admin – Hendons in Portugal

Retrospective

As most of you know, we emigrated to Portugal in 2018. We wanted to get away from what felt like an uncomfortable, untenable political climate in the US and for a host of other practical reasons, not to mention a good adventure. Our lives here have become routine to a large degree and we’ve somehow accepted the maddening bureaucracies that intertwine life here.

Living here is a rich experience, complete with magnificent, humourless storks, tiny rough, winding, mountain roads that we’ve come to understand is how most of the world travels. There are hidden Thai restaurant-jewels in plain sight among the bacalao cafes and there is even top-drawer Mexican food in Porto. Neanderthal sites and caves of the last of those fascinating people dot the country and a three thousand year old neolithic village sits on the hill top above Viana do Castelo. The people we have met and come to love are mostly villagers with multiple generations of their sense of place and the accompanying sense of pride in their villages and ways of life, far away from the “Headline News” of the world. They got it right! True, the headline folks can be found in Lisbon and even Porto, but we court the slower pace of our neighbors and friends.

Now that the “Holiday Delirium” aspect of living in Portugal is behind us, our lives are accented with smaller, more lovely events, sights, quests and pleasures. Such as yesterday…On my way to Viana, over the mountain saddle at the end of our lane, I passed the elementary school in the foothill village of Subportela where there were several kids plastered against the play yard fence, all looking out. On the other side, a man had stopped his car and was bent forward in a beckoning posture toward a big wooly English type Black Lab who wagged slowly and happily toward the man…with a half inflated soccer ball in his mouth! It was a priceless vignette. Started my day off with a smile.

Farther afield, most European countries are fairly inexpensive to reach and enjoy…we’ve been to Spain, Italy, Croatia, France and England on short holidays as well as many places in Portugal. We are simply very fortunate to have been able to do what we have done and are doing.

Let’s start in late 2024, about the time of my last blog entry. Now that most of the tourists have gone home, we are officially on our own holiday. Last night we had fiery prawn tacos and shots of tequila in our favorite Mexican restaurant. In Cascais, just a few minutes from Lisbon…who’da guessed? Today, chili dogs on the bluff and Monday we’ll ease down into the Algarve and the next day into Spain and up the Costa del Sol, headed once again for Menorca.

Then the Holiday Season was upon us and again we distributed Oranges to the little people from a crate on the back of our moto…as I wrote to a friend, “Last night was Oranges For The Midgets Night. We bundled up and rattled into Viana to set up shop on the river promenade and passed out clementines and chocolates to all the little people. It isn’t something they are accustomed to and most look up in AWE at the windfall. Fun Hendon tradition! Our midget Ukrainian philosopher, Platon, really worked the crowd. He would chase down families a half block away, shove chocolates and oranges into their hands and then leap on them with a big hug whether they wanted it or not! He was hilarious.”

Winter may be approaching in Barroselas. Last night the wind howled and shrieked and the rain slammed through in horizontal sheets. Rua Faria Torres looked like Rio Faria Torres!

The sun isn’t due back for a full week and the wave heights are predicted to build to seven meters… gonna drink my coffee in a beach cafe and get in some good reading this week.

My times in Texas and Oklahoma always loom when I drive over the saddle on our mountain toward Viana, and come across CowGirl. Saw CowGirl today. We share a common bond of appreciation of cattle and we blow kisses to each other at every chance. This is the true Iberia. This experience seems to be captured in my mind in a series of vignettes…there is interesting imagery everywhere one looks, such as this handsome tops’l schooner in A Corunha. I couldn’t get very close to her, but even at the distance I managed, a polite man walked up to my window, folded his hands together behind his back, courteously bowed to me and said, “Señor, it is impossible for your car to live at this place.” and PING!…The scene is in my permanent memory.

