Speaking in Tongues.

Christmas is fast approaching and Joan and I have been resident here in Santa Luzia almost nine months now and whilst my Portuguese vocabulary has improved significantly  my grammar has not fared so well.
 The problem is simply too many people speak English and whenever attempts are made to speak the local tongue they obligingly switch and reply in English which normally puts my attempts at Portuguese to shame.
This coming week sees many regular visitors and friends arriving to celebrate Christmas in S.L. and on Friday the celebrations commence in earnest with the opening of  "Santa Luzia- Vila Natal"  the parish council's (Junta De Freguesia) latest initiative.

Fun for all the family over Christmas  courtesy of the Junta De Freguesia.

The traffic however is both ways and many foreign residents here head for their Families and friends "back home". Among those leaving this year are our neighbours and friends Andre and Maryse, bound initially for Toulon and ultimately spending the festivities with family in Paris. As a result of this three week sojourn Joan and I get to spend Christmas with their adorable chocolate Labrador  Hestya.

Since our arrival here Joan and I have become unofficial dog sitters and have a stable of beautiful pets who stay with us regularly whilst their owners attend to matters back in their homelands. 

This arrangement provides us with all the pleasure of dog ownership without any of the considerable responsibility and expense (typical Yorkshireman!).

 Hestya was a particular favourite  with the grandchildren when they visited in September.

In order not to confuse Hestya everyday commands such as "come here", "sit", etc. are delivered in French, the language of her owners, and this has led on a number of occasions to me being viewed as "that slightly barmy Englishman who insists on speaking French to his dog".

The most notable occurrence of this was back in the summer. Along with friends we had decided on an evening in Tavira to enjoy a few drinks and listen to the Algarve orchestra playing in the Praca de Republica. We decided to drive down in the car and leave it there overnight and as Hestya was stopping with us that week make it's retrieval her daily walk. A splendid night ensued, the orchestra played enchantingly and the drinks flowed freely.

The following morning I set off in brilliant sunshine with Hestya to collect the car, electing to walk via the un-asphalted road through the Salinas (the large settling beds that produce the world famous Tavira salt).

The walk was pretty uneventful until we were almost into Tavira where we encountered a couple walking toward us.

 Dressed in expensive and brightly coloured mountaineering type clothes and sturdy walking boots they each had a huge backpack and those walking sticks that look like the things skiers use. It was clear they were dedicated walkers as they pressed forward with that determined stride that but for their garb would have had me convinced they were desperate for a public convenience.

Their unusual attire and gait also attracted Hestya's undivided attention and she adopted that unmistakable gun dog stalk as she curiously approached them.

I could see they were instantly disconcerted as their step faltered and a shadow of dismay crossed their faces as Hestya pressed on determinedly despite my string of french commands to variously and randomly"sit", "lie down", "come here" or "stop".

Finally, and in faithful imitation of her owner Andre, I sternly  and loudly bellowed  "Hestya. Q'est que je dit? Viens ici!" (Hestya. What did I say?  Come here.)

This did the trick and she abandoned her determined disobedience and returned to be put back on her lead.

The couple were visibly relived and as they drew level began speaking.........they were French and clearly thought I was too!!!

Now whilst I understand a certain amount of french (if spoken slowly and clearly) I had no idea wether I was being thanked for their deliverance or berated for not having my dog on a lead.

It is over forty years since my school days but I conjured up my very best schoolboy french and declared

" Je ne parle pas Francais. Je suis Anglais, le chien est Francais." ( I do not speak French. I am English, the dog is French).

The look on their faces was something between non-plussed and slightly worried and they picked up their step and strode on without another word.

 As they disappeared into the distance I had to concede to myself that perhaps had I thought a little longer I could have come up with a better explanation, all kinds of French phrases to explain the situation popping into my head.

 Instead there is a French couple out there somewhere no doubt amusing their friends with the story of the day they met a lunatic Englishman in Portugal who was convinced his dog was French. 

 C'est la vie!!

