A new engine

Last year Peter bought himself a motorbike.  It took months of looking in every motor-repair shop in Central Portugal to find it.   

Motor-repair shops either stock brand new scooters, usually called ‘Sprints’ or ‘Cities’ in an ill-placed homage to the 1980s it appears.  These great plastic things cost £2000 are about a 50cc and go about 20 miles an hour.  With two of us on the back we’d never make it up the hill to Coentral, let alone anywhere else!

The other thing filling these motor-repair shops are ancient motorbikes, mostly in bits, in need of much love.  These bikes seem to be permanent exhibits at every repair shop, relics of bikes, bits missing, crash victims the whole lot.   When we asked in these shops if they had anything for sale, it turns out that these bikes are semi-permanent displays, we were told on many occasions ‘no, it’s in for repair’ but these repair seems to take years!

I think Peter had images of biking to the market, with a box-full of chickens on the back, his Portugal scarf flapping in the wind, much like the other old men in neighbouring villages.  He’s also keen to take part in the annual ‘Pera Bike Run’, which takes in the local villages (mostly bars and people’s basement bars) which happens in June.   I am sure images of his Dad on his motorbike and memories of Peter’s experiences in Jersey (driving a motorbike with a surf board on one side to view the surf at St Ouen’s) all played their part.

Finally, in November last year he found the bike, in a repair shop in Louriçal.   A 125 Yamaha, just a year younger than me - a 1975 classic (the bike not me).  He looked at it once, twice, three times then made the deal.  Told it was ‘roadworthy’ he sorted out his insurance and went to collect it. 

OK, the tyres needed replacing, the petrol cap wouldn’t close, it took 10 kicks to start it up and the speedometer didn’t work but, hey, nothing insurmountable!  500 euros lighter we headed home, me in the car following closely behind…..about 10ks in the bike broke down.  We called the guy, he came to collect us, said ‘call me next week’. 

Round two:  We collected the bike (I think the chap had glued a couple of bits of wire together to make it go again).   It still took a lot of kicks to get it started and I noticed quite a strong smell of fuel coming up through the floorboards from the basement below the house where the bike was parked.   But, it seems to be working.  Peter was out and about on the bike.  

Wanting to get it serviced, knowing that some things needed ‘tightening up’ Peter found Doug Selway in Tomar.  ‘Mecânico de Motas e Engenheiro de Motores’, Doug is a motor-bike expert with a long history in racing and repairing bikes.   We needed someone who spoke English, someone we could trust and having seen all the bikes in the repair shops gathering dust, someone with a sense of urgency.   Doug was perfect.

It was only when Doug started to take the bike apart that the full extent of the bikes history came to light.   ‘It’s been in a bad crash’ were some of the first comments, ‘how on earth did it make it the 100ks here’ followed, then ‘it’s a miracle you actually made it’ to end!   The bike was a whole heap of bad news.

Those cowboys in Louriçal would have known the bike was in bad shape – ‘roadworthy’ my arse!  And they didn’t give him a receipt!

Finding parts for a 1975 bike cannot be easy, Doug trawled the internet, ebay and other sites looking for items.   Things started to look bleak as Doug sent Peter some pictures of the bike in bits. 

 

 

 

 

First job was the front forks which were split and needed replacing, after that the bike needed:

·         New front wheel

·         New disc brakes

·         New chain

·         New exhaust

We were due to pick it up when Doug called.  It was only when the first immediate problems were sorted out that the full extent of the job appeared.  It would need a new engine….

So, it got a new engine.

 

 

 

 

 

It was then completely rewired, all the ‘home fixes’ the previous owner did had to be repaired along with some very questionable work from the cowboys.  Peter decided that it was well worth a re-spray, which held up the repair works as we waited on another company to get the job done.   Finally, Doug built a new luggage rack, fixed new stands.

This week Peter collected the bike.  It looks almost brand new with a great 70s feel.  There is still a bit to do, but all of that can wait, none of it urgent.

 

We were lucky on a number of occasions with this bike….firstly, thank god the bike made it the 100ks to Tomar…bad brakes, leaking fluid, crap engine….It was truly a good job we didn’t realise how bad it was.  Second, we were lucky to find Doug, he went above and beyond because of his love of bikes, because taking something from nothing to a fully working bit of bike history is what he loves. 

 

 

You can find more about Doug here, along with some more pictures. Click Here.