The other day I looked up at the Eiffel Bridge in Viana to find a horse and rider walking across the bridge swirling with motor traffic. I believe it was just another-day-in-traffic for that rock steady horse. Ain’t no thang. Really admire that young woman for adventuring out solo. I’ve always found riding alone cross country to be a spiritual undertaking. She was well tacked with a Spanish stock saddle, two saddlebags, a bedroll and a good felt hat. Her heels were down and they obviously shared a vision. I’m sure the evening found them on some farm with good feed for the ‘tractor’ and a sense of calm and presence for the driver. I was quite admiring and envious. They are both completely alive!

Meanwhile back in Barroselas, Trixie and I drove into Viana last evening. The city was alive with Agonia revelers. Have never seen it so festive. Was so inspired I turned our party lights on when I got home and sat in the company of a pair of towering strelitzias. In the quiet of our garden I could hear a choir in the distance. I hope your evening was as magical.

And then it came time to venture into Spain again … Hemingway said, ”Even on a hot day San Sebastian has a certain early – morning quality.” And Papa was correct. It is the most vibrant, well shaded and looking-forward city I have ever seen. One is caught up in the anticipation of the next treed boulevard, the next stretch of beach and seawall, whirling with clean-limbed youth. My timing was off by sixty years, but Gawdamitey it’s a handsome place.

This past summer I went to a museum exhibition of African Art and was amazed at the immediacy and earnestness of the masks.

(See more pictures from this batch.)

Was so impressed that I found the wonderful master copper smith Jürgen and his wife Hildegrund in the Algarve and through Jürgen’s good offices arranged for some copper smithing instruction. They have remarkable aesthetic appreciation, both of them, and I spent a few nights at their house and the days in Jürgen’s smithy. This is the start of a wonderful journey.

As I prepared to drive to Loule and the smithy, I drove into town on some errand and noticed that Viana’s waterfront is lively and comfortable; the excess people seem to have gone home leaving us natives with a peaceful village. Also, quite lovely weather here with Fall-muted sun, a good breeze and mild temperatures…. Doesn’t get much better. This season always beckons; it resonates with memories of the smell of gun oil, gun dogs, bags of decoys and the glorious funk of long-stored waders. Even though those days are gone, I can still smell them, feel them, roll in them. My son, Sheffield, arrives this evening; will be good to see him. He’s a very sweet and agreeable fellow.

Last month I flew to Bristol in SW England for a little holiday by myself; Linda was in the States seeing her sisters. It was a bold and maybe dangerous move for me, as I walk very unsteadily and must use a cane to move at all. It was just fine, however, and I discovered that much of my frustration in walking with others is the need to try and keep their pace. At my own pace I can go and go and go. Bristol is steeped in nautical and Industrial Revolution History. I’m wild for it! It has a marvellous little passenger ferry fleet that will stop or pick you up at every museum, pub and landing throughout the city.

This museum allows people to sign up for an Engineer’s Class (10 minutes) and then they actually let you drive this little engine down the track and back. Way way cool! They were booked full when I was there, or I’d still be there, so I was only able to watch as other ancient, decrepit children struggled up into the cab and got to drive away in a cloud of steam!

But I came damned close to buying a big floppy engineer’s hat. I’ll be back.

I stayed in Portishead, which is about an hour from Bristol. My tiny cottage was even a bit removed from Portishead and I had to quickly understand the schedule of those wonderful double-decker busses.

Now sitting in a seldom used, busted ass bus stop some five miles from the nearest village (Portishead) waiting for the X4 bus. The buses run regularly and are regularly 20 minutes to an hour and a half late. The temp is low 40s and there is now a fine English rain starting and although I bought a hat and gloves yesterday, I’ll still be happy to see the bus.

A moment ago a smart Rover came up the hill pulling a flatbed trailer stacked high with bales of freshly cut hay. Instantly I could see the big blanketed horses shuffle in their boxes, hear them nicker softly and crane their necks for the best view of the arriving load. And sure enough, the swirl of wind from the hay was incredibly fragrant.

The horses gave me hope, and it worked! I’m now on a bright warm bus heading to Bristol!