Fish Stew

The temperatures here in Portugal have been astronomical over the past few weeks and it really has been too hot to do anything. I have not cast a line into the sea for at least six weeks but some time ago a friend who had had a particularly good catch gave me about 5 kilo of fish consisting mainly of mackerel and Peixe Aranha.
Now Piexe Aranha (literal translation "Spider fish") is a relative of the Weever fish and like the weever it carries an array of spines on its dorsal fin that inject a toxin and can lead to a nasty sting requiring urgent medical attention.
 Great care is required when handling this fish as the spines remain toxic long after the fish is dead and they are sharp and sturdy enough to penetrate the thickest of gloves and even shoes.
However, devoid of it's spines the flesh of Piexe Aranha is a perfectly acceptable substitute for the usual species that grace the average English fish and chip shop. Thus we were under no illusion what to do with that element of the catch.
The mackerel however presented a slightly different problem and I began casting around for recipes to use up the bounteous amounts of fish.
The one I liked best was a traditional Catalan recipe for Mackerel and Potato stew with a simple sauce of tomatoes, paprika and parsley. I made  the recipe and we enjoyed a good lunch with some fresh crusty bread but the sauce for me was just a little too simple and I  promised myself that next time I did the dish I would add some body and a little umph!
That next time arrived today and with the addition of onions, extra garlic and Piri-Piri sauce I transformed the Spanish middle-weight into a Portuguese heavyweight.

Mackerel Potato and Piri-Piri stew.

This is a first on this blog but here is the recipe and method  for a double serving of this tasty dish.

SERVES 2

• 6 small mackerel (about half a kilo)
• 300g potatoes
• 2 large garlic cloves
• 1 large white onion
• 2 tablespoons fresh chopped parsley
• 1 large peeled tomato
• 2 tablespoons olive oil
• 1 teaspoon sweet paprika
• half a teaspoon Piri-piri sauce
• 600ml fish stock
• 2 teaspoons cornflour
• 1 teaspoon mayonaise

These quantities are a rough guide only (particularly the piri-piri) and can be adjusted to suit your own taste.

METHOD

1. Cut the head and tail off the fish.Cut down the belly of the fish and remove the insides and rinse under running water to remove any blood. (You can get your fishmonger to do this if you prefer)
2. peel and cut the potatoes into 3cm cubes. Finely chop the onion and garlic. Finely chop the tomato.
3. Put a large pan over a medium heat and add the oil. Add the garlic and onion. As soon as the garlic and onion begins to brown add most of the chopped parsley and the tomato. Cook this mixture for another five minutes or so then stir in the paprika. add the potatoes and stir until well coated with the garlic, onion , paprika and tomato mix.Pour in half the fish stock bring to the boil and then simmer for about 20 minutes or until the potatoes are just tender.
4. Season the mackerel with sea salt and black pepper and add to the pan along with the remainder of the fish stock. Simmer gently for about 5 minutes.
5. Mix the cornflour with a little cold water until smooth and stir into the pan.Stir carefully so the potato and mackerel do not break up.Add the Piri-piri sauce and cook gently for five more minutes or until the fish is opaque and parts easily from the backbone.
6. Loosen the mayonnaise in a dish with a little of the sauce then add to the pan. Once again stir carefully to avoid breaking up the fish and potatoes but take care that the mayonnaise does not form unsightly lumps.
7. Serve the stew in shallow bowls with fresh crusty bread and finish the dish by sprinkling with the remaining chopped parsley.

Festa Dos Pescadores.

It is Festa Dos Pescadores time again!!!
I reproduce above the itinerary.

Expoluzia

When we first moved here I actually believed that I would be posting on this blog far more often as I was confident I would have lots of time on my hands. As you may have gathered from my previous posts ( or lack thereof) this has not turned out to be the case. Our social life is one long whirl of dinner, lunch or evening drink invitations and the rest of our days are taken up with the extensive pursuit of rest and further recreation.........It's bloody hard work and the hours are very long!!!
I will have to find time in this busy schedule next week to take in the delights and many diversions of  EXPOLUZIA. 
The week before the traditional Festa Dos Pescadores (Fishermen's festival) sees the promenade of Santa Luzia lined with stalls offering arts, crafts and traditional foodstuffs from all over Portugal and much further afield.
 The evenings see a full itinerary of entertainment and the village is thronged with visitors.
In modern parlance at this time of year Santa Luzia is "Banging".
No sooner does EXPOLUZIA close than Festa opens. It is a good idea to do your sleeping during the day for the  duration of these festivities as the chances of quiet before 4 or 5 am are very slim.

Today the knife grinder was in town. Many visitors wonder what his enigmatic pan pipe calls are as he wanders up and down the streets extending his invite to the locals to come out and have their knives sharpened.
 You need a keen blade to effectively fillet fish, dullness in the knife leads to a poor cut and a lot of waste, so he is never short of customers.
 We elected to have a selection sharpened and I could not resist taking a few photos as the last time I saw anything like this portable setup was back in the Hunslet district of Leeds in the late 1950's when I was just a toddler. My recollection is of a man on a three wheeler bike who us kids were assured was a gypsy who would happily test his newly sharpened blades on our throats should we give him or any of his travelling companions any grief. We treat him with the greatest of respect!!

