Man Goes To Portugal

A still from the video of the procession Bunting made from plastic bottles A church with a view just outside Almodôvar A corker of a photo taken in Almodôvar Clothes-drying in Bernados Another lamb makes its way to us Here are some photos from yesterday, the Feast-day of São Sebastião, Patron Saint of Gomes Aires. After limited sleep on Friday night (I blame the blogging) we had a late start the next morning and I, again, found myself in Mrs Fatima's kitchen.  Each one of us at our designated positions around the table, I was, again, at the receiving end of more tales of her life whilst the chores were left to wait.  Harry remained hidden in the cave that is the annex, washing and hanging up clothes, having a few quiet minutes to himself.  It wasn't clear we'd make it to Mass at 10am in Gomes Aires but, as it turned out, Mrs Fatima was quite happy to miss Mass and catch the procession only.  We were aligned in sentiment and after walking Ichiro and feeding the two la...

  On this morning's dog walk with Harry and a cork tree Fonsequinha makes progress The evening dog walk looking back towards Bernardos Today has been slow paced.  I learnt and have already forgotten the Portuguese words for French Toast (I didn't know what French Toast was anyway!) and can just about still remember the word for scissors.  Fonsequinha has been pulled back from the abyss and is playful and eating better.  I'm not sure what the response should be to an almost-seventy-year-old lady and Harry galloping around making bleating noises to encourage the lambs to play but this is what they do.  The lambs seem to like it and start running behind them. Mrs Fatima wasn't in the mood to cook lunch today and suggested we go into Moinhos de Vento to eat but then repented.  Her neighbour had returned from there saying there was a queue.  Added to that, today's offerings were not too impressive either.  "I have an idea," she said.  "Let's go in...

Dona Fatima and Harry try to feed the latest addition The pace of our days has changed.  With Monty incarcerated in a garage at the local town, we are at the mercy of our host to go anywhere.  Mrs Fatima is putting a lot of energy into getting things sorted for us: finding us somewhere to stay, getting paperwork in order with the local parish council, finding builders,  materials and so on.  She is tireless in her pursuit whilst also trying to keep on top of her daily chores which mostly revolve around preparing food, making wine (see likes a tipple every lunchtime!), and feeding her various animals.  The relationship with the land and animals is what you'd expect in a rural setting.  She is offered lambs only a day or so old that for some reason can't remain on the farm (usually because the mother doesn't have enough milk) and rather than 'dispose' of them at this point, farmers offer them to friends and family, who then hand-raise them for food.  Cur...

Dona Fatima meets Don Monty "I have an annex in case of Notfall " .  Dona Fatima's WhatsApp message is written in Portuguese apart from 'Notfall' which is the German for emergency.  About three weeks ago we had nowhere to stay in Portugal.  Andrea, the owner of the Airbnb where we stayed in October and again in May, had kindly offered to find us somewhere and I was confident she would.  Some time ago, she contacted me about a one-bedroom house she had seen advertised on a local social media site.  I naturally had some questions and messaged her for clarification but the days went past without a response.  "It's the Alentejo.  Things move slowly," I thought.  By the time I heard back from her and contacted the owner of the house it had already gone.  "Of course," Andrea explained when I told her, "it was a very good price."  Lesson One: not everything moves at tectonic plate pace in the Alentejo.  The weeks went by and nothing was ...

Scorchio It's getting late.  Andrew-Neil-speaking-to-an-incredulous-Diane-Abbott late so I may need to keep this short. Today has been a mix of Victor Meldrew, Benny Hill and Monty Python.  Things started off well enough.  Ichiro adored his first ever experience of air-conditioning and snoozed deeply most of the night.  This morning we were able to have a coffee and an old bit of toasted white bread with butter and peach jam.  The hotel sits next to a petrol station and they sold ice.  Harry fits as much as he can in the fifteen or so Thermos flasks he has brought with him (ok, maybe it's six or seven), adds some water and is able to reach back and refresh Ichiro's heavy ceramic bowl with icy cold water throughout the trip.  The attendant at the petrol station also kindly agrees to me using one of their brooms and squeegees and I clear up the multiple dry unrecognisable insect remains from the windscreen. Mid-morning we set off and quickly put Spain be...

Signs of Portugal   It's hard for me to believe that yesterday we were in a lush landscape with beautiful chiming church bells providing the only interruption to the lazy silence.  In contrast, today has been a tough day of driving for me.  Six or seven hours from Mios (the banana house which couldn't gain Harry's trust) to the Hotel La Rad just off a Spanish motorway a few kilometres beyond Salamanca (not to be confused with salamander). Last night, after I settled in to bed without Harry, Ichiro drank a lot of water and wanted to go out.  I called Harry using my phone asking if he'd take him for some light relief.   We would take him was the suggestion that came back.  But I've not got any clothes on, I protested, as though somehow that would be enough to persuade Harry.  Moments later I slipped the only clothes I have back on and wandered outside with Ichiro, phone torch in hand to light the way.  A group of bandit night flies saw us coming and...

Harry & Monty It's Friday night and the van lights are low.  Harry is inside, watching something on his phone.  He is going to sleep in the van tonight.  We haven't fallen out.  He says he won't be able to sleep for fear of someone breaking into the van overnight.   We are somewhere about half an hour's drive south from Bordeaux.  Donkey Monty (my new nickname for the van) behaved himself today.  After a gentle start this morning, which included sending a link to this blog to you all, I called the breakdown company again.  I quite like chasing things up with them because every time I call something actually gets done.  This time they told me the van had been checked and no faults could be found and they could arrange a taxi for us to go and fetch it from Le Mans.  I was a little sceptical about the lack of a diagnosis and so the operator agreed to speak to the garage again.  The only information we have is that it test-drove fin...

In case you're wondering, this is a mango.  Harry adores and misses the tropical plants he grew up with.  He hopes to be able to grow mangoes in Portugal, hence the title of this log, "Mangoes to Portugal", which my sister came up with. Three days ago the living nightmare that is never-ending-packing and moving-things came to an end and freed us to jump in to the overladen van (pictured in the background) and drive to Folkestone.  It was our first time travelling with 'Le Shuttle' and Ichiro's first time outside the country.  The crossing was almost too easy after all the strain that emptying our house in Oxford had been.  No-one stopped us, no-one checked us.  We just drove on and drove off the large train and then, as the last of the summer light faded, we plonked into the French road system to get to our first stop on the way to Portugal. I had suspected last-minute shenanigans so booked a flexible ticket which meant we could board the train at any time ...