(See more pictures from this batch)

Meanwhile, I’ve been listening carefully to conversations among my fellow bus travelers and as far as I can tell, they all say some very fast variation of,

“Anyou Luv, becomshya, due gray, but either the Schondrello ups, or wecudefindaseves pickled init. Donchuearme, Luv?”…and they all nod approvingly. I nod too. And there’s a certain passenger type…of the nine of us on the X5 into Portishead this morning, seven of us had canes or walkers. My People!

(See more pictures from this batch.)

The south of England is like a continuously unfurling set of ALL CREATURES GREAT AND SMALL. It is gorgeous, lush and peopled with crows, hawks, pheasant, sheep, cattle, swans, gulls, horses, chickens and quaint little villages. I expect to see an Austin Seven come clattering out of a side street at any moment. Nearly everyone has a dog, who are all invited into every restaurant, bus and shop. Currently in Wells, which is the most picturesque yet. This is a lovely experience!

That just about brings us up to date. Be well and the here’s the Best of the Holiday Season to all!

Land, Sea and Air

These days I am training a friend’s Portuguese Mastiff puppy, HERCULES, who is smart, stubborn, has sharp teeth and loves me to the point that he moans and moos when I show up at his house. I am teaching him to heel, sit, lie down, stay and come and he is teaching me Portuguese, which I’ve otherwise resisted, and he plops right down at,“Senta!” and lies down sprawled out at, “Deite.” Then there’s Fica, Anda and Aqui…the vocabulary is building. I’ll work them into my existing vocabulary of Good Morning, Have a Good Weekend, Everything OK?, Coffee With Steamed Milk, Please, and lastly, Kisses and Hugs. This just brings me back to the realisation that the Portuguese are generous and patient…often too patient as in the case of their woeful acceptance of their laughably inept bureaucracies. But still, we are very fortunate to live here; the good vastly outweighs the difficult.

That feeling of good fortune always comes to the surface when I drive through the perfect little valley we’ve come to call Hoopoe Valley. Hoopoe Valley is half a kilometre wide and perhaps three kilometres long. The Valley is situated between two small riverside mountains. It starts immediately over the saddle-pass as we head down the mountain into Viana and it is divided into quite small plots defined by stone walls that speak to the centuries of subdivision of farms among succeeding generations.

Now, the plots are scarcely large enough to provide even a sustenance living, but if you own a few and rent a few more, you can apparently make do…at any rate, you will be seen on a rusty tractor with your sturdy wife hanging on to a fender. It is history unfolded, defined by stone walls, acceptance of life as it is and respect for life as it was.

Best of all, these little plots, each one dedicated to something different from its neighbour are a haven for birdlife.

Hoopoe Valley is where we most often find the magnificent Hoopoe Birds, the big colourful Woody Wood Pecker Prototypes I so love to see. They have unsavoury habits, such as coating their houses and nests with foul smelling fecal matter and teaching their chicks to squirt sickening, well-aimed streams of baby shit at any intrusion, but Gawdamitey they are handsome…extravagant even. Having said this, in the warm months of 2024 I did not see a single Hoopoe and in ’23 I only saw one. This is alarming, but the bird gurus on the internet say the Hoopoe populations are safe and stable…I’ll keep looking.

This valley is also home to several pair of the shy Pileated Woodpeckers. They are also handsome as all get out and show flashes of bright red and white as they fly in their flap-flap-dip, flap-flap-dip style out of harm’s way and into the safety of more distant vines and foliage. To pay respects to One Flew Over, the Bull Goose Loony of the valley is a huge raptor of some sort. On some days I say to myself, “That is a Short Toed Eagle! He’s huge!” and at other sightings say, “It has to be a Goshawk.” Whatever its species, this bird is the Undisputed Champ and Supreme Authority of Hoopoe Valley. Bob McGrump we’ve come to call the one who sits almost invisibly with great disapproval on the top of a wooden power pole in the middle of a hay field. He sits there unmoving if you drive by, even slowly, but if the car stops, to get a better view with my binoculars, for instance, McGrump drops off the pole into the air and flaps away half a span and alights on the wire, shoots me the little middle claw and makes silent threats. I move along.