Letter To Les.

Great news last weekend. Lifelong friend and former work colleague Les and his partner Gill are to visit and stay with us in early June. This inspired me to fire off a long e-mail describing to Les a typical weekend  in our new life.

Not having touched on any of those dark secrets lifelong buddies share I am sure Les will not mind me sharing it with you and so reproduce it here in full.

I think it gives the flavour of the place.

Good Morning Les

I am just sitting having my morning coffee at Ria Cafe, the sun is shining, god is in his heaven and all is well here in Santa Luzia.

We have had a steady little weekend.

Friday night we went to Virgilio's with a group of friends. We had the usual starters of bread and sardine paste followed by conqillas (the small clams) then the usual chicken pork or fish  all washed down with four litres of white wine and topped off with coffee and a large glass of Figo (aguadente/firewater).

A wander down the front and an hour in cafe Santa Luzia was enough to ensure that I woke up on Saturday morning with a still bloated stomach and something of a muzzy head.

We ate a small breakfast of "cowboys" (bacon and beans) and bread and then both settled down in the armchairs that we have moved up onto the sun terrace to read and bask in the sunshine.

Having been invited over to Pete and Lynn's for a curry night that evening  we spent the whole day just lounging around reading and enjoying the occasional sounds of village life that reached us up in our hideaway, excepting of course one short interlude at Ria Cafe for a fix of caffeine and an hour on Facebook.

Saving ourselves for the evening feast we lunched on sliced ham and salad (very English)  consuming only half a bottle of wine with this frugal repast!

Arriving at Pete and Lynn's around eight along with five other invited guests we enjoyed a splendid evening of ethnic fare.

Popadums and somosas were followed by Thai green curry, Chicken Korma and Chicken Dopiaza with rice and plain, garlic or peshwari nann breads. As I was driving a couple of glasses of white and a couple of mini pretas were all I dared risk as accompaniment.

After dinner the ladies retired to the garden whilst us men remained at the table  each trying to outdo the other with stories of base depravity and over indulgence.

I judged myself winner!

We dwelt untill almost one in the morning and on arriving home I was asleep before my head hit the pillow and slept soundly untill almost 8.30 Sunday morning.

Having pretty much abstained from both grape and grain on Saturday night I woke up on Sunday with a much clearer head, which was just as well because Joan had on one of her cleaning, tidying and reorganising heads and was firmly resolved to involve me in every stage of the operation.

To forestall this I became very attentive both to her, offering endless cups of tea, cigarettes and other distractions from the tasks in hand, and also to the numerous aircraft endlessly passing overhead on their final approach to Faro airport.

Each time I heard the distant drone of jet engines I would immediately drop whatever I was doing and grab my binoculars to observe the graceful passage of the assorted Boeings and Airbuses, hanging it out until the plane had disappeared into the distance and the engine sound had subsided completely.

At some stage of the morning our friend Janice appeared at the door bearing fresh mackerel which here Portuguese neighbour had thrust upon her that very morning. This was despatched to the fridge alongside the Piexe Aranha which I had caught the day before from Santa Luzia's pier. Piexe Aranha (spider fish) is a member of the same family as the Weever and though one needs to be mindful of the poisonous spines on the small dorsal fin just behind it's head it is a meaty white fish which is excellent battered and fried English fish and chip shop style.

Notwithstanding this minor diversion the clean up continued apace but, having convinced Joan that a years worth of east Algarve magazines should be dispatched to the recycling bin down near the boat landing, I managed, for a short while anyway, to escape the house and the attendant chores .

I have however to concede that  Joan's need for a fresh pack of Chesterfield wasprobably as responsible as anything else for the granting of permission to dispatch this duty!

On my return I was delighted to be turned around post haste and dispatched to neighbour Andre's house. His wife Maryse had just rung to inform us that a local fisherman had delivered a large bag of fresh Choco (cuttlefish) and for just 12 euro 2 kilos were ours.

A half hours instruction on how to gut and clean the fish (the longest I dared to spin it out) was accompanied with an excellent bottle of french Chardonnay and I returned home ravenous for lunch.

