Letter from Espargal: 7 July 2017

This is a shot of dusk in Espargal masquerading as a dawn, justifying itself on the pretence that a dusk in one part of the world is a dawn in another.  It's just a question of one's point of view. This week, as advised by the doc, I've been taking lots of rest and avoiding exertion.



Jones has spent her spare time, as usual, sprucing up her garden and trying to undo the damage that Pally has wrought in the shrubbery. These days she turns the hose on him. Better that he root around in the park, bark-barking as he goes, where he can beat up the undergrowth all he wishes. The weather bureau reports that we have just experienced the hottest, driest spring since 1931. I don't suppose that will much bother Donald.



This blog has few pretensions other than to display some of the pictures that we took during Cathy's visit. Here she is on the couch with Bobby in a mutual adoration session. Bobby is particular about who enters the property and may not make you immediately welcome but once you've won him over, he's your friend for life.



The doves like to size up the territory before they fly down to the bird feeder - really just an excuse for the picture!  Midweek we drove to Faro to get a new (Via Verde) transponder. This useful little device - and the contract that goes with it - enables motorists to use Portuguese toll-roads, airport parking and the like without stopping to take tickets or to pay at the exit. One's bank account is billed automatically. So far it's worked like a charm.



On Cathy's last evening, we took sun-downers to the upper patio to watch, well,  the sun go down and philosophise on the good old days - whenever they were . Although the solstice is well passed, the orb still hangs around till close to 21.00. With a bottle of vinho verde in support and in the absence of mosquitoes, it's as pleasant a way to pass the time as any.



Jones snapped away with the camera, taking fine shots of Benafim lighting up...



and the distant wind turbines over Messines. I'm a fan of wind turbines, even though they don't do migrating birds any favours. A world with more wind turbines and fewer chimneys would suit me well - that's excluding our own chimney.



The best I could do was to snap the ladies in silhouette as they discussed the finer points of taking memorable photos at dusk.  Neither my wife nor my sister was entirely pleased with the pictures I took of them. Nor were they mollified when I informed them that I had only once been pleased myself with a photograph taken of me, and that was a poor likeness.



As you see below, on a glorious summer evening O Paraiso's garden setting is as good as it gets. When the wind drops to a gentle zephyr and the temperature dips down to the mid-twenties, the restaurant offers delightful al fresco country dining. You won't find tenderer turkey steaks or mouthwateringer mushroom sauce - best consumed with a bottle of Casal Garcia!



A shattering crash one afternoon led us to the bathroom where we discovered mysterious shards of glass scattered around the floor. At first I thought that one of the double-glazed windows had lost its inner pane.



But on closer inspection the culprit turned out to be a bathroom cupboard whose hinges (since removed) had decided after 15 years to relieve themselves of their burden. The chip in the bath rim testified to the route taken by the pane to the floor. Cathy and Jonesy cleaned up. I did something else useful although it doesn't immediately come to mind. Probably, it was the ironing. I've been doing a fair bit with one eye on Wimbledon.



The black cats share Casa Nada with the lizards and the spiders. Once they've been fed, they like to take the evening sun.



This succulent took Cathy's eye as she watered the garden. Much to Barbara's irritation, she was unable to recall its new name immediately  It used to be known as oliveranthus but has subsequently - as we discovered after a fair bit of googling - been recast as Echeveria harmsii.



This rider and his horse turned up for a little refreshment during the course of our expat Sunday brunch. We were concerned about the horse's pronounced limp. From the restaurateur (an equestrian himself) we learned that the limp resulted from a tendon injury that had already been surgically treated, and that it grew worse rather than better with lack of exercise. Fair enough!



I thought I might wind up with this award-winning picture of the sunset. (Everybody and everything I read about these days is described as "award-winning" although the awards themselves are seldom specified. While working as a journalist in London, I annually attended a vinous ceremony at which a group of South African vintners awarded themselves appropriate prizes.  Journalists were, of course, liberally watered for their equally liberal coverage of the event.



