Letter from Espargal: 8 December 2017

This is one of those weeks when no leading contender for an introduction springs to mind. In fact, there are no trailing contenders either. In a way that's quite nice. We didn't have to decide whether to nuke Pyonyang or inflame the Middle East by moving to Jerusalem. In fact, the most exciting event of the Espargalian week has been the rising of a supermoon.



Blog readers might be interested to know that there's another supermoon due on January 1 and yet another on January 31 - a veritable trilogy of supermoons. The 31 Jan orb will be both a supermoon and a blue moon - two for the price of one. Okay, that's enough moons. This isn't an astronomical blog!



Talking about things over our heads, I have dolled up our new bird table in the hope of attracting birds to it. Bird landing-pads have been fastened to it and bird-hosting branches attached. All that's lacking now is the birds themselves. You'd think the little blighters would be grateful.



Still on little creatures, this is a little lizard that I purchased from two creative Zimbabweans in the harbour at Kalk Bay on the Cape Peninsula last month. Its creators are among a million (or so) Zimbabweans who moved south prior to the felicitous fall of the Mugabe regime. Whether they will now be tempted to move north again, is moot. In the meantime the Kalk Bay Zimbabweans continue to subsist by creating a host of intricate little wire-bead creatures.



Some years ago we acquired another artistic lizard, a sketch, from a friend here in Portugal. To remove developing crinkles from the paper, Barbara slipped the sketch between the pages of a magazine - and then forgot about it. When she remembered, she couldn't recall which magazine. There are scores of these lying in piles around the house. Finally she came across it, with all the joy of the New Testament shepherd who stumbled on his missing sheep.



Barbara is a former librarian who likes to be surrounded by lots of paper, whether in newspapers, magazines or books. Pages are her friends. She still has collections of garden magazines that I subscribed to on her behalf when we lived in London. My occasional attempts to reduce the paper (and related) contents of the house have so far not met with success. Jones says that when she dies  "they" can just bring in a skip and toss everything into it.



I made reference earlier in the blog to my visit to South Africa. Every property in the Pretoria suburb where I stayed was protected by high walls topped by electric fences. Guards controlled entry to gated villages (such as that above). I was reminded why from this (slightly redacted) email from a contact in Johannesburg; it concerns his son and daughter-in-law.

"Gary and Nina have a clothing factory and supply ladies' underwear to boutiques. They were doing a delivery to a company ..... near Alexandra, a black township. As they drove through the gates of the business they were accosted by six gun-wielding robbers and robbed of everything of value they had on them. Nina couldn't get her wedding ring off her finger and was told, "Get it off or I cut your finger off." All this happened while they had guns pointed at their heads. Much of the clothing they were delivering was also taken, and even Gary's shoes."



Monday's English lesson dealt with negotiations between Portugal and Spain over the flow of western Iberia's biggest rivers. All three of these, the Douro in the north, the Tagus (Tejo) in the centre and the Guadiana in the south, rise in Spain and flow through Portugal to the sea. The quality and quantity of water that Spain releases is a sore point with the Portuguese, all the more so in a drought-stricken year such as this.

DEARHEART IN HER FAVOURITE SPOT ON THE HEATED BATHROOM FLOOR

On the home front we have done as much early grocery and festive season shopping as the pantry will bear. I cannot abide the Christmas rush, not even here in the Algarve hills. I was relieved to find that although the shops are already overflowing with yuletide fare, there isn't yet an audio loop of buy-more Christmas carols blaring from loudspeakers. (Relieving oneself to the strains of Come All Ye Faithful is the limit!) As is my wont, I have invested in some acceptable bottles of festive cheer to sustain me over the period.



On Tuesday we took Russ to the vet. He has developed incipient signs of leishmaniosis (a zoonotic disease caused by Leishmania parasites transmitted by the bite of an infected phlebotomine sandfly - Wikipedia). It's all too common around here, causing ugly lesions in its victims.