Not many days ago as I drove down into the valley on the way home, in bright light under a huge cumulous sky, McGrump brought me back to a magical time in my life. He flapped off his regular pole and headed down-valley to an invisible (to me) thermal that tipped his near wing up sharply. He banked tightly into the thermal and absolutely shot upwards in a heavenly spiral that I once knew well. In mere seconds he’d gained two or three hundred meters without flapping once. He’s getting up there to hunt, I thought to myself, but in that instant he peeled out of the spiral and blasted in a straight line back up the ridge to the saddle and then came lazily back to the thermal and did it again…three times! McGrump was having fun, was in his glory, was overflying his kingdom!

The clarity of what he saw was in my mind and memory as he swept past peak and valley, field, ridge and river over and over, and joyfully without question. The big difference in our experience was that McGrump looked out over his beak as the magic wheeled past again and again and I looked out over the panel and nose of my glider; McGrump wears his own airplane…never takes it off. Even so, in my hubris I deemed us Brothers in The Thermal….silly I know, but you shouda been there. During my days as an avid glider pilot, mostly in Eastern Washington, I often thermaled with hawks and every time admired their ability to fly so slowly and gain altitude so much faster than I could. We also watched the hawks to find new thermals. So even if they become McGrumpsters in repose, flying raptors are simply elegance defined.

Back on Earth, there have been devastating forest fires and choking smoke covering a great deal of Portugal. On the worst days, one simply could not go outside and the sun was a ruddy disk in a dreadful brown sky.

That was all replaced with the remnants of Hurricane Kirk which wandered by in the Atlantic and the last two weeks of constant rain has tilted us back to normal. The big Atlantic storm showed us its heel in the form of a “Severe Coastal Event”. Off the seawall in Viana do Castelo the big seas were breaking ashore as high as 12 meters. That’s a forty foot wave to this little fella from Texas! I managed to get a few usable pics of this maelstrom. Enjoy.

Next is a long anticipated motor trip around the entire Iberian Peninsula. Stay tuned.

Jungles of Portugal

We have quite settled into Northern Portugal’s Spring where we’re making important decisions about our future, including, for me, which hearing aids to purchase, and for Linda, which eye should be first for the multi-focal-ocular-lens replacement; it was the left. On trips, she can now read signs before they come over the horizon. Other Springtime concerns are, where the best Mexican food is to be found (Porto) and how long it takes to drive to Gadis grocery store in Tui, Spain if you just go and come home (two hours) or if you stop in A Guarda for lobster (four to five hours). Of our several trips there, only two have been the two-hour version.

Closer to home, I recently caught my stork family in the middle of their courtship ritual. Her Grace was sitting attentively in the nest, dutifully watching Sir PranceAbout arch his neck backwards over his body until he resembled a baritone saxophone. I’m certain it was Himself, for only we men are willing to be so ridiculous just for a little play time. She is now sitting on eggs, but sweeter still, last week in the cold rain, Her Grace was sitting in the nest and PranceAbout was standing over her with his wings akimbo . . . saxophone-to-umbrella. Chivalry rings out.

Still closer to home, our jungle is finished and it is stunning if I do say so. Nine or ten enormous Strelitzia grace the stone courtyard in immense pots that are set on roller bases so that one can reconfigure one’s jungle at a whim. The gorgeous Japanese Maples, also in huge rolling garden boxes, can line up by the gate to greet a visitor or snug into the corner to provide shade for the bird feeder.

Señor Carlos, an incredibly talented craftsman, is our newest hero . . . he can do anything. So far, by himself, he’s dug out the grass and replaced it with beautiful stone set in concrete over a sand base, cleaned and repaired our roof, rejuvenated the shop roof to fix those pesky leaks, completely remodeled both upstairs bathrooms, built some steps, replaced a kitchen faucet and there must be more, I forget . . .. He is a small, wiry man, 58ish and as strong and agile as they come. When he was building the courtyard, one could find him mixing concrete in a little portable mixer and then pushing a wheelbarrow of “product” to the far reaches of our garden where he’d already levelled the sand bed to exacting tolerances. He poured the concrete onto the sand and, with long boards, smoothed and contoured it slightly to ensure run-off in the right direction; and then back to the mixer for another batch. He did this all by himself and the first batch was over 100 feet from the mixer. He’s almost unbelievable…so fast it seemed like magic. We are lucky to know Señor Carlos.

