28February1996

My dear folks,

I had to blink a couple of times when I staggered down MCP's steep stairs at 0500 this morning for a relieving pee. It must have been a good party. By 0800 when I awoke again - after an exhausting session of dreams that would have tied Freud in knots - I felt a lot better & ready for the day. Today was our day off. But I did want to complete a letter before we set out on our travels, formulating a rental agreement for the 1st four months of next year with our Dutch tenant & her dogs. It was, after a relaxing breakfast & some fussing around, all of 1100 by the time this was done. When I came to print it out, I got the familiar error message. So we packed up the printer & took it back to Faro for another injection of electricity courtesy of Canon Inc.

To be honest, Canon's receptionist was still bowled over by the compliment of sparkling wine yesterday & couldn't have been sweeter. The old electrical cord went into the printer's backside & we went off for the rest of day while it recharged. Our route took us through the old port of Olhao (lovely centre, vile outskirts - as so often), via Tavira (where the Romans had a trading port) & where we stopped at a nursery for Jones to agonise over the plants we might acquire.

It's not good her asking me if we should get this plant or that because I always say yes. Half an hour produced half a dozen including a flower for the Canon lady & we continued on to the tiny village of Cacela Velha (pronounced Casela Vel-yah - old Cacela) a bit further up the coast towards Spain. This is a wee jewel situated on an estuary & in a nature reserve which, fortunately, protects it from the horrors of developers whose monstrous works can be clearly seen some miles down the beach. At Cacela there is a sign instructing one to park outside the village unless one is a resident or attending a funeral.

The reason for this soon becomes clear. The village comprises a large church, some 20 tiny houses, a police post cum radar station & 2 cafe-bars. A hearse had drawn up outside the church which was clearly the place to be buried from & some po-faced undertakers were standing around solemnly as undertakers do. We left them to their business & repaired to a cafe which has served us well once before. The weather was cloudy as it has been for several days but there was enough promise of sunshine to tempt us to sit at one of 4 outside tables for a light lunch. A German couple arrived soon after with a well trained Alsatian & sat themselves down at another. They were obviously known to the cafe-owner as she promptly served them brandies & coffees. Then 3 middle-aged lady hikers took over a third table, to be joined shortly afterwards by 2 companions who had been looking around the church. The various parties chatted & eyed one another as people do.

This however was as nothing compared to the canine power-play in the background. The Alsatian was on a leash beneath the Germans' table. Beside him was a bitch who arrived with the Germans & was clearly making eyes at the Alsatian but was unleashed. Peering over the parapet in mixed curiosity & vexation was another large dog who was clearly the canine cafe proprietor. Dancing around on the neighbouring roof was a cheeky little chap who obviously thought he ruled the roost. And sticking their noses into whatever backsides were available (mainly under Jones's chair) was two other weenie dogs. There was lots of doggy umming & aahing & whining & you're getting-a-bit-too-familiar-ing & what-are-you-up-to-ing (as well as peeing on the wall) - some of which Jones found too close for comfort. It was a hoot.

From there we took ourselves off for a walk along the beach. This landed us at a park occupied by half a dozen German & Dutch mobile home travellers, including the Alsatian and his admirer whom we greeted as old friends. Fishermen's' boats & houses lined the estuary. I stopped to exchange pleasantries with a dozen hens in a yard to the obvious concern of their rooster who resented my intimacy with his flock. An old man arrived on a moped slung either side with huge panniers containing bread to sell to the locals. We joined the queue. How much for a loaf, I enquired! It was 162+1/2 escudos, replied the salesman to my delight. You could see how important the bread price was in this community when it was calculated to the half-escudo (allowing some 240 escudos to the pound). So we paid our money & continued out walk, carefree & burdened only with a loaf of fresh bread.

On the way home we stopped off at Canon in Faro to pick up the printer which, if you get this, is working once again - for however long takes its fancy. The Canon lady, overcome by the flower we presented by way of thanks, could not believe how sweet the mad English were being to her & urged us to bring the printer along for a recharge at any time. We may have to take her up on her offer.

Thence to the seaside resort of Quarteira which Cathy & family will remember well. Much of the street down the beach front has been dug up for the laying of pipes & our favourite beach cafe was not able to serve us coffee. There was no water, the owner explained. Happily, there was beer & medronho (a fierce aquavit) & we compromised on these. We sat outside on the patio & watched the fishing boats on a glass smooth sea & beyond them the sun creating a stunning backdrop against cotton wool clouds. There was a streak of sunlight across the water, a swathe of sparkling light, & we wondered how anyone might ever paint it. Jones says she wants to take up painting. I gave her every encouragement. I might even take it up myself.

Then home via Loule where we stopped first to buy sausages & sosaties (kebabs? espadatas?) for a braai & then paint to hide the worst of the ravages worked by the weather in Casa 3. For supper, we sat outside on the patio & inaugurated Jones's braai. It works a treat, I can tell you. Afterwards, we carted the last of the coals indoors to cast their remaining heat into MCP. Now, as I type, Noite is curled up on her cushion beside the fire. Jones lies fast asleep in bed. And it is nearly time for me to join her. Hold thumbs that the printer does its thing.

Ann, we think much of you and your back! How goes it? Have you heard back from the specialist & do you have a clearer idea of the way forward? Mother, our thoughts go out to you as well as you do your rounds about the pool table! And to Cathy & her teeth & her daughters & Jon Bovi (like that better than Bon Jovi) & the pains of growing up.

Blessings upon you