Joan, as ever, did not disappoint. in her own inimitable fashion using the donated Mackerel, the piexe aranha, some chopped salad, a handful of broad beans and a couple of large potatoes she produced in her own inimitable fashion a meal fit for a potentate.

The reigning prince washed it down with the half bottle of white left over from yesterdays meal!

Joan's ad-hoc offering.

This morning of extended effort and conspicuous consumption of course called for a lazy afternoon lounging in the easy chair in that wonderful state of semi consciousness that only a bottle and half of  fine wine and a copious plate of food can induce.

My observations of the passing aircraft were now not so urgent but when I could raise enough steam I cast the occasional glance to the skies and the great silver machines seemingly gliding by.

By nine o'clock that evening I had recovered sufficiently to drag my weary body round to the Largo Do Igrejia for a couple of bottles of cerveja Preta in the Cafe da Villa in the company of friends Bill, Janice and her sister Joyce, and Maryse and her Daughter Aurora (( family of aforementioned french neighbour Andre).

As it was ascension Sunday a candlelit procession of the faithful had been organised around the village and this provide a spectacle for this heathen observer and the assorted onlookers to enjoy with their drinks.

Midnight heralded the end of my weekends exertions and my bed called irresistibly to my weary body and soul.A good nights sleep and as I said earlier all is well in Santa Luzia.

It is a busy life and not for the feint  hearted but I am determined to persevere and make a success of it.

See you very soon and give my regards to all in Leeds.

Stewart

Time Flies.

I have previously and elsewhere in this blog referred to Santa Luzia as “the thief of time” and now, having lived here for over a month I can absolutely confirm that description.                                   

  Time here is generally irrelevant and the day just bobs along at its own pace until, suddenly, you find there is precious little of it left and all the grand plans you made to “get on” lie in sun bleached tatters in the shadow of the empty wine bottle you only intended to have one glass from .

There are however the odd days of exceptional effort and achievement that prove the exception to the rule. Tuesday last was one of them.

Some years ago we were introduced to a very useful contact by our friend and neighbour Andre.

Originally from Romania Ovidiu now resides further down our street, Rua Joao Antonio Chagas ferrier, in a large old Portuguese house with his partner Georgia and father Joane.

 Ovi can turn his hand to just about any trade you can bring to mind but his real calling and passion is motor mechanics.

Thus it was, in need of some reasonably priced transport, I called in passing one Friday on Ovidiu and asked him to keep his eyes peeled for a decent car for me at “poor man’s prices”.

Sure enough the following day whilst chatting with Andre outside Ria Café  I was informed “Ovidiu has a car for you”.

 Arrangements were immediately made and Sunday lunchtime saw us in Tavira trying to look like we knew what we were doing while we inspected our prospective new vehicle.

The little blue Fiat Palio Weekend showed the inevitable signs of its fifteen years of existence here on the Algarve. A bump in the bonnet, a scrape down the offside and the usual sun damage to the paintwork testified to its life and experience but a test drive proved satisfactory and a price of €1500 was eventually agreed and shook upon.

A price was quickly agreed.

Explaining to the seller, Nico, the need to draw the cash piecemeal on our various UK debit and credit cards we arranged to return Tuesday morning and complete the transaction.

This impending acquisition forced me to address an issue that I have been pushing onto the back burner for the last seven years. In Portugal it is virtually impossible to make any substantial purchase without a NIF (Numero Identifacacao Fiscal) and it is absolutely impossible to deal with any bureaucrat without this nine digit number. A visit to the offices of the Financas would be required prior to the purchase.

The next thirty six hours was an interminable round of visits to the Multibanco (cashpoint) withdrawing the €1500 purchase price in €150 or €200 lumps depending on the daily cash limits of our various cards.

By 10.00am Tuesday the bounty had been gathered and Ovidiu and I set off to obtain the required number and complete the purchase. Unfortunately April is the month for the issue and payment of the Imposto Municipal Sobre Imoveis (council tax) and consequently when we arrived at Financas it was thronged with people waiting to pay their bills. On enquiring at the information desk we were informed we needed to take a ticket for queue F-pagmentos (payments).

Removing our ticket from the machine we discovered we were allocated F69 and a check of the screen revealed that the counter was currently dealing with F31. With 38 people in the queue before us we reckoned on at least an hour wait. We settled down in a sunny spot on the outside steps and began to chat animatedly on any subject that crossed our minds.

