

On Wednesday, Jones shrieked in the bathroom as she turned on the hair-drier. I rushed through from the study to find that a large spider had made a sudden and unwelcome entry on the scene. I was able to capture it in a glass (spiders, like butterflies and bees, have to be rescued: house rules) and relocate it in a tree beyond the balcony.

Jones apologised for her inadvertent shriek, saying she knew as she yelled that it would alarm me. It did. To be fair, it was a big spider.

SIESTA TIME

Mid morning we drove down the motorway to Guia to pay the travel agents the balance owing on our October cruise - now just over two months away - and to collect from our accountants the documents demanded last week by Social Security.

Their demand really puzzled me until the accountant explained that because we get an income from photovoltaic solar panels, we would normally be considered "sole traders" liable for social security contributions. As pensioners we're exempt, but the authorities want to confirm our status.

REDUNDANT

We stopped over at the huge Leroy Merlin hardware store to purchase a new Black & Decker cordless drill. Regrettably, while there's nothing wrong with my old Black & Decker cordless drill, its rechargeable batteries are nearing retirement. Black & Decker confirmed over the phone that they are no longer available, having long since replaced them with more efficient lithium models. Anybody want a perfectly good drill?

SUPPER TIME

Thursday we brunched under the trees at the Hamburgo, with Ono, Prickles and Russ sitting beside us in the shade, noses a-sniff as they watched the passing parade.

My attention was caught by a family group getting into a large new, very smart, M-badged BMW. I gathered from the waitress that they were owners of restaurant down on the coast. Clearly, not everyone is being affected by the "crise".

Portuguese news reported that the retired boss of the Espirito Santo bank and associated companies had been arrested at his home and taken to court to face charges of money laundering and tax evasion. We wondered if he would prove to be Portugal's Bernie Madoff.

Our account manager at the bank says client savings are not exposed to the reverberations from the group's dubious finances. We sure hope she's right. Portuguese bank savings (up to a certain figure) are guaranteed by the government, which in turn is propped up by the banks. Hmmm!

Every so often, one sees truly remarkable TV programmes. We saw two this week, one on the monstrous machines that are boring their way under London (and the Thames) as part of the multi-billion Crossrail project.

Another, which I found hard to watch at times, showed surgeons dissecting a human hand to demonstrate how it worked. I had no idea that our hands were quite so complex. Much of the programme, happily, concentrated on the hands of such people as rock-climbers and musicians to illustrate the lessons being drawn by the surgeons.

Letter from Espargal: 18 July 2014

With a little help from Lufthansa and Portuguese railways, I got home Sunday evening around half-time after a 30-hour trek from South Africa - time enough to watch the rest of the match and the winning goal - a lesson in how to go down in history with a single kick.

Although Mario, the taxi driver, stopped his car at an easy turning point 100m away from the house, the dogs had started barking before I even emerged. They knew. It was one of those occasions when a guy needs six hands - plus two to hug his wife. What a welcome! I returned with a small bag of Barbara's favourite South African biscuits plus a few items to prove that I hadn't forgotten about her.

Monday I tried to come to terms with a C30* rise in temperature. In South Africa I had woken to an icy lid on the birdbath. Here the temperature dawns in the mid-20s and dusks in the mid-30s. My single budding chillblain went into withdrawal and my midriffian heat-spots sprang delightedly back to life.

Tuesday we took May to lunch. While I was waiting in the car for Barbara to do May's shopping, I received a call from a woman who said she was with Loule council. For a moment I thought it might be in connection with Casa Nada, whose request for registration has been gathering dust with the council for months.

EX-PRESIDENT JORGE SAMPAIO - REMINDS ME OF DAD

No such luck. It was an invitation - to attend a function this Friday evening at which ex-President Jorge Sampaio is to preside. The council was inviting representatives of 60 nations, she told me, asking me to bring along a South African flag. That was ok by me. It's not every day that I am invited to mix with the country's former presidents. All I lacked was a SA flag.