But, returning to my theme, I subsequently took this even better photo myself.



Fim!

Letter from Espargal: 30 June 2017

Last Friday we fetched my sister Cathy from the airport. The terminal heaved with arriving visitors. They streamed out of the impressive new hall, trailing their cases, lighting their relieving fags, looking for all the world like superior refugees.



BORROWED PIC

I reflected that a little less food and a little more exercise wouldn't have done most of them any harm. Not that I should talk. Judge not lest ye be judged, the book says.



Early on Saturday I dropped into Loule hospital for a little interior rearrangement. Cathy and Jones accompanied me. We arrived as the gates opened and had the reception hall to ourselves. After signing in, I waved my companions goodbye and accompanied my guide upstairs.

CATHY WITH DAVID & DAGMAR

In my absence the ladies caught up with friends and neighbours.



Here are some of the expat Sunday brunchers at the Hamburgo.



Jones reported from the restaurant that the skies had darkened and five minutes' worth of rain had fallen. It was welcome, token that it was, for ominous clouds of smoke have been rising over the distant hills.

RELAX FELLOWS, IT'S JUST A TEMPORARY ARRANGEMENT

Late on Monday I emerged, still trailing the odd rubber tube. (Don't ask) Cathy and Barbara came to fetch me. I felt uneasy being driven home in my own car, as though something I couldn't figure had gone awry with my personal world, depriving me of my independence. While I remain tangled up, a capacious towelling wrap of Barbara's is coming in most useful.



On Tuesday, as Natasha set about the house,  I joined Cathy and Jones at the Funchais snack bar somewhat hesitantly for a sandwich lunch. There I bumped into, and was warmly embraced by Carla, one of my off-duty hospital carers in spite of (my) decidedly odd appearance. I was grateful for a dearth of other clients.

RITA

I might add that to thank the nursing staff for their attentive care, we presented them with a small coffee-making machine, a facility they greatly appreciated. Previously, they'd had to go downstairs and outside to the day kiosk set up in the yard to find such refreshments. Loule's small (private) hospital, renovated a few years ago, lacks a canteen. Patients' meals are ordered-in from a nearby restaurant. Jolly good meals they are too although they inevitably arrive luke-warm.



Apart from assuming driving and dog-adopting duties, Cathy has been doing sterling work in the irrigation department. Jones has divided the garden into four sections, each of which gets watered twice a week. There is much discussion about the welfare of various plants and trees. Trees are of particular interest to Cathy, who can identify most.



Some years ago I tried installing an irrigation system but was defeated by the steep slopes and extensive surface rock. So irrigation is done mainly by hand, typically for about an hour a day in high summer, although we do resort to a sprinkler on occasion.



While watering one afternoon, Cathy spotted a snake that was trying to hide behind a blue stool intended for a flower pot. Using one of her grippers, I was able to persuade the serpent, about a metre in length, to seek pastures new. Much to my regret, neither of my companions thought to take a picture. So you have to make do with this reconstruction.

SCABIOUS - THERE ARE WHOLE FIELDS OF THEM TO BE FOUND

Let me add that the previous sinewy visitor to the garden got short shrift from one of the dogs, not that Tuesday's visitor appreciated the kindness I was doing it by moving it on. Indeed, it hissed its displeasure in no uncertain fashion. We see lots of snakes in the summer. They do us no harm and we merely encourage them to stay away from the house.



Following my hardware upgrade I have been slightly indisposed, unable this week to join Jones and the dogs on walks. My excursions have been limited to a gentle afternoon amble along the pedestrian circuit in the park, with a pause to treat the eagerly waiting beasts at the top.

CONCRETE PATH THROUGH THE PARK

Jones reported after one outing that, as the pack returned to the property, she heard Russ barking fiercely up front before he raced back to her.  Fearing an encounter with some other creature, my wife hurried forward to find the two orphans spooked stiff. Above them a grimacing balloon bobbed around a bush in which its tether had caught.



