A Journey Through One Thousand and One Photos (2)

Beja

Mrs Fatima wanted to visit the regional capital, Beja, to look at some second hand furniture. She had heard from the German lady-couple, as alemãs, about a shop which sounded like it would supply what she needed. Ever efficient and unwasteful, she suggested we travel together when Harry had his appointment in Beja. In order to remain in Portugal more than ninety days as a British citizen, Harry has to apply to "SEF", the government agency for managing visas. A friendly lawyer in Almodôvar who had sorted some paperwork out for us last October kindly, and for no fee, took me through all the steps that were needed for Harry and me. I'm lucky enough to have EU citizenship so it's rather straightforward for me.

When I visited the town hall (câmara) in Almodôvar to apply for my permissions, I had to fill out a form in Portuguese. The lady who attended to me was kind and gently helpful. I was stumped at "Reason for being in Portugal". How would I approach this deep and existential question? I floundered. She said, "most people write 'climate'. You could write 'climate' or 'quality of life.'" OK... I wasn't sure how to write the "of" in "quality of life" because de (of) and da (of the) both sound like "duh" to me so I sought her orthography. She repeated de... or was it da? so I wrote the latter and later discovered I was wrong. Doh!

For Harry things are a little more cumbersome. He has to apply to SEF and the lawyer told me it was in turmoil following a national scandal and they are in the process of being wound up and a new organisation put in their place. We would need to visit a charity organisation in Beja who would help him to make an appointment with SEF. On hearing that Mrs Fatima wanted to visit Beja, Harry leapt at the chance to go on a trip and said, Let's go tomorrow! But you haven't got your appointment with the charity yet, Mrs Fatima pointed out. It doesn't matter––we can go twice!

Beja is the capital of the Lower Alentejo. There's a kind of hierarchy of places here.

Bernardos – a collection of houses opposite the village.

Moinhos de Vento – the village proper with a coffee shop and restaurant but no amenities.

Gomes Aires and Santa Clara – nearby villages which have some basic amenities and a parish council building each.

Almodôvar – the municipal capital to the above. I don't know what to call it. It's probably a large village or very small town. Smallish supermarkets, municipal council, amenities galore!

Castro Verde – it has a new Lidl. It's bigger than Almodôvar so that's where you refer yourself first if you can't complete your business in Almodôvar.

Beja – the regional capital. Largish town. Here the train-line ends. When Harry and I came to see the farm on our scouting mission last October, our interrail journey ended in Beja. It was where we spent our first ever night in Portugal and we asked to stay an extra night as we liked it so much.

Beja, by the side of the castle

A strange sight. Olive trees with green grass in summer. The council water the ground. Looks lovely

Mrs Fatima approves of the photo Harry has taken of her

Number 4. If you're looking for 4A...

Nice green door

Close-up of nice green door

Inside the grounds of the castle. Harry and I climbed the tower in October. It offers great views. Mrs Fatima refused to!

Sorry, more doors.

Heading back home after Mrs Fatima didn't find any furniture she liked

Meanwhile, back in Bernados...

Atrevido has always lived outside. Now that he's retired he will live out his days in Bernados. He always has water and food and slinks from shady place to shady place throughout the day. Just opposite Mrs Fatima's front door he hollows out a shallow bowl to sleep in. He is a dusty beast.

Ichiro enjoying some ice in a bowl. He is tethered to the inside of the annex to keep him out of trouble.

Mrs Fatima fusses over one of the horses at sundown

Figs from Mrs Fatima's tree just outside the window. Constantly supplied with chicken fertiliser.

Keeping cool during the heatwave (wet flannel)

Poço Seco (Dry Well)

There's a place called Dry Well somewhere not a million miles from here. Mrs Fatima has been drinking the water from the well nestled between Bernardos and Moinhos de Vento since she was born. Whilst we were staying with her the well stopped providing water. Apparently there is water but the pipe doesn't descend down deep enough. So Mrs Fatima went in search of a new well to continue getting her free supply of spring water. She recalled that there was one just beyond Gomes Aires so we headed there with Monty, armed with empty five- and six-litre water bottles.

Poço Seco isn't the only place with an eminently translatable name. Here are some others I have collected:

Dry Leg

Fat Mountain

Purgatory

Fat Head

Starters

Blackboards

Great Sincerity

and the ones below which we passed on the way to the fountain:

Vault ->

Weevils ->

<- Goodview

and my all-time favourite,

<- Windy Couple

I kid you not. On the way to the fountain, Mrs Fatima was teaching me the two different words for "fart". The Portuguese draw a distinction between those that sound and those that don't. She went on to express her distain for the male propensity to vocalise gaseous anal emissions. When we came upon this sign I said to her, "The husband does peidos and the wife bufas!". She appeared nonplussed by my incredible wit. It seems that fart jokes don't travel well outside the UK... A bit like Monty!!

Monty parked up outside the little picnic area and fountain

Harry and Mrs Fatima missing the lovely sunset

After walking Ichiro we returned to the fountain to fill up. Someone has left a bottle-cum-dog bowl which came in handy.
Mrs Fatima thinks Harry spends too much time on his phone.

Service Station(s)

Walking Ichiro near and around Bernardos continued to be problematic with various big dogs potentially on the loose. We got into the habit of popping Ichiro into the van and heading five minutes away down a very quiet road, pulling up, and walking him. At the end of this road is the "Services Area". It's the access to the motorway service stations for the locals that work there. We started to drive a little further along that road so that we could walk him there. So many motorway users stop to walk their dogs on this land that Ichiro was more than delighted to sniff around and reassert his ownership over it.