The embassy in Lisbon put me on to a small business about an hour away in Portimao who confirmed that they had such a flag in stock - their last one - and would keep it for me. I found their address on Google Maps, printed out directions and, for good measure, also printed out a map of the area.

Wednesday we set out for Portimao, a sizable city on the coast. For some reason my GPS had reconfigured itself to speak Portuguese, which was very irritating. When we found the street, there was no sign of any business selling flags. I phoned to ask for directions. There were two roads with the same name, a woman told me, and advised me how to proceed.

For the next 30 minutes we got totally lost. So I phoned again and got new directions. These brought me back to the spot where I had made the first phone call.

It was time to ask a passerby. I was directed me to an anonymous house directly over the road. If only the woman had told me!

Five minutes later, 30 euros poorer, I came away with a large, proud SA flag.

Jones and I lunched on a shaded patio at Portimao's sleepy municipal aerodrome with the dogs curled at our feet, the best moment of the day.

Also Wednesday, I stopped at our accountants half way to Portimao to show them a letter that arrived that morning. It was from Social Services who wanted me to supply - within ten working days - details of my previous three years' tax returns. This was in connection with our electricity-generating panels.

The accountants shook their heads in puzzlement. Such queries usually come from the Financas, not the Social Services. But they set about gathering the necessary documents, which await collection when we get a chance sometime next week.

More alarming is the flood of bad news regarding the murky state of a large Portuguese bank, BES (The Bank of the Holy Spirit - some joke!) in which we have an interest.

The good news is that we are not shareholders, for the price has collapsed and the shares are now rated as junk.

The news sent shockwaves through the stock markets and prompted a "stay calm, everything's under control" assurance from the government. Believe it if you will!

MORE OF THE SAME - DIFFERENT DOG

Thursday I received an SMS reminder from Loule council to turn up at the appointed venue at the appointed hour and to bring my SMALL SA flag. Nothing had been said previously about "small". Mine would flutter proudly atop the Union Buildings. Too bad if they think I'm showing off.

Also Thursday we ran our monthly bootful of dog food out to the dog sanctuary on the heights of Goldra. Ana met us with news that her sister, Marisa, was in hospital with dislocated vertebra - seriously bad news for both of them as well as their scores of dogs. The two sisters more or less run the sanctuary themselves.

On the home front Jones has handed care of the zoo gratefully back to me and divided her attentions between her garden and her kitchen, where buckets of plums are being turned into jam.

Several kind neighbours have either delivered fruit or invited us to pick it, an invitation that Jones can never resist.

We have plum jam sufficient to last us several years - and very good plum jam too.

Speaking of kindly neighbours, a Dutch neighbour, Anneke, joined Barbara several times to assist her with walking the dogs. So did Olly.

Barbara had tried taking the dogs out one at a time on a lead but found this quite exhausting - and little wonder.

My thanks go also to Marie and Olly who took Barbara to a beautiful cove for a celebratory birthday brunch during my absence.

That evening, she went with them to the Hamburgo for a festive dinner. Note the Dublin-made Newbridge silver pendant that she received from Fintan and Pauline.

PAUSE :- The BBC 1700 bulletin brings news that a Malaysian airliner has been shot down over eastern Ukraine. Not hard to work out what happened there! Those poor people!

Thursday evening:- We joined the expats at the Hamburgo to celebrate Pauline's birthday.

She didn't look a day older!

Chloe, 13, who is staying with her grandparents for a few weeks, was particularly pleased with a dish of garlic-flavoured prawns. No doubting that smile!

However, we were not best pleased to see the traffic police park themselves right outside the restaurant. As sober as we were, we had no desire to be interrogated on the way home.

Eventually, they clambered into their car and disappeared in the direction of Alte. We clambered into ours and headed in the opposite direction.

It was good to know that the law was keeping an eye on things - on the far side of the hill.

