A Journey Through One Thousand and One Photos (3)

J'adore. Beja.
Harry and I return without Mrs Fatima for his appointment

The Grandest Door So Far

View from a café – note the blue sign in the foreground

I have noticed that despite being very far south, every now and then I happen upon a sign for the Camino de Santiago. It seems ridiculous and as useful as having a sign to London, New York or Canberra. "Yes, if you keep heading in that direction you'll eventually get there." I imagine the surrounding landscape strewn with the skeletons of lost pilgrims.

The grass (again)

And again but with the tower this time

Back home Harry prepares lunch

Mrs Fatima takes Pirata out at night for a walk. She sprints around – chase me! Chase me!

Water

Indefatigably helpful, Mrs Fatima mused that there must already be water at the farm. She had visited the area some years ago and a neighbour was accessing water provided by the council. This seemed a far-fetched idea: that there would be mains water in such a remote location. Mrs Fatima saw to it that we contact the president of the parish councils and follow up on her lead. We made a joint call and he confirmed something about water and so we made an appointment to meet him to visit the farm the following week.

Mr Dário is a force of nature. His cells naturally produce an amphetamine-like substance which means he can hold down a full-time job at the local mine, do some building work on the side and be president of the parish councils with energy left over for his family. Or it might be all the coke he consumes (the drink, not the drug). We met him at the parish council in Santa Clara and waited a little whilst he read out loud a letter he was composing to the lady at the desk (the same who had attended to us previously and been disparaging about the cover at the other parish council). He would try out a sentence and she'd correct his usage of the Portuguese language. Finally, satisfied, he announced we could go. "Shall we go in our van?" I asked, worried Monty might leave the three of us stranded. "No," he replied to my relief, "the state pays! We go in the council van!" Mr Dario has clearly attended the Portuguese school of how to drive a vehicle if you're a middle-aged Portuguese man. Fast, one-handed and preferably with your eyes off the road when going round bends, especially those by a sheer drop.

He'd spent the first few years of life in France and could speak good French. This was of no use to me as my French is awful. However, he had good English too, so we managed to get by. We bounced along the mountain roads, some surfaced, many not, to get to the farm. On the way there he would point at an abandoned, derelict farmhouse and exclaim the crime that nobody was maintaining or using the property. Somehow, he knew where our farm was, presumably because of the name of the mountain. Just as we drove up to our farmhouse he let out, "Look, another one! Abandoned! What a waste!" "Er, this is our one," we explained. "This one! And you think you can renovate this on your own? With how much!" He enjoyed layering incredulity over Harry's earlier conversation about his plans for the farm.

Unbeknownst to us, there really is council-provided water in the area. But it's not mains water. It's a council-owned bore hole which lies just metres from our land. The little out-building that houses the pump isn't visible from our farm due to being just over a hill. When we first parked up, Mr Dario insisted on parking outside Farmer George's house (until now we had avoided trespassing, as we don't forgive them that trespass against us) before marching us to the front entrance. Another new puppy was hopping around our feet (every time we've visited since last year there have been new puppies) and Farmer George was quickly engaged in a conversation with Mr Dario. The exchange involved a lot of hot air from Mr Dario who was shouting at Farmer George and remonstrating him for the council water supply running dry and not reporting it. Then the second man we've seen on the farm, Mr José (or maybe it's Mr João), Farmer George's uncle, shirtless and pot-bellied appeared in the open doorway scratching slowly at his pot belly and looking tired or mildly pickled. The berating doubled in pantomime fashion. I couldn't follow a thing. I asked Mr Dario to explain what it had all been about as we walked away. He just complained that he couldn't sort problems out if people didn't report them to the council. Additionally, it appears that a greedy neighbour on the far side of the borehole pump is eating all the pies or rather, siphoning off all the water for himself and leaving his neighbours, quite literally, high and dry.

Mr Dario has the magic key to many council-owned buildings so we wandered over to the pump-house and after successfully opening the door he began fiddling with the equipment and making phone calls. I remained confused as the afternoon sun baked us. Farmer George appeared on an old motorbike. It was quicker and easier to get around the slopes than by donkey or by foot. He left and fetched an Allen key and all this went on for quite some time before Mr Dario concluded we would have to wait until tomorrow to see if the pump would work and water would appear. Whilst I waited for Dario to flex his problem-solving skills I looked around and took this first photo. If memory serves me right, Farmer George told me that the habitation to the right was Almodôvar and the sprawl of buildings on the horizon (centre left) was Castro Verde. "Castro Verde?!" I couldn't believe it. "Yes, and some days we can see Beja". Wow. These places that feel so remote and far-flung, reached by roads gently winding through empty landscapes, cannot be so very far away.

A few days later we hear that there is still no water.

IDEIAS!

