Letter from Espargal: 30 November 2018

STAYING UPRIGHT ON TREACHEROUSLY SLIPPERY PATHS
This week has unfolded, a bit like a damp ball of string that unwraps itself as it bobs uncertainly downhill. It's hard to know exactly where it started. But last Saturday's as good a starting point as any.

WORK IN PROGRESS
Slavic and I set about silencing the unruly guest-bedroom (NOTE the placing of the hyphen) and bathroom doors, running a thin rubber lining down the door frames and seeking to replace the door locks with magnetic closers. That, at least, was the plan. Unfortunately, the magnetic closers didn't fit the existing slots. The question now is whether it's worth bringing a carpenter in to do a proper job.



We also spent a couple of hours cutting back the exuberant winter growth in the park. Several large piles of greenery await disposal once the weather clears.


THE ALGIBRE FROM THE BRIDGE
In spite of generous rains this month, the Algibre at the foot of hill remains a dry, stony water-course. We peer hopefully over the bridge wall each time we pass, thus far to no avail.



Monday we presented ourselves for treatment to the dermatology unit at Loule hospital. We both had bits nicked out of us and got zapped with those cryo-gas guns. Jones needed several stitches in her arm and has to report to the hospital to have the dressing changed. I got away more lightly.


THIS IS JONES
After fetching the dog bones from the butcher, I joined Jones in the pharmacy, taking her by the arm from behind and relieving her of the ticket in her hand. She was most surprised, quite astonished in fact. So was I to see that I was clutching the arm of a woman of similar stature with identical hair and the same off-white jacket.


THIS IS NOT JONES
I was most apologetic although she saw instantly that the mistake was innocent. The same thing nearly happened in the supermarket a day or two later when I was about to dump a bag of dog food into a stranger's trolley. It was only the trolley contents that alerted me. As you see, the error might be forgiven.



While we were in town we popped into an impressive office that has opened to publicise the posh Ombria resort being developed just beyond Tor, between us and Loule. The sales consultant was delighted to describe just how wonderful it was going to be. When complete, the resort will comprise a hotel, clubhouse, conference centre, restaurants, villas, apartments and a golf course, set in hundreds of hectares of woody hillside. Stage One is due to open two years hence.


THE MODEL
Jones hates it, I hardly need say.  In her world, development is a four-syllable word. I'm more sanguine. If it brings useful investment and employment to the Portuguese interior, I can live with it, even if we can't afford to live in it. The developers are anxious to emphasise the resort's ecological foundations. Jones liked the ecology the way it used to be before the machines moved in.



Tuesday I had a tune-up with Jodi.  As she kneaded my back I confided to her that we had both passed the Portuguese language exams that we undertook last month as part of the requirement to obtain Portuguese citizenship. Jodi, who is also South African born, took the same road a few years ago and gave us valuable advice on how to proceed. (The evils of Brexit, now just four months away, are never far from our thoughts!)


GORGEOUS FLOWER ON A PERNICIOUS WEED
As you may imagine, we were both (Jones and I) very pleased and relieved to have got through. Jones had earlier insisted that she wasn't going to sit the exam again, whatever the result. Once was enough. We both found it rather tougher than we'd anticipated.


A TOUGH, THORNY, RESISTANT CREEPER
Another visit I made was to the secretary of the Senior University who has been badgering me to continue with English conversation classes this coming year. After more than ten years of teaching I felt a bit stale and took the last quarter of the year off, both to travel and to think things over.


AUTUMN COLOURS
Another discouraging factor has been the recent deaths from cancer of two long-standing pupils, both men my own age (and two ex-Marist colleagues from heart attacks.) One is reminded of the limited septuagenarian horizon. Anyhow, following my conversation with the secretary, I've agreed to give it a go again in 2019.


A DRINK
Except when it's rained, we've walked morning and evening. We relish the autumn days. What's more, I need to shed several kilos that have attached themselves to me during our breaks and my travels. One is wise to take great care on the steep paths and smooth rocks. I unblushingly use two walking sticks. Even Jones has been seen with an occasional stick in her hand.



As Natasha set about the house on Wednesday, we took ourselves to Sao Bras to top up our baggy and olive oil supplies before going on to lunch at Faro Beach. Across the estuary a TAP airbus was doing circuits and bumps, presumably at the hands of nerve-wracked trainees. The drama of making one's first "real" landing was reflected in an excellent easyJet TV documentary earlier this year.