Some years ago our other big dog, Bobby, contracted the disease which, in animals, is easily treatable although not curable. (The human form can be cured.) Fortunately, initial tests on Russ proved negative. Still, the vet sold us some expensive pills which, he said, ought to kill any bugs and clear up the flaky skin in Russ's ears and around his eyes.

HERE'S THE SUPERMOON AGAIN, JUST IN CASE YOU MISSED IT

On Wednesday, en route to a session with Jodi, we dropped in at the Benafim community centre to wish the residents and staff a happy Christmas. We had intended to stop off at the parish office to query the non-arrival of a package that Cathy posted to us from Berlin some weeks ago. As it happens, that very morning we found a notice of the package's arrival in our post box - and we collected it the following day. Much appreciated! Thank you Cathy.

A MOMENT OF REPOSE

Thursday we had marked down for lunch with the manager of a struggling dog sanctuary but she had to rush an animal to the vet. Instead we topped up our supplies of baggy and olive oil at the lagar near Sao Bras. During a brief Lidl's stop on the way home, I took Ono and Prickles for leg-lifters across the road. On our return to the car park I spotted a woman driving off with two dozen eggs resting on the roof of her car. My frantic waving brought her to a puzzled stop. And very grateful she was when she discovered why. That's my good deed for December, done nice and early.



Friday: Portugal is today celebrating a national holiday in honour of the Immaculate Conception. More accurately, most Portuguese are making the most of a long weekend; for I doubt that one in ten even knows what the feast is about.

Letter from Espargal: 1 December 2017

BENAFIM, HUDDLED ACROSS THE VALLEY FROM ESPARGAL
Forgive my recent silence. I have been travelling. I flew with Iberia to South Africa to spend a few days with family there, especially my brother, Brendan, who is recovering from heart surgery.



Brendan runs a small family business in the mining town of Witbank. But while he is on the mend, he is staying with his daughter, Micaela, at her townhouse in a gated community in the suburbs of Pretoria.



I lodged a couple of blocks away in the comfortable environs of the Villa Africa hotel, from which Micaela fetched me each morning. Sadly, crime is rife and one doesn't stroll around the area. All properties are surrounded by high walls topped with electric fences.



Micaela's usual companions are Zoe and Sushi. Naturally, they enjoy full family rights.



We met Barbara's brother, Robbie, and Carol for lunch at the vast Menlyn Park shopping mall. Robbie's dark glasses help him cope with an eye infection.



From Pretoria I flew to Cape Town to spend a weekend with Barbara's and my extended families there. The hospitality of her nephew, Chris Jones, and his wife, Jane, comes highly recommended.



My first concern was to catch up with the lives of my several cousins in the Cape Peninsula. So immersed did I become in our conversations that I neglected to take pictures. My apologies!  Barbara's extended family later joined us for a curry dinner. Thank you, Jane (right).



Back at the ranch, Jones continued to walk the hounds in the hills twice a day. She had recently returned herself from a family week in South Africa. Unless we have house sitters, it's not feasible for us to travel together - not with 12 demanding animals to care for.



On my return, I felt the effects of three consecutive flights and a train ride.



But a reviving cuppa coffee had me back on my feet - in a manner of speaking.



In my absence the traffic barrier on the bend approaching the Espargal turn-off took a serious battering .



The driver of a large bread delivery van did the damage, writing off his vehicle in the process - fortunately without damaging himself. Bits of lorry are still strewn around.



Just beyond the village someone has cleared a plot, erected a fence and housed several dogs. We have yet to learn who and why!



The summer has been long, hot and dry, leaving much of the country in drought. After weeks of waiting for rain, and a few teasing showers, we saw promising clouds gathering.



On Tuesday relieving rains fell - all of 30mms. As welcome as the downpour was, it barely dampened the Algibre's  long-exposed pebble bed.  (Below) The water streaming into the tub comes from a spout on the upper patio.



On Wednesday we saw our lawyer regarding Casa Nada. We are not holding our breath. Meanwhile, from the remains of a tree we have created a second bird-feeder. Thus far the birds have ignored it. In fact, doves apart, they're not showing much interest in their regular seed tray either.