And then Yuri, our magnificent and equally talented friend from Ukraine, is a constant force-for-good. Among many other projects, he and I have built a tall arbor and bolted it to the courtyard stones and the front wall. We covered it with the ubiquitous green wire mesh seen at every house and covered that with bamboo matting. The Passion Fruit vine in the big garden box (not on wheels) is growing up one wall of the arbor and seems to make about two inches a day . . . almost frightening growth. I feel uneasy standing with my back to the vine. But in two seasons I’m told it will cover the entire arbor and we’ll have perpetual shade for the big delicious dinners that will surely be enjoyed there.

So yes, we are still very much enjoying life in Portugal.

Birds of Paradise

Took care of admin biz today..(I forget what it was, but it was very important), did more laundry, greeted Rosa who demanded that I come look at the big Bird of Paradise that is about to produce three glorious birds heads. She said, Strelitzia! I said they are all four Strelitzia, Rosa, just different varieties. She yelled, Nao! Nao! and pointed to the towering Strelitzia…she yelled Palmiera! Palmiera!

Strelitzia!, I cried and staggered back pointing to the big jungle guys.

Palmiera!
Strelitzia!
Palmiera!
Strelitzia!

Then she instantly won the argument by breaking into very very loud machine-gun Portuguese. She looked pleased that I had shut up and glad she had won.

Next, I started the smoker in prep for slow smoking a charming little lamb shoulder roast. It is freighted with good savory spices and, now done, it smells heavenly.

As it rested, I went to visit Sweet Killer Bitch, our affectionate name for the ancient, crippled cattle dog mix whose only goal in life is to murder poor old Trixie.

We now call her Sweet KB and we’ve grown quite fond of each other. Trixie stays in the car sweating and shivering while I slip through the gate and smooch on SKB. Her family is out of town and I happily volunteered to go say Hey to SKB while they are away.

We’ve established our routine. I drive up to their gate and SKB comes Limp-Charge-Yelling out to disembowel the intruders. Once she sees (or smells) it is me she sits a couple of steps up their front stairs behind me and licks the back of my head and ears, making me lose confidence in my hygiene regimen.
Meanwhile, there are two immense domestic grey geese across the lane who are screaming at the top of their lungs…threatening mayhem. I know E.B. White would have pulled a delicious Life Observation out of the geese situation, but the best I could do, being a big boy and all, was to smash my cane against their fence and call them Muthaf$&kas. They backed right off.

Now it’s time for dinner.
Tchau Tchau Tchau

Festas All Around

The passing seasons continue to witness the maddening frustration of dealing with Portugal’s Neck-Bone Bureaucracies in their many forms and after only three years of relentless effort I now have my moto license plates and my boat is registered (In Great Britain). Of course I’m still not allowed to get in the boat as its operator, having not found any Portuguese reliable enough to give the required and expensive rowboat operation lessons. But I’m determined; stay tuned.

The process of building TAPAS was palliative, even delightful and it too stretched over three years and one month. My steady little worker, Pippa, and my friends, Nuno, JP and Yuri, as well as my son Sheffield helped enormously in her construction and my wife got a little epoxy on her as well. Without this cheerful crew, TAPAS would still be a glued up mess . . . Thank you, Gang!

We launched her at the Viana Sailing Club in the straps of a big dockside crane a couple of weeks ago and the sailing club immediately became a source of joy. TAPAS will live on her trailer on the hard at the club, amidst the bubbling fun of the little sailors. There is a big OPTIMIST CLASS regatta taking place there right now with hoards of fearless young sailors no taller than a dining table bashing out into the roaring ocean in eight foot boats with glee and abandon. Back ashore they chase each other and throw water balloons. They will remember these days all their lives . . . it is the stuff of life and I love seeing it.

