I mentioned early on that I recognize there are hurdles, and we're going to achieve those hurdles. [Jan 22, 2003]

George W. Bush

 

 

Well, Dubya, I know what you were trying to say, even if others were completely flummoxed!

Joana, the Arquitecta, called to say that The Conservatory had bounced her submission showing the property divided into 4 distinct plots. They advised her that only a drawing with 5 plots, as shown in their original documents, would be acceptable.

No big problem these days when everything is computerised. Flash up the computer and produce the same CAD diagram, but this time carved up into 5 distinct plots. That should take care of things. But can one be sure? Nothing, but nothing, seems to have gone smoothly with this venture.

Meanwhile, we have had more discussions with Joana about how she intends to draw up the plans for the next stage. There are little gotcha's gotcha: -jargon

A feature of something that tends to breed mistakes because it is both enticingly easy to invoke and whose outcome is completely unexpected.

that have to be considered. Like not showing a door or doors leading from one property to the other, despite the fact that we intend to knock together the first two and turn the middle one into an outdoor corridor-patio patio -noun

1. an area, usually paved, adjoining a house and used as an area for outdoor lounging, dining, etc.

2. a courtyard, esp. of a house, enclosed by low buildings or walls.

. We will leave this stage of the planning entirely in her hands. When the plans are accepted by the bureaucrats we shall go ahead and task the builder with knocking things together the way we want it.

Later - much later - we will submit plans showing the houses joined together and request their permission to go ahead with the build (that has already taken place). I am assured that getting them to accept the property as fewer than 5 distinct plots is fine after we have occupied the property; that they will then accept our submission and draw up new plans for their archives to reflect the changed status. Oh, really?

This should send the taxman and the electricity, water and sewage companies into paroxysms of ecstasy!

I ought to open a 'book' make book: -idiom

1. to accept or place the bets of others, as on horse races.

2. to wager; to bet.

with long odds, but I know instinctively that there isn't anybody 'sucker' enough to take my bet ...

 

I wouldn't mind dying - it's the business of having to stay dead that scares the shit out of me.

R. Geis

 

 

I have deliberately chosen an irreverant quotation to start this topic. It is not my intention to make it a long post as the subject matter leaves me deflated.

The old lady in the second house died suddenly. Sure, she was knocking on a bit, but she appeared to be as healthy as the next person. No cause for celebration. We truly did not wish her on her final journey; indeed she may have become a welcome neighbour had our plans been allowed to move along a little more speedily. There is a little verse by Henry Worton that probably sums up this lady's latter years. It goes, "He first deceas'd; She for a little tri'd to live without him: lik'd it not, and di'd." I say 'probably' because I don't actually know that that was the case, but I prefer to interpret her sudden departure with poignancy rather than sadness.

No sooner had we managed to put that unexpected event behind us (time does heal, or at least it dulls the senses) when, a couple of months later, the old fella next door also passed away.

The old man was the father of the 'geezer' son I've mentioned in an earlier post. He got some of our sympathy, but the largest part was reserved for the old lady. We waited several months to find out what plans she had for her future. We wondered whether she, too, would move in with her son. It soon became clear that the son's filial responsibility didn't seem to stretch to his mother's wellbeing; only the property in which she lived. Eventually Maria paid her a visit to offer our belated condolences, fully aware that the visit could be construed as being slightly insensitive. As it turned out it was less traumatic for Maria than she expected. The old lady was relatively upbeat, readily accepted that her loss had an inevitability about it, considering their ages, and then timidly asked how soon it would be before Donna Maria moved in next door? She declared that living on her own, cut off from the rest of the village, was not to her liking. She really was a lonely old lady!

Maria asked her if she was prepared to move closer to her friends, if she could fix it. The old lady was delighted with the suggestion. Maria fixed it. She talked (persuasively) to one of the partner-directors about the possibility of allowing the old lady to move into one of the small houses that he had already bought, same terms and conditions, for as long as she lived. He agreed and the move took place soon after. What's more, the old lady was now moved into a house that was 'luxurious' compared to the one she was leaving. She even had an indoor bathroom and toilet, and she was amongst her old friends. Happy outcome, all things considered!

And for the less charitable of my readers, yes, we too came out ahead of the game!

But there is always a 'gotcha'. The price of the property , now vacant-possession, went up a tad.

H^mm_mm^mm_mm^mm ...

 

Evaluate what you want, because what gets measured, gets produced.

James A. Belasco

 

 

Time for a bit of introspective assessment. Time for inventory, to itemise, to take stock! We needed to calmly assess the 'Pros' and 'Cons' before rushing a decision.