Now Ovidiu is a native Romanian speaker but has very good Portuguese and understands considerably more English than he can speak. I of course speak English and a little Portuguese, however I understand substantially more of the latter than I can speak. Our conversation therefore quickly slipped into Ovi addressing me in Portuguese and me replying in English with every now and then the roles reversing as one or the other of us got more adventurous. This was a source of great entertainment and amusement to the horde of hopeful payees also sunning themselves on the steps.

Things were cracking along nicely till about 11 o’clock when the screen seemed to stall at F71 and stay there for a good twenty minutes. It seems the Portuguese have not yet discovered the staggered tea break. During this hiatus we bumped into Vincent, the French owner of Restaurant Vincent in Santa Luzia, who had the misfortune to be in possession of ticket F121.

After morning coffee the screen once again began to flash and bleep on a more regular basis and  finally around about 12-10 F69 flashed up and we commenced our “counter attack”. By 12-30 we emerged, €10.20 poorer, but triumphantly clutching the prized number. I have though to admit that had it not been for Ovidiu the quest would probably have floundered at the first (and inevitable) “Ha problema”.

In the light of this delay we now had less than three and a half hours in which to make the purchase, transfer the documents and acquire insurance.

 The transfer of documents needed to be completed at the Loja do Ciadadao (literally- Citizen shop) and the insurance was to be purchased at the bank in Santa Luzia.

We sped off to our appointment and having paid the purchase price, completed the official transfer document, exchanged NIFs and obtained a Photostat copy of the sellers ID card we were at last in a position to attempt the transfer of ownership at the Loja do Ciadadao, however the bank closed one hour earlier so it seemed sensible to obtain the insurance first. Not in Portugal.

The bank teller patiently and kindly informed us that without the temporary transfer document from the Loja do Ciadadao it was not possible to insure the vehicle.

We screamed off to the Gran plaza shopping centre in Tavira, where said Loja do Ciadadao is situated, and were mightily relieved on arrival to find that all it’s prospective customers were probably still sunning themselves on the steps of Financas holding tickets for F queue while the staff enjoyed their dinner break.

We were dealt with promptly and efficiently and despite several “Ha problemas”s  we emerged once again with the required documentation but this time some €65 lighter.

A mad dash back to the bank in Santa Luzia ensued and despite an interminable round of computer consultations and telephone calls by the time the bank closed at 3.00pm I was fully insured.

Obtaining a NIF, purchasing a car, transferring ownership and insuring said car all in the space of five hours is quite an achievement in Portugal and as I sat in Ria Café and sipped on my cerveja preta I was more than a little pleased with myself.

I was however totally exhausted and in the ensuing week I have had to indulge in much rest and relaxation……………………….c’est la vie!!

Jose to the rescue.

Whilst Joan and I have now been in Santa Luzia for over a fortnight we still haven’t really settled properly into village life due, in no small part, to the number of holidaying friends here during the Easter period.

It was the imminent arrival last week of two of these friends, Barney and Darren, from Leeds that sparked an amusing little incident I would like to relate to you.

As the two were staying as guests in our spare room Joan determined that the whole house and its environs should be thoroughly cleaned.  (After all everyone knows how fussy a bricklayer can be should he discover fluff balls under his bed.)

Having swept, cleaned, dusted and polished the internal rooms Tuesday was declared as the day to “sort out” the external area.  Now the greatest obstacle to this “sorting” was the inflatable dinghy given to me last October by friend and neighbour Jenny.

Knowing that I would not be around to keep an eye on the vessel I had deflated it and stowed it in the space at the bottom of the steps leading up to our little rooftop sun terrace.

It was decreed that now I would be around to make daily security inspections the boat should be reflated and moored in a suitable place on the Ria. To this end around midday I dragged the offending conveyance into our narrow cobbled street and commenced the arduous task of blowing it up using a foot pump whilst Joan busied herself sweeping and organising the yard.

I had toiled away unsupervised and in my view quite successfully at this task for some forty minutes before Joan felt the need to emerge from the house and assess the situation.

It was at this point, just as Joan was demonstrating to me a superior and more efficient way of foot pumping, that the steady westerly breeze that had blown persistently since our arrival developed into a door slamming gust.

WHAM !!  We were outside in the street with the doors and windows firmly locked against us.

For me, as you can imagine, this was more than slightly annoying and a trifle inconvenient.

For Joan however who had not yet that day acquainted herself with the hairbrush, bra less and regaled in her best Primark PJs and carpet slippers it was a major catastrophe.

Not to worry. Jenny, just a hundred yards down the street, had a key and failing that our adopted Portuguese family the Baptistas also held one.