Letter from Espargal: 4 July 2014

BRINGING IN THE SHOPPING

The trinity on my mind this week has been football, Jones's 60s-farewell curry-do and my impending trip to South Africa, although not necessarily in that order. The football must speak for itself; either you're into it or it's passing you by.

Jones's curry-do involves ordering curries from the Loule Indian restaurant, inviting the neighbours to eat them and lots of running around - of which more in due course. It's got something to do with leaving one's 60's behind and embarking on the next decade, a threshold that most of our expat group is now crossing.

BREN - A FEW YEARS AGO

The trip to South Africa came about somewhat unexpectedly with a discounted ticket offer. I am due to leave early on Saturday to spend the week down in Witbank with Brendan and to stay overnight with Robbie & Carol near Pretoria before returning home the following weekend.

Brendan, my youngest brother, is the only sibling still in full-time employment. He and his son run a small construction company that works mainly on the nearby coal mines.

With an exceptionally hot week looming in the Algarve, I shall be happy to cool my heels in the south. Brendan warns me that the forecast for Witbank is for polar, which is ok by me. I've always found it easier to stay warm than cool. More importantly, cold weather doesn't provoke the plague of itchy bumps that ring my tropical regions like angry pink planets in summer.

For Barbara, who remains at home to run the ranch, I fear it's going to mean lots of garden watering as well as a deal of animal minding; for while the dogs worship at my feet (most of the time), they regard Jones as a minor if often useful deity.

Our commuting Irish neighbours, Annette and Tony, have given Barbara a small statuette in memory of Mary, whose loss we still feel so deeply.

Barbara has mounted it atop a ceramic jar overlooking the rock garden that we have renamed Mary's Garden.

It's an area that we have remodeled with Slavic's assistance. Jones has added a number of pots and plants.

The south patio overlooks the garden. The view is somehow calming and spiritual - although I guess these things are very personal.

On the local front there have been some small but important developments. The first of these is the installation of a bench beside the post boxes at the bottom of the road. I say installation because the council workmen sensibly cemented the four legs into the verges to prevent the bench from walking off one night.

The unfortunate part is that the road slopes steeply upwards and bench sitters are likely to find themselves sliding downhill until they either congest at the end or topple off it.

Also - McDonald's has opened an outlet in Loule.

Not that we're planning to patronise it - we're not into hamburgers - nonetheless it's a notable addition to the town's more traditional eateries. After a great flurry of building, digging up the road and laying down tarmac, a smart drive-through or eat-in restaurant has emerged from the dust.

It was noteworthy that throughout the construction period a couple of policemen were on hand to control the passing traffic and generally smooth the builders' path. I have never once in my 20-plus years in these parts seen a policeman monitoring the speed-triggered traffic lights - on the approach to villages - that the locals ignore with impunity.

For anyone who missed the arrival of the restaurant, there are signs dotted around the town. The outlet is located on a main thoroughfare, right across the road from a hypermarket, and our guess is that it will draw the crowds.

May was in good form on Monday and treated us to lunch at the Angolana, a long time favourite venue. While my salmon steak and Barbara's chicken met with our full approval, May confessed that her sinewy veal kebab wasn't the best choice. She's not a good chewer. On the other hand the dogs and cats were delighted with the bits she rejected. Of late she has tended to get her days a bit mixed up, calling us on non-May days to inquire why we haven't turned up at her door.

Barbara has been working on ways to help May check each morning on which day has dawned. I sometimes have to check myself. Retirement does tend to rather blur the distinction between weekdays (known in Portugal as "useful days") and weekends, more especially as one's activities differ little between them.

Tuesday we headed west to Guia, where the Iceland store stocks a number of British specialities in which Jones had an interest. I wanted more of the anti-mozzie damp tissues with which I wipe my face and arms each night as I retire in a bid to discourage the little blighters.

En route we stopped at the parish office to fetch the dog licences following their annual innoculation. The cost of these had gone up from €1 to €5 each, explained Ana with an apology, because Benafim was now part of the larger parish of Querenca, Benafim and Tor. We are among the many residents who were opposed to the "money saving" amalgamation but whose views were not sought when it was imposed.