Our village this morning is finally remanded to the church bells, roosters, collared doves and normal village serenity. For the last few days, the unending Portuguese Scouts Drumming Corps (Berlin 1938) and the low-fi high-vol chunka-chunka canned music from the community speakers at the bandstand a block away have made Barroselas an unending party that only the most desperate would ever attend voluntarily. The worst part of these dopey deals are the fireworks that go off in two minute frenzies up until about 2:30 AM. The enigmatic Portuguese do love their flash-bombs …my poor dog, Trixie, not so much.

We are susceptible to another sort of festa however. Yesterday we drove the 50 minutes to A Guarda, Spain to their FESTA do LANGOSTA. True, they also had loopy costumed folk dancing, but at least to live music. The main event is a Barnum & Bailey-sized tent right on the breakwater that is filled with fragrant vendor booths and long tables where hundreds of people enjoy delicious lobster dishes. Lobster pie, lobster paella, lobster soup, grilled lobster, baked lobster, lobster omelet, lobster tacos and non-lobster delights such as grilled octopus and scallops, fried squid, ceviche and beer! The day was gorgeous in all regards.

Except for the old woman. And the cats. The tent was packed and Trixie had just settled next to my feet when a sour looking old woman came by in a daze and stepped on Trixie’s tail. Trix bit her on the ankle, quick as a snake! Go Trix! The woman glared at me and I glared at her and we both examined her ankle which did not even have a mark on it and then we glared some more and she left in a cloud of high pique. And then after lunch we waited in the shade of a pastry vendor’s umbrella for Linda to generously retrieve our car. After standing there for a moment, we moved to deeper shade closer to the vendor’s table and instantly a double handful of tiny furious kittens exploded from underneath his table and came spitting out with every hair standing straight up and backs arched! They disappeared, but Mamma stayed underneath the table on high alert about a foot from Trixie’s nose! She was a smallish cat herself, but she made constant, much larger werewolf songs and Trix was content to hold a face-off instead of a dustup.

As we drove along the rocky ocean shore and across the big Minho River into the scented Portuguese mountains, there was the realization that we had survived the bureaucracies at least for now, and that life was good. Perhaps very good.

Café Society

At any moment I expect the camera dollies to come around the corner and someone to yell, Action!…surely I’ve slipped into a movie. I’m sitting in a café on the Douro River watching walkers arm-in-arm dodging the cyclists as they stream down the bikeway toward Matosinhos, 20 strong. The Plane trees are shading the whole avenue. The sea breeze is fragrant, welcomed. Fishermen are tinkering with their boats and nets down on the hard. Up in the street the young Turks roar by on their Ducatis not daring to smile, but making stunning noises. Once in a while the wooden number 18 CARMO trolly clatters to a stop a couple of feet from my table and a few people get on or off.

On the deck of the café next to the one where I sit a man is playing the accordion very well. A walking group of seven “book club” looking women just strode by with great purpose, all of them talking at once…sounded like about 50 people. A girl of four looked up from her coloring book and waved at me; I waved back and a moment later she gave me one of her paintings.

When she left with her dad, she looked over the deck railing and called out, “Tchau Tchau Tchau!” I was thrilled. There was a man sitting at the rail table with his coffee and a friend chanced by, stood two feet from him and they both shouted at each other joyfully in the way of the Portuguese, waving their arms, having a swell time.

People are walking their dogs, having coffee with their dogs, showing strangers pictures of their dogs. The French Bulldogs come swaggering by looking to find a beef with somebody, anybody, and the Jack Russells pause at a few select table legs to piss importantly, leaving their numbers. A smiling young woman parked her German Shepherd at my table, draped the leash over my arm and said, “You would like to be with him for a moment, yes?…He likes you,” and she walked inside the cafe. He curled up on my feet.

In the cab going back to the garage where a trailer hitch is being installed, the taxi driver noticed a guy walking by the taxi with earphones on, bobbing his head in full groove; I mean Jukin! “Star Rock!” said the taxi driver. These are my finest moments in Porto.