 

Pro's

  The look (will be retained, 'as-is')
  Location (self-contained and by the river)
  Buying whole street
  Five houses (one or two will be combined)
  Half an acre of 'Garden' (this is not a plus!)
  Water & electric already hooked up
  Price (preliminary talks indicate 'affordability')

---

Con's

  Condition of property (pretty run-down)
  Cost of restoration (roofs and toilets essential)
  Sewage & drainage need to be connected
  Cesspits need to be filled in
  Occupied by sitting-tenants (for how long?)
  Isolated (the flip side to being 'self-contained')

 

This was a quick assessment. Not a long list. We knew more would be added as time marched on, but would they be 'tics', 'tacs' or 'toes'?

Some sensitive sleuthing established that only two of the three 'occupied' residences actually were. One old fella had been forcibly removed by his family to live with his son in the local village, and it didn't appear that he would be returning. He had reached the stage where he was incapable of looking after himself. That left the two houses in the middle. The one that adjoined the larger end house (the one I initially thought was the one we would be buying) was occupied by a 90-year-old lady in obscenely good health. The other, the one that was a roofed-over converted passageway between two houses, was occupied by another old couple.

It transpired that the couple had a son who also lived in the local village. He immediately became a PITA when the whispers reached him that we were interested in the property. He took an aggresive stance, proclaiming that he would be enquiring with the local council as to whether his parents would be evicted from their HOME; that it would be grossly unfair; that if anybody had a right to the house it should be he! Of course I took all this as a lot of 'hot air', but it was nevertheless unwelcome as we had absolutely no intention of evicting anyone. Much to our surprise the geezer slang:
The English Dialect Dictionary defines geezer as, "a queer character, a strangely-acting person"

It probably equates loosely to today's 'dude'

followed through on his 'threat' and approached the local council to ask about the best way he should go about acquiring the property "... for his parents."

Much to his (and OUR) surprise the council informed him that they didn't actually have a record of the property he was enquiring about, which meant they couldn't proceed with his request! On further reflection we concluded that the council was probably right, even though all the other service providers recognised the 'address'. It was, after all, a passageway that had had a roof stuck over it and a doorway built into the front facade to turn it into a 'house'.

Fortunately, that was the end of his limited attempt at tilting at windmills (and he isn't even Spanish!), but the ball had now bounced firmly back into Maria's court. She would have to do some detailed digging in company records to establish exactly what was real, and what was an apparition.

Discarded Shakespeare and took up Agatha Christie and the Belgian waxed moustache. This mystery was more up his street, "N'est-ce pas?"

Curiouser and curiouser ...

 

You gotta have a dream. If you don't have a dream, how you gonna make a dream come true?

Oscar Hammerstein II

 

 

We eventually managed to arrange a trip up north about ten days later, not because we didn't want to go earlier, but because other matters colluded to keep us from taking the "Magical Mystery Tour" of the site that Maria had discovered.

Our arrival, although designed to be as low-key as possible, was still an event for the residents. A whole contingent of gabbling old women (and a few toothless old men) took every opportunity to welcome 'Donna Maria' into the fold. The word had got out that we were showing an interest in one of the houses, and they were going to make damn sure that Maria was not given the slightest impression that she was anything but welcome! As far as they were concerned they were going to get their very own 'representative', at the high court of the company, living amongst them. It appeared that I too was accepted, as her 'consort', and the fact that I hadn't even seen the property, that we hadn't made a decision, that it was probably unlikely that we would be as charmed with the reality as we were with the picture-postcard view hadn't crossed their minds. And why should it? Simple folk; delightful people!

My first impression of the house was to wonder if Maria had 'blown a gasket'! It was pretty obviously run-down; I'd seen that from the pics. But I wasn't prepared for how small the house was. It was tiny, and I mean TINY! Four little rooms and no bathroom and toilet. WTF. Depression set in fast. So fast that I didn't even think of bringing up the subject of price. Why should I? This was a no-brainer. NO SALE!

Maria still had a surprise up her sleeve. She informed me that even though the house we were looking over was pretty darn small, there was scope to increase our living space when we knocked down a few internal walls and combined the space gained from the other FOUR houses. Come again? Yes, we were not just going after the house on the right, we were going for all five. The WHOLE STREET!

One just has to take a step back and reassess the situation when faced with news like that. And the panorama above is more or less what I saw. Suddenly things did not look so bleak. Yes, there was plenty of potential there. And the little ones on the left, probably the original cowshed and pigsty, could also be adapted into something liveable.

As the song says, "You gotta have a dream."

Our 'Dream' was rekindled ...

 

Seeking means to have a goal; you are perhaps indeed a seeker. And in striving towards your goal, you perhaps do not see many things that are under your nose.

Hermann Hesse (1877-1962)

 

 

The hunt continued apace, but the results were disappointing. We were now visiting friends and family in the Algarve so frequently that they were getting worried about us. And perhaps even a little tired of hosting our regular visits. Hey, that's the price you pay if you class us as close friends or family!

Nothing. Nada! Not even close to what we wanted, or could afford. Seemed as if we had a better chance of winning the lottery. Now, there was a thought!