Sunshine

After what felt like weeks of rain the sun came out....BBQs, drinks on the patio, mosquitos, lizards and a little sun-burn.  Peter put his tender plants out, things started growing fast.  Then the world turned up-side-down and the cold came back.  Monday was about 12 degrees in the day, blinking freezing.  The fire was put on at night and I have been ramping up the sex appeal by sleeping in my fleece!

Today though the world has returned to normal, the sun has come out and it's lovely out there.  So to celebrate I've been taking some garden pictures....




Peter without realising gave me a complement; 'you couldn't wish for a better flower bed' he said...without realising that there is an awful lot of work, weeding, thinning and re-planting gone into it. I soon told him!

I love these flowers - no idea what they are



Peter and Lord.  Everything in the garden is moving so Lord is hunting lizards, mice and snakes



These tiny flower-heads are the olives starting to grow



And our first lemon has appeared on our tiny tree



Depite hacking back the vines to an inch of their life, they are sprouting again.  Tiny grapes are already forming



Complete with pollen covered bee/bug thing

Peter has been working hard in the veg patch

This is blooming for the first time.  It's stunning.

The tulips and iris' are almost over already, but the rose buds are about to bloom

Our amazing Jasmin is stunning again this year - it's about to come into flower



Just one problem - MOLES - last count 23 mole hills

When mobile phones let you down.

A day trip to Lisbon with our Dutch neighbours Ferrie and Ingrid was planned.  Ferrie had to go to the Dutch Embassy to sort out his passport, while Peter and I wanted to go to the super Chinese supermarket we know in the downtown area of Lisbon.

In a city where people queue for tins of sardines, we wanted to buy noodles, sweet chili sauce and shrimp paste (not items normally found in your average Portuguese supermarket, where flour tortillas are considered risky).

 

A coffee break on the drive into Lisbon (just 2.5 hours away) we realised that Ferrie had left his phone at home!  Not to worry, Ingrid had her phone with her.   The plan was to part company at the Embassy, for Peter and I to take a walk from one side of town to another, stopping for much needed Sargres (beer) on the way and for us all to meet up in the downtown district once our Dutch friends had driven over and called us.

 

An hour passed and Peter and I were starting our first beer, a second hour passed, I’d looked at shoe shops, drank another beer, Peter took some photos.  Three hours passed, it cannot be taken that long in the Embassy, it’s the Dutch Embassy not the Portuguese one – surely efficiency is built in? 

Peter called Ingrid – phone straight to Dutch voicemail. 

OK no worries, they are still inside the Embassy, a problem maybe?

Half an hour later, we phoned again.  Straight to voicemail!  We debated our options, head back to the Embassy to look for them (a hour away on foot) or Peter’s idea to walk up and down the main drag of Lisbon on the look-out for them.  After all we’d said meet downtown – except Lisbon’s a city, a big place compared to Pera and finding someone, even a very tall Dutchman and his shorter wife, was not going to be easy!

I think a mild panic started to form in Peter’s mind… ‘how do we get home?’ he asked.  ‘Erm, the train’ I said, my city survival skills coming into the forefront (!) (I’m a Londoner after all!!!!). 

We decided to cut our losses, to head for the Chinese supermarket, buy what we could easily carry then head onto the train station to get the train home. …it started to rain, our jackets were still in the car with Ferrie and Ingrid.  I needed to pee, I was hungry, Peter was frustrated…maybe a day out in Lisbon was not a good idea.  

Taking our frustrations out on each other we finally decided to stop for lunch to call a truce and have a very large glass of wine. 

Just as we’d given our order we had a phone call….Ingrid.  Her phone had run out of battery.  The spare battery they’d bought in a shop and spent an hour charging in the car had not worked, the second battery they’d bought and spent an hour charging in the car worked…..they were on their way downtown.

Fraught, flustered, hungry and in need of  glass of wine they finally met us 4 hours late in the restaurant.   

 
Mobile phones had let us down, like everyone these days we had no back up plan - no motherly, 'if we get split up, wait at the entrance for me to find you'.
 

Now there are worse places to be stranded, Botswana for example!  The irony is, it only took ten mins in the Dutch Embassy, we should have just waited!
 

Mobile phones let us down again just this week.  

Peter and I had a very minor car accident.  Going round a corner we slid off the road and our front wheel got stuck in a ditch.  In the middle of now where, with no mobile phone reception, we were a bit stranded.  In the first 10 mins about 4 cars passed us and tried to help, but no luck, we needed a tow.    So I started walking back up the hill towards home, surely at the top of the hill I’d get phone reception and we’d be ‘saved’.   1km passed, ‘this hill seems to go on forever’ I thought.  2kms passed, ‘do I turn back and tell Peter where I am, or do I carry on?’ 3kms passed, ‘why are there no cars passing me’, 4kms and finally someone passed me, I flagged them down and they took me the final 2kms home.  With a land line in my hand I spoke to friends and neighbours who rallied round and drove to Peter, picked me up to take me to the car and towed us out.   Car not badly damaged, Peter’s pride not even dented at coming off the road!  