éé

At Least Once a Year

There has simply not been the will to write an entry for this blog over the past year. We’ve been smothered in a heads-down attitude and approach to all aspects of life, wondering if this trip to the grocery or that one to the pharmacy would prove the one to provide Covid. Musing over going to a restaurant despite the loosening of the rules, and finally going, but having the joy sucked out of the experience by the perceived need to dodge the invisible floating viruses. I have stayed low; my wife has developed a “Wash your hands” chant and, as if to punctuate the atmosphere, on the one foray into Galicia last winter I got a gran mal case of shellfish poisoning. Saddest of all, our little Association, ANTIGA WAVE, established in June of 2020 to help feed Viana’s Covid-caused needy has fizzled. We fed well over 4000 people in the 18 months it was providing food to the local food bank and in the first year there was a steady stream of contributions from our friends both here and in the States, but the newness apparently wore off and now Linda and I are the only contributors…and we cannot sustain the effort.

And then the Devil attacked the Ukraine. Within weeks there was a growing trickle and now a steady stream of people fleeing those horrors and we easily found a family of seven who’d lit in the mountains nearby, a bit shocked and with very few resources, but with determination and grit. ANTIGA WAVE has shifted its focus from the needy in Viana to the desperate from the Ukraine. Our funds will wither away by the end of July, but until then we’re smoking an occasional brisket or batch of chickens or vat of stew and even playing croquet with the bravest people I’ve ever met. And drinking a little vodka with them. Wadka. Vodka? Wadka! The adults in this group are absolutely focused on learning Portuguese, improving their English and seeking jobs and I am confident they will find and fit into the social safety net Portugal is providing the Ukrainians, and will in the long run, prosper. Until then our marvellous group of local friends has their six.

Recently, however, we’ve felt bold enough and boosted enough to travel. With a friend from Viana do Castelo we chartered a big fast, comfortable sloop out of Split, Croatia and sailed for a week through the dream-like archipelago that stretches from north of Split to south of Dubrovnik along the Dalmatian Coast. Islands and coastal glory so attractive and life-giving that is has been contested for over 2000 years. We fetched up in a little village in a snug harbour on one of the islands that has provided sailors shelter for 2500 years! The stones of the quay and streets were first polished by the Greeks of the Classical period, and onward ever since…millennia of adventure, thick slices of history. I am in awe of this corner of the world.

From the monk fish and fresh vegetables baked in cast iron pots stacked with coals from the big open fire, to the grilled lamb and roasted squid stuffed with unbelievably savoury spices served on the veranda overlooking our boat at anchor, this trip was a gourmand’s dream. Each bakery in every little seawall village offered pastries both savoury and sweet sufficient to make the morning light shimmer. Croatian wine is very good and they, like the Portuguese, Italians and Spanish, have perfected the art of good coffee.

The familiar arches and columns still stand and one can almost hear the Roman Legions marching and clanking through the streets of Split, as they had first done in the year 350 when this coast was near the edge of the world. Now, it has become a bit more cosmopolitan and a week ago I ate three fish tacos at a little side-street joint that were as delicious and authentic as any I have gotten in La Paz or Barra de Navidad. We are awakening to the world. Perhaps a troubled and dangerous world in some quarters, but one that still provides us with hope…one that will prevail.

Portugal Awakes

We are vaccinated, the Hoopoes are back from Africa, yesterday I sunburned my bald head while watching a sailing regatta and every vineyard in the valley is bursting with promise…all signs of renewed life, of Spring. The Spring of the season, Spring of our riverfront village now hosting travelers and once again living in its cafes, Spring of the Stork couple and their impossibly leggy chicks who live calmly on a power pole at the local gas station! And the Spring of the dawning of life again as the pandemic recedes; all here, all heartily welcomed.

I am so hopeful the pandemic-dark-times will not return, for I believe, based on my own Equilibrium Meter, we could not take much more. I believe another huge wave would collapse some economies and would lean toward disaster for all economies, but most importantly would lead to such desperation that major hunks of social structure might well just fall into oblivion, might break our hearts, might lead to a true apocalypse. And them apocalypses have sharp edges and lasting effects…ask the dinosaurs.