On Wednesday both Slavic and Natasha turned up to work. He completed some more rock paving and then assisted me with pruning the numerous suckers from our almond and carob trees before mulching them. I have left Barbara a useful heap of mulch. It makes a great cover for the fruit tree surrounds, keeping them moist long after the sun would otherwise have sucked them dry.

Natasha took rather longer than usual with her duties. When I asked her if she was slowing down, she informed me that it was the preparations for the curry-do that were taking the time. Fair enough! She is very thorough. Behind the couch she found a mobile phone purse that I lost months ago and had given up hope of seeing again.

Thursday morning we went to fetch the curries, samosas and other delicacies that Jones had pre-ordered for the evening's get-together. Before leaving, she gave each of the stayers one of the rib bones that Fintan had donated, hanging the plastic bag with the remainder high on the front door.

We returned to find just the bag lying on the floor. I hope the thief had shared them out. I suspect either Barri, who's the smartest, or Raymond, who's the biggest.

Thursday p.m. Jones has worked away the whole afternoon. Now it's dogs in the pen. Neighbours are arriving. The curries are superb. So are the desserts that our guests have brought.

Friday morning: The tractor has been out to take a bed from one neighbour to another. The rest of today is last jobs, final packing and a good soaking for the garden. The next blog may not be for a fortnight.

Letter from Espargal: 27 June 2014

As I was telling Jones, being a god is not as easy as people seem to think. It's not as though deities can put their feet up and sip an endless supply of heavenly cocktails while ogling passing goddesses and considering the rules for future universes.

Like ordinary mortals they find that being comes with often onerous concerns, responsibilities and duties.

(I've just recalled that we are a fortnight overdue with the annual inoculations and dog licence renewals! On to the vet to make arrangements!)

For instance, you can forget about divine sleep-ins. One's adorers are at the bedside bright and early, reminding one in no uncertain terms that it's time for the morning walk.

Then there's the daily round of biscuits, treats, grooming, games and you name it. I would say think carefully before elevating yourself to godhood. Although divinity has great compensations, it's not all that it's cracked up to be, not if one wants a quiet life.

Last Friday, at Armenio Palmeira's invitation, I drove the tractor cautiously down the steep track to his orchard, ducking under overhead branches, to pick a bucket of plums. The route has grown more challenging down the years by the spreading branches that now force tractors right to the edge of the track.

Few people know about the orchard as it's both awkward to reach and tucked out of sight. But the birds know about it and they sure had whacked into the fruit, both the plum-pecked carpet beneath the tree and the plums above.

Even so, I came away with a useful bucket. The better plums went into the fruit bowl, their wrinkled and damaged companions into the pot along with a measure of brown sugar for some excellent Jones jam.

It was really satisfying to see that whole sequence through in a matter of hours - even more satisfying than growing one's own beans, especially after such a miserable crop we raised this year. Leonhilde's beans, just a few metres away, seemed determined to put ours to shame.

Saturday was busy. It started out at the Ponto do Encontro (Meeting Point) snack bar with neighbours, Fintan and Pauline, for discussions on a curry meal that Jones has been considering.

Jones and Pauline were both born in the month of July and have sometimes held joint celebrations. But my wife describes the occasion she has in mind as a tribute to the seventies (or something similar - a sort of non-birthday birthday celebration).

In the event, the village buzz-bikers had also gathered there for conversation and refreshments, including the family who run the local restaurant. Unusually, they close on Saturdays.

Manuel, the restaurateur, is a bike enthusiast. He confesses to owning three buzz-bikes. And apart from restoring a classic motorbike, he has acquired a most impressive new tourer (for a price that had me blinking. I am led to understand that BMW offers exceedingly generous terms.)

As we returned home through the valley, we came across a group of men stripping the towering cork oaks that line the road across the flood plain. Three of the workers were perched up on the huge boughs of a tree while a fourth gathered the sections of cork bark that came tumbling down.