Maria was also regularly hurling herself up the motorway in a northerly direction to take care of business at Quinta da Cardiga (roughly translated, The Cardiga Estate), an old estate that has been allowed to deteriorate for reasons that I shall not go into here. Suffice it to say that the estate has stopped producing anything for which it was once famous. It now consists of vast tracts of agricultural land, a run-down Palace, a whole host of run-down estate buildings and the tidy little village called São Caetano that houses the ex-estate workers. The residents live in rent-free accommodation, a sort of feudal tied-cottage scheme that continues to be honoured by the company. When the current occupants pass on, the house they occupy will revert back to the company as it cannot be passed on to the children. The occupants, all pensioners and without any income except for a fixed state pension, are secure in the knowledge that they will always have a roof over their heads. Even if the company sells the property out from under them, it is their entitlement to remain as sitting-tenants.

Map of Portugal showing the
various Districts.

A good rule of thumb, if you
don't know and want a palatable
red wine, is to buy one that
comes from the Alentejo region.

Beja and Evora Districts make
up the Alentejo.

The estate is located in the Santarem District (the pale yellow one in the middle of the map) and is about 120 kilometres from where we live. Not too far for Maria to hurtle up there late morning and return early afternoon, having completed whatever it is she needs to do. On one particular trip she had a late afternoon appointment with a couple of legal-beagles closeted in the nearest town, so she took the opportunity to walk the village and chat with the residents. They love these visits as they can get all their complaints off their chests, something they would never dream of doing face to face with the owners. For her part, Maria loves the visits because she has a close rapport with most of the residents, some of whom she has known for more than 25 years. She uses these sessions to catch up on all the latest gossip which is essential for her to be able to 'administer' things without causing too much upset to the old dears. Since this meeting was scheduled for late afternoon her return trip was delayed a tad. She phoned ahead and I produced dinner. Please note, I did not say I cooked dinner. I trotted across to the local Cafeteria and snagged a couple of portions of one of their specialities and two helpings of their 'out-of-this-world' soup. The wine I already had! Maria arrived home, all wound up like over-stretched knicker elastic. I assumed her meeting had been a success and I waited for her to recount the events of the day. We had a late, but pleasant meal and the conversation and wine flowed in equal measure. Then came the "I have something to tell you." moment.

I listened intently. What else do you do when somebody has "... something to tell you."? As far as I recall I don't think I uttered a word, and moved only to top up the glasses with a fine red Borba.This particular wine from the Alentejo Region is a blend of mainly Trincadeira, Aragónez (Tempranillo) and Castelão, with some Cabernet Sauvignon and Alicante Bouschet.

The grapes are treaded by foot in lagares (the stone troughs that are traditional in the Douro for Port production) for 30 to 45 minutes twice daily until the end of the alcoholic fermentation.

The wine producer likes this method because it provides a large surface ratio of solids to juice, because the open top prevents heat from collecting in the juice and because the gentle treading pressure assures no destruction of the seeds, and therefore no leaching of bitter tannins into the juice.

The wine subsequently ages for a year in new French oak barrels.

We still reminisce about that evening 3 years ago, and it still brings a smile to our faces. Her "I have something to tell you." shifted gear into a series of rapid questions. Did I have my heart set on moving to The Algarve? Had I considered alternatives? What did I think about a possible move to São Caetano? And then it deteriorated into an even more garbled rush. She'd seen a lovely old house in the village. Did I remember seeing those houses on the edge of the village on the bit of road that ran down to the river (of course I didn't remember - I'd only visited the village once before)? Well it was one of those. And just think, only two hundred metres away from dangling a worm in the river. And oh, could we go and take a look, together, in a couple of days? Please. Pretty, please?

She then produced her 3G-phone and proceeded to flick through the various images she had taken. They were in no particular order, but I've reproduced a few of them below to give you an idea of the disjointed take a viewer has when faced by a series of camera-phone (or is that 'phone-camera'?) snapshots. Click on any one and it will give you an enlarged image and a slideshow feature.

 

  
  
  

 

Attractive enough, despite the low-res snapshots. I guessed I'd have to go see for myself. But I had a few questions of my own. Was that house going to be large enough? How much did it cost? What were the neighbours like - apart from almost certainly being 'old'? How much garden space could we expect? How much did it cost? Did the adjacent farm throw off nasty country smells (as compared to nasty city smells)? How soon would it become available? How much did it cost - errmm, had I asked that before?

Most, if not all the questions were deflected with noncommital answers and a cheshire cat Lewis Carroll's famous cat that appears in Alice's Adventures in Wonderland.

At one point in the story, the cat disappears gradually until nothing is left but its grin, prompting Alice to remark that she has often seen a cat without a grin but never a grin without a cat!

smile. It was becoming apparent that I would have to get off my butt and go take a look for myself.

I think that the quotation by Herr Hesse that I've used at the start of this post was aimed specifically at the two of us!

'Till next time ...