The dark times have opened many hearts, however. Our little charitable association ANTIGA WAVE, assembled last July with several friends to help the needy of Viana do Castelo has gained traction and is attracting more and larger contributions. We’ll have fed nearly 3000 people in our first year. I am proud of my family and our expat friends who are playing such important roles; I am delighted with our neighbours and Portuguese friends who march arm in arm with us and who have never wavered. I am in awe of Centro Social e Paroqueal De Nossa Senhora De Fatima which provides housing, orphanages, food, even psychological support and counselling to those most in need. It is peopled with stalwarts of good cheer, great talent and endless vigor.

This little blog-note comes to you with my fervent wish that your world too is enjoying a renewed sense of life and hope, that you will breathe deeply and see a future with new birds, fat cattle and good prospects. Our congratulations to each of you for pulling through this far. We know it has not been easy. Keep pulling.

Eighty Sweet Lemons

The Italians won the Prada Cup in a magical boat named LUNA ROSA.

LUNA ROSA; the name alone thrills me, but add the triad of perfection of eighty sweet, perfect lemons on our two trees, the fragrant flowers on all seven of my Jasmine vines and the exquisite proud green bud on the end of every branch of Big H, my fig tree, and it totals a real flicker of hope after some very dark, sometimes hopeless feeling months. It is Spring here. We may live. The sun is out. A big grey and white cat walked the length of the upper veranda right under the nose of my cat-killer Vizsla. Did I say walked? She strutted; totally insouciant.

Today Trixie and I took the moto and sidecar out to exercise it and scout for birds and more cats…we climbed the cobbled streets and lanes of our village slowly, getting high enough to glimpse the sea glimmering in the west. This is a favorite loop and we drifted slowly back down through the vineyards, farms and gardens of our valley, waving and trading “Boa Tarde!” with farmers on tractors, couples walking the lanes and one elegant quite elderly man, by appearances, walking with a staff, ankle-deep in the rich soil of his newly ploughed field. He looked completely satisfied. Completely alive.

Trix and I stopped on a little stone bridge crossing a freshet and turned the motor off to hear it burble. I wish you could have been with us.

Hope in the Middle of Crisis

This Autumn and Winter have been trying, worrisome, dark and frightening and the pace of pain seems to have gathered momentum with hideous new records of daily death from COVID-19, a world economy staggering under that same shadow and a foul odor coming from the world’s most gleaming democracy. Life seemed to have run aground everywhere I looked.

And then Christmas rolled around and my friends, Joana Sancha, Sónia Calheiros and Nuno Resende, along with the board of ANTIGA WAVE concocted a scheme to play Santa to a number of orphanages in Viana do Castelo…and my heart started beating again. All the kids, 43 in total, wrote Santa letters which were gathered at Joana’s restaurant and then distributed among our friends and the board of ANTIGA WAVE.

We fulfilled their Santa Wishes down to the correct manufacturer and model number of the Karaoke Machine! For all kids who find themselves in an orphanage, the moments of carefree joy and hope are sparse, but this Christmas for these kids was an exception…I’ve rarely seen such satisfaction and happiness. Of course, being the fat guy in the crowd, I was designated Santa and we delivered Christmas in a big moto with a sidecar. The whole affair was delicious; we recommend it for what ails you and we feel deep gratitude toward those of you who participated.

And as if to prove that good comes to those who seek it, our friend, Flora Silva introduced us to the city council of Viana do Castelo, which, led by Carlota Borges and Ricardo Carvalhido, has agreed to form a public/private partnership with ANTIGA WAVE to teach school kids how to assemble nesting box kits that will be installed throughout Viana and which will attract many more birds and more species of birds. Each nesting box will be sponsored by the families and friends of the kids with donations to help feed the needy. This is the sort of government we’ve been seeking. This is true community!

I wish every reader a safe and more hopeful year than the one we have just shed. I wish my country peace and calm. I wish I will be Santa again next year! I wish I had a toy tugboat…Wait! Wait!…what is this?