For the dual purpose of hiding her embarrassment and retrieving the key Joan scurried off in her PJs to Jenny’s whilst I popped into Restaurant Alcatruz just opposite our house to inform them of our plight and see if anyone could contact the Baptistas. Joan quickly established that the key at Jenny’s was now unfortunately in the possession of another friend, Carole, who lives out in the sticks on the road to Cachopo and I equally quickly found that nobody in the Baptista household was answering their mobile phone.

Shouting down the street to Joan who was now directing operations from the second floor balcony of Jenny’s apartment along with Jen and her visitors Clive and Janice I informed her I would walk round to the Baptistas and retrieve our fall back key.

On arriving at the Baptistas I found father, Jose, and mother, Luisa, busy in the kitchen preparing dishes for youngest son Jose’s birthday party which we were due to attend the following day.

Neither Jose (senior) nor Luisa speak any English but I managed in my faltering Portuguese to explain that the wind had blown the door shut leaving us stranded in the street and I needed the spare key.

“Ha problema” Jose (senior) explained. The last time the key was seen it was in the possession of eldest son Berto who is currently resident in our house in Leeds.

Not to worry. Granddaughter Anna-Rachel was promptly dispatched upstairs to wake youngest son Jose (junior) on holiday at home from Leeds to celebrate his birthday.

Minutes later a bare chested and decidedly fragile looking Jose (junior) appeared and, despite having been out till the early hours of the morning celebrating with girlfriend Adriana (and smelling like a brewery in full production),  declared his willingness to come and scale the wall and restore us to our property.

Arriving back in Rua Joao Antonio Chagas ferrier  we found a small group of Portuguese diners from restaurant Alcatruz enjoying a smoke in the street and examining the now abandoned dinghy with the grandstand party of Joan, jenny, Janice and Clive watching on from down the road.

A small stepladder was produced by the owners of Alcatruz but it was evident this was not going to get Jose over the three metre high wall into our yard. Joan, some hundred yards down the street, was bellowing at me from the roof terrace to call on another neighbour, Andre, who she felt sure owned a longer ladder. Dashing to Andre’s I explained to him our predicament. This however took a little longer than it should have as in my heightened state of excitement I had reverted to my full speed broad Yorkshire accent which French speaking Andre struggled to follow.

Having made myself understood I emerged from Andre’s triumphantly toting the ladder on my shoulder to a scene that could have graced the script of any carry on film.

The group of Portuguese diners were jabbering excitedly as Jose slung a double extension ladder he had acquired from a local painter and decorator up against our wall. Luis from Alcatruz was for some reason tearing down the street with the small stepladder and Joan was loudly declaring from the roof terrace that I was too bloody late as Jose already had ladders.

Quick as a flash Jose scaled the wall, crab walked across the pitched roof and gaining the sun terrace came down and opened the door to a round of applause from the assembled Portuguese diners and other interested parties.

Restored to my domain I rewarded our young hero with a beer and jammed a screwdriver under the door to ensure no repetition of our embarrassment.

The street quickly returned to its normal sleepy quietness, Joan returned from PJ exile, Jose was restored to his family and I toddled off into the sunset to moor the little boat that started it all.

Just another day in Santa Luzia. “Noa Faz Mal”..

Joan examines the little boat that caused it all.

Freezee-Jet.

Last Thursday (21st March)finally saw the day arrive that Joan and I departed the UK for our new life in Portugal and the beautiful village of Santa Luzia.
Arriving at Leeds & Bradford airport along with our three large suitcases and two smaller hand luggage cases we were about to unknowingly experience a portent of what was to befall the UK over the coming days.
 Having already checked in for our Jet2.com flight online we sailed through baggage drop without a hitch even managing to secure free in hold stowage of our hand luggage.
The gate was announced and opened pretty much on time but then boarding the buses which were to transport us to the aircraft parked on one of LBA's "remote " stands proceeded painfully slowly.
We were eventually deposited on stand twenty four at eight twenty, a full ten minutes past our scheduled departure  time.
Those of you who read this blog regularly will already be aware that I was employed by Jet2.com at LBA in various roles for almost two years and spotting one of my old baggage handler colleagues I sidled over for a chat.
 It was during this conversation he revealed that our Boeing 737 had been de-iced as is normal at this time of year some forty five minutes prior to our scheduled departure time but the Arctic wind blasting up the Aire valley had caused it to require a second treatment thus delaying our boarding and eventual take off by some forty minutes.
Over the next few days we had good reason to be thankful that we had selected the Thursday flight instead of the Saturday as we watched the English news bulletins in our little house in Portugal. The Siberian conditions, snowstorms and blizzards, which swept the country from Friday onward caused LBA to close on more than one occasion and resulted in many extended delays and cancellations.
Now though the weather here in Portugal has been far from perfect with temperatures some four or five degrees below average for the time of year and rain clouds making an almost daily appearance it is smugly satisfying to be able to say we got out just in the nick of time.
The weather prospects for the UK remain distinctly bleak right into April with the probability of more snow and forecast temperatures belying the start of British summer time this coming weekend.
Meanwhile here in Portugal, where the clocks also go forward this Sunday, we eagerly anticipate the steady rise of the thermometer to the mid twenties over the coming weeks.