PADDED LEATHER SEATS AT ZURICH AIRPORT GATES
Speaking of which, I was impressed by both Zurich airport and the Swiss (airline) service that I received en route to and from South Africa where I spent a week with the Bensons in Witbank and a day with the Joneses near Johannesburg - for whose hospitality thank you all.



I also enjoyed a morning with Barbara's nephew, Chris Jones, who had flown up from Cape Town to oversee the repair of a vast mining boom. Chris stood me to an excellent lunch at Rand Airport.



He later sent me this picture of half of the boom being transported back to the open-cast mine concerned - the biggest load ever seen on the road. How on earth it was lifted on to the trailer (and off again) boggles the imagination.



Our black and white cat, Not-Robbie, who upgraded himself from visitor to resident status some months ago, is starting to throw his weight around with the two established black cats, skinny little runt that he is.


CAT ON A WARM TIN ROOF
Barbara now has to feed her established felines separately to prevent the intruder from elbowing them out of the way.



In the meanwhile they've parked themselves in the chair in front of the TV, beside the fire. What a delight the fire is at this time of year! On a dull day we light it early and keep it just aglow in the heart of the living room. In the evenings some of us are inclined to doze off in front of it, especially after dinner on a dull TV night.



December looms - my least favourite month - the tinsel time of expectation and excess, of traffic jams and shopping queues, Santas skulking in the supermarkets, Silent Night wafting through the loos. T'will soon be over! Come my dogs, it's time for a walk!

Letter from Espargal: 9 November 2018

It's a cool, cloud-smudged Thursday. The cobbles glisten with the sheen of the dawn showers while grey cotton wool reinforcements muster in the distance. (Warning: lots of dog pictures coming up.)



Jones has a fire going in the stove for which both beasts and humans are grateful. We have just seen off our house-sitting guests, Ian and Jennifer. For once Ian didn't join us for a tramp through the hills. He didn't fancy muddying up his departure outfit. The sounds of silence echo through the house.



I use two precautionary walking sticks on days such as these as the wet paths and smooth rocks on our hillside hikes can be treacherous, especially the steeper bits. And falling isn't fun!



This spectacular cloud and mist effect was snapped by Jones as we set out this morning. That's my distant figure lower right.



When we get back home we dry off the dogs, mainly for the benefit of our chairs. The animals have long since secured chair-occupation rights - to Jennifer's surprise.



"You allow  dogs on your chairs?" she asked, somewhat taken back. "They're not ordinary dogs," I explained, "they're family. And, anyhow, they don't mind if we sit beside them." Which is true, as you can see!



What they don't appreciate is having the mud washed out of their paws after a cloggy walk. Bobby, whom we've cornered above, usually makes a dive for the kennel and refuses to come out until the coast is clear. That's Ian under one hat and me under the other.



Last week Slavic and I erected a light chicken-wire fence along the top of the cisterna (from which we think Barri leaps down to wander around  outside when we go out). Undeterred, on the next occasion she knocked down the fence and went wandering again. Either that or it blew down, which I doubt! (PS Barri is female, so named because she was born in a "barril".)



So now I've invested in some serious fencing panels. Putting them up should occupy Slavic and me for most of the morning. We used to keep Barri inside when we went out but she objected to being locked up by our house sitters and destroyed the cat-flap trying to get out.



I've found the same model cat-flap online and installed it but it was available only in white and jars with the brown surround. I might have to paint it out of sight.



A visit to Leroy Merlin (fabulous store) provided us with lots of info about a small raised pool we're hoping to install over the winter as well as rubber draft-excluder linings and magnetic door closers for a couple of rooms whose doors refuse to shut quietly.



I've also bought a new smart-watch, a Samsung Galaxy, to replace my aging and battery-failing Pebble. Reviewers said it was the next best thing to the Apple watch - the unchallenged leader of the pack. The Galaxy is certainly a great advance on the Pebble.



Although I was tempted by the Apple watch 4, I resisted. The price is just crazy and I'd then be tempted to get an iPhone to go with it. Anyhow, I really like the Galaxy. The health app is a bit of a bossy boots but I can always gag it if it gets on my nerves.