Those up the tree hacked away at the bark with small axes. It was spectacular to watch. I asked them if I could take a few pictures, promising that I'd make prints for them - and they were perfectly happy either way.

With the light behind them and their figures in outline, they made great pics. At least I thought so. Judge for yourself.

We had planned to visit the company premises on the far side of Sao Bras but finding the workers back on site a few days later, we passed over the photos in person and promised them a few more of those they especially liked. They were well pleased.

Cork is still a major Portuguese industry although it's been under a lot of strain as wine producers turn to screw tops and plastics.

The industry has responded by exploring new avenues for its product. It's developed a method of using fine layers of treated cork for upmarket bags, shoes and clothing as well as producing a range of trinkets for the local pocket.

Saturday evening brought the annual party of the Senior University, held this year at a cavernous restaurant in the heart of old Loule. Gone are the days when we gathered at fancy five-star hotels on the coast for a real banquet. Now it's house-wine in jars on the table. How times have changed!

As it happened, Barbara had committed herself to a birthday gathering cum wedding anniversary celebration with friends David and Dagmar, so I found myself both single and the only English speaker in a company of a hundred or more.

Fortunately, the dramatic Germany-Ghana match was playing out on a large TV screen close by and my companions were not disappointed with the little conversation that I offered them.

A fellow who was offering some firm opinions a few chairs along turned out to the the boss of Loule council.

I made my excuses early, coming away with a handsome glass bowl, the gift chosen by the university this year to reward its corps of voluntary teachers.

Sunday, Monday and Tuesday were delightfully cool, with welcome showers that refreshed the garden and spared us the watering, a summer chore that takes Jones an hour or two each evening.

She divides the garden into three sections, each of which gets watered twice a week. Pots and sensitive plants get attention every day.

The fruit trees - we've about a dozen - fall to me. I do them on the weekend.

In spite of the numerous drought resistant plants that we've established all around the property, watering remains a demanding task.

On the other hand, the garden brings us both great pleasure. I find it hard to believe that we are lucky enough to occupy such a wonderful bit of the earth.

At one stage I installed irrigation systems around the garden but these proved both ugly (as the black pipes climbed over rocks) and more trouble than they were worth - forever blocking or bursting. So I ripped them out again.

ANA

Wednesday we visited Sao Bras on the far side of Loule to support the newly-opened charity shop there - in aid of the dog refuge run by Marisa and her sister, Ana.

I sat down with Marisa at a nearby cafe for 20 minutes to hear more about the organisation and financing of the refuge - the former falling to the two sisters and the latter to their various supporters. Some give just a few euros each month.

MARISA

Marisa confided that she was looking after 19 dogs at home, including a clutch of puppies, most of the animals rescued from the street; that's on top of a hundred plus at the refuge. She does extraordinary work - 365 days a year.

She's in touch with animal societies in other parts of Europe that help to place as many dogs as possible. Sadly, with numerous strays running around and a culture where unwanted litters are simply discarded, there is no end to her work in sight.

En route home we stopped at a wholesaler (of sorts) to top up our supplies of locally distilled liquor. This isn't your typical bottle store. But the product tastes just as good and is considerably easier on the pocket.

There was no sign of Natasha's car outside the gates when we arrived home and we assumed that she had left. But we found her still at work. Her car had broken down a day or two earlier, she told us, and was under repair. The mechanic reported that he had got it going again but he wasn't sure what the trouble was or whether it would reoccur. Not good news!

Thursday afternoon Carlos called to vaccinate the dogs - our six and Poppy from down the road. We sat him down for a few minutes to prove to the dogs that he was a real visitor and not just a casual caller. They are very conscious of status and make a clear distinction between the locals and tourists staying in the village.

The dogs have been through the procedure often enough to know that it isn't fun but worth enduring for the treat that follows. Next job to take their ID papers up to the parish office to renew their licences.