Tia Zeta

Only two weeks now before Joan and I make the move to Santa Luzia and we are both eagerly anticipating the start of our new life. We are also looking forward to meeting again our old friend Donna Zeta. ((above)

Zeta makes a daily excursion around Santa Luzia calling into shops or friends houses often for no more than a chat.
With her thick algarvian/Santa Luzian accent it is often necessary for Zeta to repeat what she says several times in order to understand her.( Imagine an English speaking foreigner conversing with a broad Glaswegian and you get the picture.)
 Over the years we have befriended Zeta and, missing nothing that happens in Santa Luzia, she is usually  knocking on our door within hours of us arriving in town. It is a joy when that face breaks into a huge smile. She is truly a beautiful old lady from a beautiful old village.

Trading Places.

The recent spell of winter weather here in Leeds has set us to thinking about Portugal and the warm sunshine we basked in during our recent Christmas visit.

January in Leeds

We looked very carefully at our finances.............

We scrutinised our lifestyle..........

We measured our aspirations.

The following day I handed in  one months notice and come March we are moving over to Santa Luzia

We hope to see many of you there over the coming months and years.

Austerity bites.

"Out with this  assassin government"

The swinging cuts being imposed in Portuguese public sector pay and conditions in the new national budget are to be challenged in court by a number of opposition parties and other organisations. Meanwhile the gloom deepens.

When you speak to local people there is a definite feeling that things will get much worse before they get better and in some quarters older people mutter about "strong leadership" in a barely disguised  yearning for a return to dictatorship. Younger people are once again deserting the country in droves in search of employment elsewhere in Europe with the UK in particular a favourite destination.

Santa Luzia is no exception to the downturn and the above building project appears to be just one of the local casualties with the builders graffiti leaving no one in any doubt about who he blames for the abandonment of the venture.

Other victims of the downturn are Casa de Picanha (the Brazilian style rodizio restaurant) and A Loja Chinesa (the chinese shop) on the promenade.

Elsewhere proprietors of the villages businesses report that they are barely able to cover their overheads at current trading levels.

As an ex-publican and knowing the prices charged at the local cash and carry it is patently clear to me that following recent increases in IVA  (VAT) and other business taxes prices in the cafes, bars and restaurants need to rise and rise significantly if  gross profit margins are to be restored and businesses survive.

The dilemma being if people are cutting back at today's price how severe will be the resistance to any price rise?

Sooner or later someone is going to have to bite the bullet and find out.

A tale of two cities.

Joan arrived home from SL last night and we are patiently waiting now for the forecast snow to arrive.
 Our Christmas/new year visit to SL was perfect in every way. Wonderful "winter" weather, convivial company and many memorable experiences.
 The village itself was as usual fairly quiet but visitors were in no short supply and every day the terraces of Ria Cafe and Cafe Santa Luzia benefited from the patronage English, Irish, Dutch and German visitors.

A laden table at Tridoce,

 For the second year running Virgilio Viegas at Snack Bar Tridoce   produced a spectacular Christmas eve dinner comprised of no less than seventeen different dishes. We attended this year in the company of friends Bill and Tom from Ireland and Iris and Jenny who both have the good fortune to live in SL.
All in attendance left well fed and watered and "new members" Tom and Bill were amazed that the €20 price tag was not accompanied by a separate bill for the copious amounts of alcohol consumed before during and after the meal.

Snack bar tridoce incidentally can be added to the list of establishments in Santa Luzia who provide free WiFi access to customers.                                                                                                                          

Joan poses in the Christmas day sunshine.