Turns out Peter’s mobile phone often plays up and cannot find reception.  All you have to do is turn it off and on again for it to work!  GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.  

In a roundabout way

This is not a new subject for those Central Portugal bloggers, but it’s my version and I’ve been meaning to show off this very special (‘special’) part of Castanheira de Pera for quite a while now.

A friend, Emma, has already written one of the best blogs about our town on her blog, Emma's House in Portugal – read it here.

Rightful Castanheirense (those born in Castanheira de Pera) were a very proud bunch.  In their lifetime they have seen the town change from flourishing to slightly sad (like Brighton about 30 years ago before it got good again – you know what I mean).   Castanheria de Pera is a town built on wool, from socks to traditional hats the town was once full of mills powered by the Pera stream.  Sadly, a walk along the stream at the back of town shows the decline of this industry, abandoned mills almost litter you pathway.  The whole industry replaced by cheaper imports.

But despite this sad decline, Castinheria de Pera is not so different from so many Portuguese towns, because no matter where you are, how small the village, how depleted the population, there seems to be a pressing need to decorate the village roudabouts.

 

Not for the Portuguese the sad little mini roundabout where no one quite realises the rules still apply (Jersey folk using the mini roundabout at the top of Beaumont you know who you are).  The Portuguese like to stamp their roundabouts and stamp them with art.

 

 

In Castinheira town centre we are treated to a whole host of roundabout art, from the sublime to the simply ridiculous.  Most of the art tells the story of the town, its past success as an epicentre for woollen mills. 

From the water mill to the needle to the large loom lifted from one of the abandoned factories and placed as a reminder of times gone by on the roundabout.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Some of the art is just mental…..(not strictly on a roundabout, but too good to pass up).

Bilbao has the Jeff Koons dog

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We have the Astroturf fox (although I think it’s a mouse)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Do other countries decorate their roundabouts with such style I wonder?  I don’t recall any in the UK, but I may well be wrong.  Surely the French would use every opportunity to express their cultural identity, but I cannot recall ever having commented on it when in France.    Maybe Portugal has found its niche here, this is their expression of cultural and regional identity and frankly, long may the slightly bonkers roundabout art continue!

To take a look at some more images of excellent, tragic an inspired roundabout art, follow the links a reader has posted on the end of Emma’s blog.

The Storm

It was a cold and windy night and the power went off.  Plunged into darkness (well, we were asleep so it was dark anyway, but I’m trying to create a mood here).

Power cuts are pretty common in Portugal, the electricity wires run along the forests strung from poles so every so often a tree hits a power line and out goes the supply for a short time.   However last Friday we had a storm, a big storm and our power supply was off for four days and it’s only just stopped raining.

 

It is only when your electric supply is out when you realise that almost your whole life depends on having this supply.   No internet means no work, no phone or mobile reception means no phoning to check the situation, no TV means a disaster!

On Saturday we plugged in our gas cooking rings, got the candles ready and went off to a lunch given in a local social club.  How they catered for 60 people with no electricity is beyond me (even if it was cold and you had a choice of apple or orange for pudding).  

 

 

Our normal heating is a fire in the front room so no change there, we were not cold.  Our hot water is not dependent on the electric supply, so no change there, we didn’t smell and could wash up.   But how did they manage before the electric light bulb.  Candles are romantic because you can see diddly-squat.  But what I missed was the TV, I mean seriously, there is only so much you can read before your brain starts to crave a bit of The Great British Bake Off (or is that just sad little me?).

So early to bed on Saturday and a hope for the power supply to be back on Sunday. 

It wasn’t!

Saturday night saw more heavy rain and strong winds.  Walls came down and more trees decided to abandon their roots.   Driving into the largest town about 20 mins away I realised that this problem must be across the whole of the county – trees had taken down wires the whole length of the journey, the cashpoints were closed and the local supermarket running off generators.  The queue for petrol was 20 cars deep (I do love a panic buy).

 

At home I started a Russian short novel, A Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich (cheery) and hunkered down for another evening.  Having polished off the book Kane and Abel (yep, it would seem that there is only so much literature I can take too), off I went to bed at 8pm in the hope that the power supply would be back on Monday.