Wednesday evening we celebrated at the Hamburgo. Fintan (left) and Pauline are off to Ireland shortly. Beside me is Paula (a blog fan who commutes from the UK) who came over to say hello - and Ian.



And here's the rest of us.  The Hamburgo has now shut for several days. Manuel is planning a couple more closures to catch up with other things over the quiet season.



While Ian and Jennifer were away in the Alentejo for four days, Jones and I got in a load of carobs - the last from our trees.  Our farmer friend came around this evening to collect them.



I've advised him and neighbours that I'll be away visiting family in South Africa next week. So no blog this coming Friday. Jones went up to the talefe at sunset this evening. I like the picture she took.



Fim!

Letter from Espargal (Part 2): 3 November 2018

MONCHIQUE SQUARE
From Monchique we proceeded westwards, stopping to wander around Aljezur, an ancient town that squeezes a great deal of history into its narrow streets.



Archaeological sites indicate that humans have occupied the area for at least six thousand years. The Romans were there and so were the Moors until the mid-13th century when Aljezur castle fell to the Christian armies.



It was the last Moorish stronghold to resist the Christian reconquest of Iberia. These days all that remains are the walls and an underground water tank.



For hundreds of years after that agriculture sustained the town, supplying grain and other foodstuffs to the ships that sailed up the Aljezur creek to replenish their stocks. The creek has long since silted up.



We hiked up and later down the steep cobbled streets that lead to the castle, passing several small museums that - to our regret - were closed on Mondays.



When the town was partially destroyed by the great earthquake of 1755, it was rebuilt on the far side of the fertile river plain.



Aljezur remains so divided until this day. These days it attracts a great many tourists, especially backpackers, and it's common to hear German and Dutch spoken in the streets.



Our destination - an hour to the north - was a remote lodge called Paraiso Escondido (Hidden Paradise) with a number of diverse luxury suites and cabins. Barbara is seated outside Marula, the one we occupied for the next two days.



It's owners are Glenn and Berny, pictured either side of Barbara. He's British; she's Portuguese, born in Mozambique and educated in South Africa. The couple have been meticulous in developing and furnishing the lodge to their tastes and requirements.


THEIR PHOTO
It's hard to describe as it's a low-build development in several layers that lie against the hillside, one above the other, leading down to the dam that's used for irrigation.


THEIR PHOTO
The main house, upper centre-right, holds several of the suites as well as the library, lounge and dining area. The owners live lower left. That's their private pool in front. Guests have their own somewhat larger pool. We didn't try it. Just too cold!



Dining is taken seriously, whether breakfast (which is part of the package) and served by Marcia - or dinner, which is an optional extra. Meals are prepared by the resident chef.



The room is full of objets d'art, selected and sometimes designed and even made by the proprietors. Jones was in her element.



Marula (it's hard to know whether to describe it as a cabin, a lodge or a suite) was tops. I loved the mega-special mattress - an item, as I ascertained, that alone cost close to four figures. My fusspot back hasn't been so happy in ages.



From this base we set out to explore several of the small beach resorts along the west coast. The picture above shows the Ceixe river that frames the beach and Odeceixe Beach village above it.



The beach is vast and we had it largely to ourselves.



The tidal river had created a patchwork of pools along its bank. On the far side a number of camper vans had pitched camp.



The weather wasn't kind. Our stay was marked by frequent squalls and periods of rain. Regrettably, I was to leave the umbrella you see protecting me at our next stop, the beach hut at Azenha, pictured below.



Beneath the table to the left, half a dozen cats were perched on the chairs, making the most of the intermittent sunshine.



The cats were content to mind their own business on the understanding that customers did the same.



To our great surprise, we came across a scene that could have come straight out of Africa or possibly North America. Behind the fence was a collection of animals and birds including bison, various buck, zebra and ostriches. They looked pretty content with their lot.



And so farewell to the west coast and back home through the rain.  Here I must pause for a moment.



A major unreported event in our lives was the death of Prickles, just before we went away. He had been ailing for some time.



He now rests beside Ono in a grave in our field. My thanks go to the neighbours who helped me bury him. RIP Pricks! You were a big dog in a small body. You have left a hole in our lives.