17April1998

Kinshasa: 1330: Friday 17 April 1998
My dear folks,

It’s not every day that I begin a letter with a Kinshasa dateline - although I suppose that when it comes from a plane at the airport it could be described as a bit of a con. Still, I had great dawn views of the Zaire river as we approached the strip of concrete glued to the African veld - no fences here - & of the pondok fringes of the city. So, Kinshasa it definitely is. The captain put the plane down gently enough to win a round of applause & many of the passengers got off. I have had the rare luxury of an empty seat beside me from the start; I now have the privilege of an empty row.

Thursday was quite exciting, as days go for us retired folk. It began with Samson’s exuberant escape when I went to take him for his pee & pooh run first thing in the morning & then had to chase him across the Portuguese countryside. He ignored my breathless threats & pleas as he completed a blissful tour of his old pursuits. I wasn’t pleased by the time I eventually caught up with him; nor was he, the blighter.

Then came the obviously spectacular suicide of the chap who threw himself in front of the train shortly after it left Loule for Lisbon on Thursday afternoon. I confess that I saw nothing of it, concluding that the crunching beneath the wheels came from branches that had fallen on the track. But the train screeched to a halt & a passenger who clambered down to investigate came back with a first hand account from the shocked train driver. It was all of an hour before the emergency services had finished picking up the pieces & we got on our way again.

The ferry trip in a miniature storm across the Tagus estuary from Barreiro station to central Lisbon & the bus trip to the airport in the evening rush-hour were interesting as these things go, but not really exciting. However, negotiating the obstacle course between the airport bus stop & the terminal was as challenging as anything faced by Stanley. Lisbon airport, like much of the city, is a tip as the authorities frantically try to ready the place for Expo 98 in the summer. It was pouring & the area was a mud bath. The road I tried to take in the gloom suddenly turned itself into a building site. I made my way through deserted car parks & under the skeleton of a raised approach road until with some relief I spotted a route to the terminal building.

I called Jones from the airport. She had accompanied me to the station (courtesy of Mario, our taxi driver) & afterwards tried to take a back route home from the station, which is a couple of kms south of Loule itself. She was forced to backtrack as a river intervened to block her way. Her long walk did not prevent her taking Samson on his usual evening outing. The children of our American guests accompanied her & counted 21 canine pee stops. I had explained to them that dogs use urine as visiting cards & would be shocked at the thought of wasting it all on one spot. Even so, Samson excelled himself in demonstrating the point. He’s pretty good in the other department too & Jones has visions of her garden disappearing under a vast mound of dog droppings if he roams free.

After one day of purest Easter sunshine, the Algarve returned to the sun & showers formula that has so vexed our visitors & frustrated my efforts to get the place painted. One moment the horizon would be black as thunder & down would come the rain; next moment we’d be bathing in bright sunshine. In spite of this, the painting progressed. I got a 2nd 20-litre can of white emulsion from the suppliers & managed to bring an extendible 3-metre ladder home on the roof of the Rocket to reach the upper levels of the Casas.

On Monday we drove into Faro where I had been advised to talk to the Automobile Club of Portugal about matriculating the Rocket down there. Portugal still has a formidable jungle of bureaucracy to be negotiated by anyone moving themselves or their stuff to the country. The ACP were very helpful. However, it appeared that to register the car, we’d have to apply for residence permits ourselves. I got in touch with a small agency that we’ve used before who were equally helpful & who agreed to set the process in motion. In effect however, nothing is to happen until my return to Portugal, probably some time in June.

During a walk along our “fossil path” that evening we came across an old guy who was building a stone wall along the boundaries of his property. The wall was a work of art & I stopped to admire it & ask him if he’d be interested in building one for us. He said that he’d retired from the business but knew of a “padreiro” who might be able to help us. When I asked about obtaining stone, he offered us the rocks that littered the edge of his field. I was pleased to accept. But his field is remote from the road & by the time I came to leave for RSA we still hadn’t worked out a way of getting the rocks - some of them huge - on to the road & up to the Quinta; nor where to put them. So the project has been shelved for the moment.

Two projects that are to go ahead are the installation of an awning above the upper bedroom window in Casa 4, to stop the rain pouring through; & fixing of the Casa 4 shutters. The carpenter who made these (out of tongue & groove-joined) mahogany planks omitted to use a transverse strip to secure them. So the shutters have all slipped & none of them closes properly. A local firm is to attend to both projects. It would have been cheaper to find a carpenter to fix the shutters but the price-saving is inevitably set off by the hassle. Carpenters are happy to quote you date & price but tend not to appear if they have other priorities - as they generally do.

On Tuesday evening, when we’d arranged to hold a braai for our guests, the rain poured down & we retreated to Casa 3 which has a semi-protected barbecue. After the cooking was done we were glad to shovel the coals into the fireplace in the lounge. On Wednesday evening, we dined at the local where we’d been invited by the owners to be their guests - by way of thanks to the Quintassential’s contribution to their living. The British expats from the valley were congregated there in large numbers - it’s a favourite drinking hole. One of the questions we have to resolve in the months ahead is how to continue enjoying the company of neighbours without being drawn into the confined circle of social life that prevails.

Witbank: Sunday 19 April.
My battery ran out long before we took off again from Kinshasa where a refuelling problem led to a 3-hour delay. It was late afternoon before we landed at Johannesburg where a patient employee of Bren’s was waiting to meet me. Of Bren, Conal, Micaela, Lily & Rose, more in the next letter.

Blessings,
T