After leaving the farm, Mr Dario took it upon himself to show us around the area. Unlike a town or village, this guided tour involved a lot of driving around abandoned mountain landscapes on dusty roads. Our first stop was the eponymous Boa Vista (Good View). As we left the farm and took a turning we'd not taken before, I asked Mr Dario in my habitually dry manner, "Does Boa Vista have a boa vista?" His enthusiastic response promised the best views around and there was no registration of the irony in my question. We were told about the collapsing windmill atop Boa Vista's summit which was now nearing restoration following his efforts. He showed us around the building site and took us up to the newly created floor from where I took these two photos. I understood that are development funds for regional development available from the EU. If you can come up with an idea and fifteen percent of the costings, the EU stump up the rest. All you need is ideias, ideias! Mr Dario kept egging us on about coming up with ideas. Stopping the unused and now redundant windmill from collapse seems honourable but dubious. Who is going to come all the way out here to have a picnic? Maybe I will...

Another idea someone had come up with was to let a couple use the nearby empty primary school for free if they stayed in it and looked after it. Mr Dario would take us to meet them after.

A view from the windmill window

A view of the primary school from the windmill

Every single primary school I have seen, possibly every primary school in the land, is built to an identical specification. In this area, many are repurposed as the local population declines and there are insufficient numbers of children to run the schools. Here, at the foot of Boa Vista, a couple occupy the school as their home and office. The guy's father owns the adjacent land and they have vast numbers of strawberry trees (medronhos) the fruit of which is used to make a popular liquor. However, they can't persuade local people to harvest the bounty, for money or love. I feel we need an idea.

The inhabitants of the school spoke educated English and provided much needed refreshment. I took an instant liking to them and hope we can get to know them better as future (far-flung) neighbours. Mr Dario had an idea, which he tried out on them. The parish council could pay for a party to get together all the foreigners sprawled across the area. It seems that few Portuguese remain up in the mountains with abandoned farms being the preserve of foreigners like us. A subsidiary idea is to get T-shirts printed with each of our nationalities to make it easier at the party to identify where we're from. Our hosts were mildly warmed by the idea.

On the next leg of the tour, Mr Dario took us to a picnic area outside Santa Clara. Yes... another one of his ideas.

There is a spring at the picnic site. The black smudge across the top and sides is made up of innumerable large, skinny-legged spiders. I passed on drinking the water.

This dusty beer jug was the receptacle for the water. No thanks.

A bizarre sight at the height of summer. Flowing water and greenery with frogs.

More photos

Another moody sunset

Mrs Fatima canters away from the horses

Our daily walk towards (but not to) Moinhos de Vento (where there are no windmills!)

A rare view into Mrs Fatima's kitchen through the window. It's normally shut to keep the heat out. On the windowsill there is a mango seed put to germinate, which Harry gave to her.

Ichiro surveils his surroundings whilst firmly tied up to the inside of the annex

On a visit to the house in Almodôvar. Monty is parked on what I call The Wasteland. A patch of abandoned earth straddling two parallel streets where a house or houses once stood.

Back in the annex at Bernardos, this plate from Mrs Fatima's mother perplexes and amuses.
"My Lord. Grant me the favour (given that this house is Yours) that there be peace, and that disgrace remains outside in the street" or
"I know shit happens but can you see to it that it happens to others and not me? Please."

Back at the spring outside Gomes Aires we meet a man who is using the water to prepare his olives for pickling

Wild apples or pears. Definitely not stairs.

I think Mrs Fatima looks rather fabulous in the front passenger seat of the van

Just outside Mrs Fatima's house Moinhos de Vento can be seen across the small valley

And we're off again

Later that day we visit Moinhos de Vento for the first time and eat at this restaurant. Mr Dario appears (without ideas). I find it strange that there is a view of Mrs Fatima's house, the annex (including the bathroom window) and Monty

A close up showing Monty nestled by the side of the house. It's interesting how position changes perspective.

After a disappointing lunch we wonder over to the primary school where Mrs Fatima received her formal education. It's now a coffee shop.

Inside the coffee shop I catch Hannibal playing cards with other locals

Back at Mrs Fatima's I notice this label in Pirata the lamb's pen. She's written his date of birth on it to help her keep track of his age.

And on the other side poor Sebastian the lamb's date of birth and death

Me mucking about with my shadow again

The long road to Castro Verde

Mrs Fatima joins us for our evening walk and Harry points out his disapproval of the sign for cow as it has the incorrect number of udders.

Mrs Fatima and Harry begin to harvest herbs from the dry riverbed. It might not be spearmint after all. I think it's something called pennyroyal (still a type of mint) and a quick online search suggests the oil is highly toxic. Great.