After bringing the dogs home, Barbara returned to photograph and retrieve the balloon. For the time-being it resides in the living room. As it deflates, I've been blowing it up, which has rather weighed it down (as I can't exhale helium).



For their part, the dogs still pause at they approach the bush to let Jones go ahead, lest any more demons leap out at them.



This is a shot that Cathy took of seven azure-winged magpies at the water bowl in the garden. I've had to zoom right in on it to show the birds, so it's a bit hazy. I've never seen more than three of the magpies together. Nor have I seen them bathing before.



The shy magpies, which are particularly fond of cat nibbles, are by far the most exotic visitors to the bird tray. They are outnumbered by the squabbling sparrows and bossy doves. The latter scatter the seed all over the show as they feed. There are more spectacular birds to be seen in the area but they tend to keep themselves to themselves, well-used to the hunters' depredations.



Friday I'm due to be a free man once again. Roll on!

 

Letter from Espargal: 23 June 2017

The week started badly in Portugal. Sixty-four people died and three times that number were injured in terrible forest fires in the north of the country. A thousand plus fire-fighters struggled to bring vast infernos under control in torrid conditions. Most of the victims were caught in their cars as they fled the flames. Portugal suffers from particularly devastating forest fires, for reasons that this BBC article explains: http://www.bbc.com/news/world-europe-40341180



With some relief we noted the passing of the solstice as the sun changed tack and started its journey back south - not that we expect any relief until at least September. Our day temperatures hover around the mid-30s. I have been grateful for the air conditioner that we installed in the study. My sister, Cathy, who is flying in from Berlin this morning, will be equally grateful for the unit in the guest room.

A LICK OF PAINT IS ALL IT LACKS

Vitor called to say that he'd replaced the welded scarifier arm and finished renewing and servicing the implement. The toughest part of the repair was levering off and then putting back those heavy springs, not a task for the faint-hearted.



He did a great job, angle-grinding off numerous rusty bolts/nuts, replacing them and greasing the implement (for the first time in years) through newly-installed nipples. The previous ones had rusted into invisibility. I wasn't even aware of their existence.



Here, rather belatedly, is a picture from Natasha of her young son (right) competing in the synchronised trampoline. His mate/partner is on the left. Little wonder the judges are impressed.

JUST MY SIZE

Prickles laid early claim to a dog basket donated by Marie & Olly. They were among friends who joined us for several meals, out under the stars. The weather, prickly by day, is perfect for al fresco dining in the evenings.



For the rest, the week hasn't proved particularly bloggable. We did lots of unmemorable running around. As well as doing sterling work in the garden, Barbara took lots of pictures. She was fascinated by the play of light in the wine glass.



As dazzling as it was, I found the contents more appealing. At this time of year we tend towards the light, petillant vinho verde wines, which are both refreshing and forgiving. One can find perfectly acceptable bottles for as little as two euros.



Russ took his blue (comfort) blanket out on to the cobbles and posed prettily behind the marigolds. I trim him at least once a week. Prickles and Barri have also come under the shears.



You will all be familiar with the spectacular Tecoma Grandiflora. The gates and car in the background provide proof that I'm not just downloading other people's pictures from the internet.



And here's the voluptuous Hoya, now out in flower beside the back patio.



Jones also snapped this rare Zebra Swallowtail. (It's rare in our garden, at least!)



She wasn't as keen on the colony of long-legged spiders that she found breeding in the guest bathroom and on the south patio. I'd have vacuumed the lot up but she did her best to relocate them. A snake that found its way into our garden wasn't as lucky. One of the dogs did for it.



Suspicion has fallen on Pally, who continues to spend his days rooting around excitedly in the rockeries and the park. His three-legged agility is quite remarkable. As I say, it hasn't been a famously bloggable week, so I'll leave things there.