Thursday we joined friends for lunch at a country restaurant. The rain has gone away. Blue skies are back.



Just beyond our gates numerous black beetles seem to spend most of their time lying helplessly on their backs, legs kicking feebly in the air. We set several right each time we pass. How have they survived as a species, I wonder, when evolution has treated them so cruelly.



With the arrival of December and a cold front from the north, temperatures have fallen sharply. After dinner the dogs love to gather around the wood-fire in the living room.



And so do we, truth be told.  It's dark by six and one or two interesting TV programmes - or a movie -  bring welcome entertainment to long evenings.  Jones has cast an eye over the blog. She says there are too many dog pictures.



Nay, it's not pictures that are the problem. The problem is too many dogs!



 

Letter from Espargal: Sete Cidades: 23 October 2017

After three days in Furnas in the east of Sao Miguel, we trekked slowly around the north west perimeter of the island towards the village of Sete Cidades (Seven Cities). Like Furnas, the village sits in the crater of an extinct volcano. The rain run-off from the surrounding crater walls accumulates in a double lake, shaped like a figure of eight. The two parts are known as the Blue Lake and the Green Lake; the latter is full of algae.



Our accommodation was a cabin on the lake shore, one of three on the property. It was completely framed in wooden slats, as though to merge with the trees. The interior was comfortable and modern.



The garden was au naturel, pretty much left to its own devices. Besides the cabins was a house, also to rent. All four units were popular. We got in only because of a cancellation.



Sete Cidades is nothing much. The attractions are the lake and the scenery. We were advised that it was safe to go swimming but we declined. Neither did we see any other swimmers.



An extensive grassy verge beside the lake offers pleasant walks. From several kiosks dotted along the road one can hire canoes or arrange bird-watching. An info-kiosk encourages visitors to learn more about the ecology of the area.



The village centre, just up the road, comprises a church, a tiny grocery and a couple of restaurants. Elsewhere there's a third restaurant and a home bakery - along with a couple of B&Bs and snack bars. That's about it.



From the little grocer we obtained the bare necessities for picnic suppers.



Much of the village was undeveloped. Across the road from us, cows grazed in fields ringed by electric lines.



The farmers would tow in mobile milking units to service the cows



before transferring the milk to stainless steel tanks attached to their pick-ups.



These pick-ups were everywhere, with or without a farm dog escort.



One morning mist descended on the crater. But as soon as we reached the rim bright sunshine returned.



Each morning we'd set out on minor expeditions to villages on the coast. This meant climbing the steep, twisting road to the crater rim and descending the far side. Twice we visited the thermal baths of Ferraria in the village of Ginetes.



The big attraction was a sea pool that was warmed by a strong thermal inflow at low tide.



Dozens of bathers clung to ropes that were strung across the pool.



We declined to join them, partly because the approach across the volcanic rocks was so awkward. From the rocks, two ladders led down to the water.



Instead, we made use of the thermal pool beside the spa a few hundred metres away. The water was delightfully warm.



The villages were attractive and the houses colourful.



Beyond them, the countryside reminded us of English fields - a green and pleasant land.



All over the island, the roads were hedged by hydrangea shrubs, often a couple of metres in height.



Each village supported a small harbour, used mainly by fishermen.



The next stop after the island is Boston - although fleets of turbo props connect Sao Miguel with the other Azores islands.



We left Sete Cidades by the upper road that runs spectacularly along a central ridge from which both the northern and southern shores of the island are visible.



Our final day was spent in Ponta Delgada at an hotel overlooking the marina.



We made our way to the top of the city where a fine garden, open to the public, surrounds the palace of the governor of the Azores.



It's notable mainly for its great variety of trees from all parts of the world,



And here ends our island holiday. easyJet flew us back to Lisbon early the next morning and the express train brought us home. Our house sitters, who did a wonderful job, have returned to the UK - and life to normal.