Christmas day saw us once again strolling in the brilliant sunshine on Barril beach though we did experience the curious micro climates that can occur in the Algarve. As we walked back from the beach to the car we could see dark clouds and a sky streaked with rain about 10km. distant over Fuseta and clearly heading our way. Within  minutes the glorious sunshine was replaced with grey sky, lashing rain and what felt like a 10 degree temperature drop. This freak storm was gone almost as fast as it arrived leaving us and the many people heading towards Barril in their now woefully inadequate summer clothes bewildered and dripping wet through. Ten minutes later, and not 3km. distant, when we related this story and proffered our damp clothing as proof to friends sat outside Ria Cafe in the blazing sunshine it was met with incredulity as they had seen nothing of the phenomena. The rest of the afternoon was spent at Ria cafe basking in the sunshine and enjoying a drink with friends before we enjoyed a delicious Christmas dinner at home in the company once again of Bill and Jenny.
A couple of days after Christmas saw the arrival of old acquaintances  Janice and John from Preston and it was in their company that the possibility of a double New Year's eve celebration first emerged.
We figured that given the one hour time difference between Spain and Portugal and the proximity of the Spanish border it would be perfectly feasible to drive to Ayamonte see in the new year then drive straight back to Tavira and see the year in again one hour later.
Thus, new years eve , we departed SL for the border at about 9.45 Portuguese time in driving rain. The drive down the EN125 was slow due to the relentless rain and the steady stream of traffic heading for the New Year celebrations In Monte Gordo and we arrived in Ayamonte at about 11.30 Spanish time.
Parking the car near the marina we set out in the now steady drizzle for the beautiful main square through remarkably deserted streets.
Despite the austerity measures which are biting hard in both Spain and Portugal we felt sure that the authorities would have organised something but found the place to be as dead as the grave. Most bars and restaurants were closed and the only people we encountered were a young English couple, heads down and firmly wrapped up against the persistent drizzle, heading for one of the few bars to be open.
Disappointed and not a little dejected we headed back towards the marina and coming across a restaurant advertising a gala new years eve dinner ventured inside. The diners inside were well into their gala dinner but it has to be said there were far more empty tables than full and the proprietors were perfectly happy to allow us to settle down with just a drink.
Remaining inside up to the countdown to new year we emerged almost on the stroke of twelve to the still deserted but thankfully now rainless street. We could hear the local church bells chiming in the new year and slowly the eerie silence was broken as Spanish families in the apartment complex at the other side of the marina  began to emerge and greet their neighbours.  A few even let off some fireworks but nothing of course like the spectacular municipal displays of years gone by.
Twenty past twelve Spanish time we piled back into the car and headed off back to 2012 over on the Portuguese side if the River Guadiana. The difference was immeadiately obvious. Traffic was bumper to bumper on the EN125 heading thankfully in the opposite direction to us into Monte Gordo and we made much better time arriving back into Tavira at 11.50 Portuguese time.
Tavira was a world apart from Ayamonte, we struggled to find a parking space and when we did we entered streets thronged with people heading towards the Praca De Republica where a giant stage had been erected and the Queen tribute band were in full swing.
The square itself and the entire riverside including the roman bridge was crowded with spectators in jovial spirits awaiting the new year and the traditional firework display from the military bridge.

Spectacular new year fireworks

On the stroke of midnight a spectacular seven minute firework display commenced and the cheering crowds popped their champagne corks and toasted in the new year along with much hugging, kissing and shaking of hands.
The austerity measures meant the display this year was some 5 minutes shorter than last but in my opinion and that of many others present it was just as good if not actually better. Following the display we were not stuck for choice when choosing a place to celebrate, beside the free entertainment in the square every bar and restaurant was open and busy. We elected to head for The Funny Dutch where we knew a number of friends would be gathered.

The entertainment in the square from the far side of the river.

Arriving in The funny Dutch we were pleasantly surprised to find just about the entire village in there drinking. This of course led to us staying much longer than we had actually planned and resulted in us returning to SL at well turned 2am.
Now we had promised Victor (in charge of bar Mundo while Fergus was back in Scotland) that we would call in for our first drink of the new year and feeling obliged did just that. Having kept him open way past his normal time it seemed to us that it would be impolite to have one then leave and consequently remained until about 5.30am when tiredness finally beat us and we retreated to our beds.
All told a very eventful evening and though Ayamonte was more than a little disappointing we can still say that we enjoyed new years eve twice over for 2013.
It would seem the austerity measures are the same in even major cities in Spain as we spoke later in the week with friends who had travelled  to Seville expecting something spectacular but were just as disappointed   as we were in Ayamonte at the lack of anything happening.