15August1997

Friday 15 August
Faro Airport
My dear folks,

The Navigator Lounge: “Top Executive” if you’re naive enough to believe it! Right now it’s occupied by an obnoxious bunch of social climbers comparing - in loud, coarse tones - their mansions & views in the snotty developments along the coast. What a nauseating huddle of humanity! It’s enough to drive one back into the terminal with the yobs. They bring to mind a wonderful phrase I came across in Private Eye, which was commenting on someone who’d been recruited to a job requiring the common touch. A good choice, the Eye remarked, because they don’t come much commoner or touchier. I’m consoling myself with the odd miniature bottle of Mr Mateus’s excellent Rose from the “help yourself” bar at my elbow.

I’m also rapidly coming to the end of a two-day visit to Portugal. It wasn’t planned; it just happened. Jones was feeling husbandless; I had 3 days off & Destination Portugal were able to take the sting out of a Club Class ticket down – all that was available. Flights to Faro are heavily booked & almost impossible to come by at short notice unless you want to pay silly prices. So I jumped on an aeroplane on Wednesday & have had a very pleasant 48 hours at the Quinta.

Jones met me at Faro Airport on Wednesday p.m. I was first off the plane & into the terminal. What a nice feeling! I was stopped by a Customs Officer but only to be asked what flight had just landed. Jones quivered with happiness in the terminal. We collected a new Fiesta & set out. Normally, we’d head first for the beach but this is the height of the holiday season & the hordes have beaten us to it. We went instead to the little nursery near the airport where we’ve got to know & like the proprietor. At least I think he’s the proprietor. Apart from the plants, he’s the only sign of life there. Although it was C31 in the shade, it was infinitely more pleasant than it’s been in London where it’s impossible to escape the humidity.

On to the Quinta which is full of contented guests. The weather is made for holidaymakers, the key ingredient in keeping visitors happy. The adults lie back with their books. The kids run barefoot along the paths playing their games. Three-year old Aaron heads for the pool wearing his costume on his head, which is where he prefers it. He got a bit too confident during one swim & vanished momentarily beneath the surface. He popped up again, none the worse for wear, informing all & sundry in a factual voice that “I sink”. Jones is not a great laugher but this caught her humour & she chuckled away at length.

The evenings the very stuff of perfection. Guests take their supper tables out on to their patios. The sun begins its fiery orange descent over the western hills. There’s a zephyr up from the coast & the murmur of voices from the hamlet below. The temperature is not a degree too warm or too cool. Not even mozzies to bring one down to earth. It’s heady Garden of Eden stuff. We celebrated with a barbecue under the moon, grilling salmon steaks over the remains of our neighbours’ fire.

Before that Jones took me on a long walk through the valley. One section of the walk is lined with stone walls that are studded with millions of fossils, mainly the tiny remains of ancient corals. Jones calls it Jurassic Path. (That’s a pun, in case you missed it.) Each time she finds a small rock with especially attractive fossils, she puts it back in the wall for later “discovery” by some youthful guest on an adventure walk. Such treasures are a source of satisfaction beyond imagining to young explorers. We landed up the local where I slaked a heavy thirst on a couple of pints.

Mornings began with a cup of coffee & watering the garden. Jones used to water in the evening, a chore that takes her up to two hours a day. But she switched to mornings, partly to free up her evenings & partly because the water in the hosepipes that drape the Quinta comes out boiling hot after a day in the sun. She has a routine that takes in the fruit trees, the roses & the various flowerbeds. Afterwards we’d sweep the pool of the leaves that constantly drift down from the almond trees surrounding it & then plunge in.

We went shopping on Thursday a.m. to stock up Jones’s laundry supplies. I dropped into the bank, which has just been refurbished with a smart new customer-sensitive décor. But the service proved as bad as always & it took 20 minutes to do the simplest transaction. Fortunately, Loule has a hundred little cafes where one can duck in for coffee & a cake & reflect that if the Algarve was more businesslike it would lose the very qualities we value there. You can’t have the best of both worlds. After lunch, we had a little siesta, a blessed institution. Thence to a neighbour to inspect the birds we’d looked after during her absence in July. Her bantams were bantams still but the fluffy neurotic goslings had developed into confident, muscular geese. They were still glued to each other. Where-ever one went, there also went the other.

The neighbour was joined the previous day by her two daughters who’d been staying with their father in Britain. The parents are separated & the mother was in her seventh heaven to have her girls back with her. They were lovely little girls too, 7 & 9 year olds, still young enough to shriek with delight while I played “crocodile” in the swimming pool & then sit bare-chested while they dried off in the evening sun. I mused on a child’s right to innocence. That damn serpent really went & messed things up. The pool in question belonged to South Africans whose house near the town of Estoi is “sat” each summer by friends of ours. To enter the gates you need the approval of two huge Great Danes, a couple whose size belies their gentleness although you’d never know it from the vigorous & noisy welcome you get.

Thursday night we dined at the local on Brazilian Feijoada. The place was packed out, fuller than I’d ever seen it – good news for the hard working couple who run it with the assistance of their Brazilian daughter, Carina. She’s a good looking lass with a penchant for tiny, stringy tops that barely cope with the demands made of them. Barbara complimented her on her hair, saying it looked lovely. So did everything else, I added, quite sincerely & justifiably. After the main course, we surrendered our table to waiting patrons & drove to town for a walk & coffee. Although it was close to midnight, little Loule was bopping, the sidewalks thronged with pavement cafés & their clients. It’s a genial atmosphere. The whole family turns out. The kids run around while the adults exchange the news of the day. I like it.

We’d planned a leisurely Friday a.m. but fate conspired otherwise. Maria reported a small problem with the plumbing that led me to an over-full “fossa” (septic tank). It’s a relatively simple task to lower a small pump into the fossa & pump it out, but it’s a time consuming job & not a fragrant one, especially when a critical joint is missing & one has to tape the hose on to the pump. I hope the trees enjoyed the watering. We certainly didn’t. There was barely an hour left afterwards for a shower (a very thorough one) & lunch. The rest you know. I hope to get down again in September. It will depend partly on the BBC which, like God, moves in mysterious ways & continues to keep its OnLine applicants in limbo

Blessings
T