Harry bunching up the toxic mint

Unattended grapes are attended to by Mrs Fatima and Harry (and later consumed)

My only witnessing of sunrise

Sunrise

Shadows at sunrise

Back for more

Breakfast at the annex

Our time in Bernardos, so kindly mothered by Mrs Fatima, draws to an end. We move to Almodôvar over a few days, slightly dragging our feet. The house in Almodôvar has been renovated at break-neck speed and I start work soon so need a quiet, stable location with reliable internet access.

We begin the pain of moving, again.

The garage-cum-yard area of the house in Almodôvar

The garage door. I cannot manoeuvre Monty into the garage. It was like Mr Bean or Austin Powers parking

Ichiro finds a cool spot in the dining room

Ichiro finds another cool spot, this time in the sitting room

The front door

I suspect this is an Almodovarense idea. It's a cycle and pedestrian path across a bridge to nowhere

I like long shadows and I cannot lie.

Apparently a Roman bridge. Horses and donkeys included (they are not Roman).

The riverbed in Almodôvar

Another view of the Roman bridge

Almodôvar has a few sculptures on roundabouts. This one celebrates the firemen (with the fire station in the background)

A busy doorway

Harry washes and dries Ichiro's teddies before performing surgery

There's that disingenuous sign again sending pilgrims to their dusty deaths

It looks like this sign was defaced by a Greek-speaking person as they've made FARO into ΓΑΡΟ, the Greek for donkey and preferred word for calling someone an idiot. So the sign now reads:
Department of Transport of Bloody Idiots

The sign in its entirety

No way, São José.

Sunset on evening dog walk just outside Almodôvar

Old national highway

We resisted feeding this very cute dog. We think he came begging from us in May at a local restaurant. Don't worry, he has an owner and is well fed. It's just a case of, "Please, sir, I want some more."

The Wasteland with bougainvillea spilling over remnants of an old wall

Oh yes. Mrs Fatima has visited us and is on the dog walk too.

An old crumbly house for sale in Almodôvar. There are quite a few about. The For Sale sign and number to call are no longer legible.

Day-trip to Castro Verde with Mrs Fatima to visit the new Lidl. It sits on the edge of the town looking out over incredible countryside. So weird!

Garage door painted, Ichiro peeks out to see what's going on.

One of the many cobbled streets in Almodôvar. What looks like an old British phone box is a cabin for book exchange

Geosig. The estate agency we bought the farm through. The red gate to its right is the back entrance to the guesthouse (Casa da Cerca – Gate House) where we stayed both times we visited Almodôvar last October and May.

More teddy-washing.

Our plants from Bernardos, transplanted to Almodôvar.

Road that leads nowhere. Literally.

A very small truck

A very small truck which gets around a bit.

More abandoned houses in Almodôvar. Some may belong to people who moved abroad decades ago. Others passed on after death, children unable to agree.

Another side of Almodôvar with a newer estate in the background.

Ichiro waits for us outside the supermarket

On our way back from the supermarket I spot this postbox

Finally. I can cross "wash the dog" off my to-do list. It had been on there from before we left the UK!

White again!

Can you spot the mistake?

And now?

Harry repairs his sandals with glue and pegs

A lit fountain by the book exchange

As the Minute Waltz fades away...

I've clearly fallen behind with blogging. Look at the date!

Mrs Fatima on another visit

Ideas!

Cold Road

Mrs Fatima smuggled papaya seeds into Harry's tray of alface but he knew that already!

Happy Dog. Unhappy Owner. The bufas!

A wood-burning Aga which can also provide hot water!

Rusty Doors

Pretty Tiles

Hand-water-pump on the edge of town

Yet more pilgrim deaths on their hands

Old house with original stonework exposed

More doors coming up

The other edge of town with pretty olive groves

Giant Eucalyptus

We discover this little park with wisteria and the perfect view for Ichiro: sheep!
Funded, no doubt, after someone had an idea.

An extension of the park which has fallen into disrepair

The park sits on the N2. A national highway which predates the motorway and takes you all the way from the very north to the very south of Portugal. It's popular with bikers and goes right through the centre of Almodôvar.

The sheep have escaped into the ditch. Quick, let's get out of here before Ichiro gets wind!

Roundabout at the entrance to Almodôvar. There's another one at the other end. I used to think the circumflex accent had fallen over accidentally until I saw this one is the same.

A cat with four kittens who lives by these bins

Good to see the RAF branching out. Instead of a toaster we have toastie maker. So far, so good.

Chickpeas in the sandy foreground. Lettuces, pineapples and various other crops in the yard.

Young and stubborn. A baby mule.

The cat bins and a very large set of doors

A beautiful cat. The flowers in front of it open at night and have a very light, sweet and pleasant smell. Harry knows them as maravillas, named thus due to their marvellous odour.