It wasn’t!

OK it’s beyond a joke now, I need internet access, I need TV, I need distraction, I need to do some work!

I had hoped that Peter and I would be inspired by the lack of TV and start talking, playing cards or backgammon in a ‘blitz spirit’ way of making do.   Alas he wasn’t interested, ‘I like the quiet’ was his comment on the situation.  But then he is the man that can go on holiday and decide to read in our room as opposed to going out an exploring! 

So, to bed with the hope that the electrics would be back on Tuesday.

It wasn’t!

Well it was for a time, but then it went again, then it came back, then it went again.

Wednesday came, it started with a dog walk in the pouring rain (it’s like groundhog day isn’t it, but don’t worry it’ll be over soon).  

 

 

After Peter had cooked our dinner on the top of the fire place (very ingenious I know) we went over to our neighbours for a drink and a moan about living in the dark ages.   Suddenly and as if by magic the power returned….celebrate good times come on!  

Home, TV, Internet, Lights.  Suddenly we don’t have to feel guilty about not talking to each other, the TV’s there to distract us (just a shame there was nothing on).  So, thanks to the miracle of electricity I bring you this blog, boring as it may be it at least gives you some hint to the life that we’ve lived in the dark the last few days.

Thousands of people were affected by the storms, many without light and water for days.  11,000 kms of cable had to be replaced by the electricity company EDP, who have done their best to re-connect us (despite no one working on a Sunday!) in appalling ongoing weather conditions.  We've also lost some lovely old oak trees, some hundreds of years old which is a real shame.

By the way I’ve finished A Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich (actually quite cheery in a way).

 

 

 

Knocking on heaven’s door

I’ve been debating whether to write this blog entry as death is one of those strange topics.  But the custom of notifying local people that someone has died by stapling notices up around town has had me hooked since we first got here.

We all know we live in an aging population, well triple that for Pera!   Seriously when our neighbours moved here with their two young girls I think it was the first young children in Pera for years.  Simply by attending events, even I, manage to make the average age a little lower!  So, as in all areas the only people having a boom in this recession is the undertaker!  

A death is announced (not by a notice in the paper as Agatha Christie announced) by posters going up around town, with the details, date of the funeral and often a photo of that person looking so young and healthy that I don’t recognise them!  Funerals happen pretty quickly round here.  Within a couple of days you are sleeping in your spot in the cemetery.

Cremation is rare, in fact we are told that Rui (our local grocer and undertaker (seriously)) only arranged his first cremation a couple of years ago.  Tradition is to be taken to your family plot where your name is carved into the family headstone.  Our 86 year old neighbour tells us that she’ll never leave Pera, even in death, as she has her spot in the local cemetery.

It’s what happens after the announcement and the funeral that has inspired this short blog. 

Because despite your age, riches, likeability or any other redeeming feature in life, your death announcement is stapled to the same door, where thousands of staples remain from previous lives and following your funeral your notice  is torn from the door and scrumpled  up and thrown under the doorway. 

Now if I was more poetic then I’d find you a nice bit of symbolism in this.  But since I’m not, I’ll leave you to ponder it and decide if there is indeed symbolism to find!!!

 And sorry to Tricia Gray - I couldn't work the turtle into this at all.

Room for Mushrooms?

It's about this time of year when Peter gets all excited and actually wants to go out for a walk in the woods. The rain has come, the leaf mould is all over the ground and the mushrooms have appeared once again.

Parasol Mushroom

This year, it's a bumper crop. From Fairy Rings in the garden lawn to Parasol mushrooms in the market. Next month Peter will be going on the mushroom identifiers walk once again and this book will be complete with notes on where to find the edible ones.

Fairyring Mushrooms

We had a bit of luck recently on our way up to the Coentral Chestnut Festival - we came across a large Cauliflower mushroom nestling in the woods. A gourmet delicacy we are told! This along with Parasol mushroom from the neighbour’s garden and some Milky caps from the roadside were cooked up for brunch with friends the other day.



Cauliflower Mushroom

Beefsteak Mushroom

Despite having a super book on how to identify the right mushrooms for eating I always worry a little. It's just that there are so many entries in the book which start with 'don't get this confused with the similar looking poison variety'....

Cheating death the neighbours tucked into mushrooms on toast in the November sunshine. Washed down with a little Moscatel at 11am everyone survived the day.



Mushroom three ways

Is it a good time to tell you that I don't really like mushrooms!!!



 And just because I have your attention, here is a photo or two of Lord!