Helen and Peter in Portugal

Read the signs

2012-01-20T05:18:00.000-08:00

In 2009/10 there was a brief outcry in the UK about theamount of unnecessary road signs on British roads. The consumer group called Civic Choicesubmitted information that there were tens of thousands of excess road signsand that too many signs were confusing and distracting.

The AA results of a survey can be found here and the Campaign for Plain English also supported some of the findings.

I think this problem has ‘gone global’, well at least ‘goneEuropean’ OK maybe just ‘gone Portuguese’. There is certainly a road sign disease spreading on the IC8, one of themajor highways in Central Portugal. Thisdisease seems to have reached its peak in the area between the turn off for theIC3 and Castanheirade Pera. The disease is spreading, thespores of signs scattering along the roadside and new signs growing all thetime.

In this short distance, it takes just 10 mins to drive, ithas been reported to me that there are a whopping 400 plus signs. I tried to count them recently, I gave up at234, it got too confusing...had I counted that one before, does it count if itis not on the road but visible from the road etc etc...

Needless to say, there are plenty of signs, all telling thedriver to slow down, turn right, put lights on, turn lights off, I could go on,but this short (and possibly the most boring bit of film ever) video will showyou just one small section (sorry, camera on it's side when I took this, but you get the idea).

So, are the signs useful or does someone high up in localgovernment own a sign making business on the side? Disclaimer- this is a joke by the way, I certainly am not suggesting that this is thecase and no one should assume that this is the case. In my opinion, thereare just too many signs, each unnecessary one disfigures the landscape just alittle bit more, but I do hate to get all preachy about this!

But, with Portugal having one of the worst roadaccident death rates in Europe- twice as many people are killed in their cars in Portugal than in Italy, perhead of population, and four times as many as in the UK – maybe these signsperform a useful function, maybe Portuguese drivers need the extra help, theadded stimulation to keep your mind focused? Maybe looking at the pretty signs all shinny and bright helpto punctuate a drive across country with lively way-points and stimulate themind into thinking ‘I must slow down, I must turn left’ just maybe we'd be lost without them?

In the end I’m justnot sure, but 400 plus signs on a section of road that takes less than 10 minsto drive is surely just a little over the top?

Oranges and lemons

2012-01-07T08:54:00.000-08:00

It’s orange and lemon season here in Portugal, so here is arecipe to try out.

If you are using oranges just replace them where I have putlemons.

Ingredients

For the cake

Zest of 3 lemons (from your local tree or supermarket,whichever is closer)

Squeeze of lemon juice

Splash of vanilla extract

6 ounces butter at room temperature (sorry when baking Iwork in ounces)

6 ounces of light brown sugar

3 medium eggs (from your local hens or supermarket,whichever is closer)

6 ounces self raising flour

For the syrup glaze

Juice of 3 lemons

4 ounces of white sugar

Method

Line a loaf tin.

Put on oven at 180 degrees.

Check out the size of this lemon

Cream together (in a food mixer) the butter and sugar, add asqueeze of lemon juice and the vanilla extract. Finely grate in the zest of 2 or 3 lemons (more zest more zing to thecake, but I wouldn’t use more than 2 orange zests).

Add the eggs one at time and mix together.

Add flour and mix (don’t over mix, just do it until it lookslike all the flour has mixed in)

Pour into your loaf tin and put in the oven for 25 to 30mins (check after 25 mins, insert skewer into the cake, if it comes out cleanit’s ready, if not then try again in 5 mins). Don’t open the oven in the first 15 mins of cooking or your cake willsink.

Be careful if you taste it, it'll be hot

Meanwhile, make your syrup glaze, juice your lemons and put in a saucepan withthe sugar. Heat gently until the sugarhas disappeared and the mixture is slightly thicker – so it coats a spoon –bring it to a boil and watch it that it does not boil over.

Once the cake is cooked bring it out of the over and stick askewer in it lots of times.

Bring overyour syrup glaze and pour slowly over the cake, it is amazing how much the cakewill ‘drink’. If the cake cannot ‘drink’ anymore, leave for acouple of mins for the syrup glaze to soak in and then go back and pour somemore over (any left over syrup would be lovely in a vodka and tonic).

Leave the cake in the tin for 20 mins then lift out usingthe paper to hold it together onto a wire rack. The cake should have a lovely sheen to the top and be very moistinside. Serve warm with a cup of tea orposh it up a bit for a pudding with some crème fresh and lemon zest.

Enjoy.

The hobby

2011-12-12T07:08:00.000-08:00

So, do you have a hobby? Not me, I don't, but I'm trying to getone....trouble is, I'm actually not that good at anything. Despite stillwanting to be a pop star (what do you mean 37 is too old even for Louis Walsh'sX Factor group?), I cannot sing (didn't stop Two Shoes I know). Icannot draw, cannot paint, cannot dance (well on my own it's fine, put me witha partner and there is a danger they won't come out with both feet), I cannotsew, I dig up things when I garden and kill trees....do you get the idea?

I know that at the start of a hobby you cannot be good at it from thebeginning, but surely you need to have a flair? Something which sparksand you think 'wow I'm enjoying this, I could really get into this'. Alas, alas as yet that spark has not hit. More Edwina Curry than AlexJones (Strictly fans, that one is for you).

I recall, when I was about 11 painting a picture of our apple tree, at thetime I thought it was great, looking back, well it was a pooreffort! My Mum is brilliant with arts and crafts, patience I thinkis important, but she does not have my dyspraxia (well I'm on the spectrumsomewhere). She makes cards...I tried, I was rubbish and I got bored -and it's really expensive!

I know that people play sport, but I'm pretty bad at that too! Peter is intodarts at the moment (don't ask).

I've just made some napkins out of material bought in the bargainbasement....it took bloomin' hours, the sewing is not pretty - yes I used a sewingmachine! The sense of achievement of creating something was overrun bythe sheer joy of finishing it and not having to use the sewing machine again(why are they so fiddly?).

I like to bake, but cake makes you fat - well it does if you then eat allyou create and quite frankly if I'm a-baking it, I wanna be a-eating it!

I made Peter watch Kristie’s Home Made Christmas the other night. Igot inspired, I made a Christmas wreath and dried my orange slices to make myglitter decorations...but after that, really I don't think I can cope with anembroidery needle on the borrowed sewing machine (it was hard enough doing azig zag). Also, despite it being homemade crafts it is really expensive to doall of this stuff. And I don't need shelves and shelves of nick nacksthat are too bad to be given in gifts but I'm too proud of to throw away!

I tried crochet last year....does anyone want some jersey....after unpickingit all for the 1000th time I gave up!
So, with these past failures in my mind I have started to knit. Now inthe past I can claim to have knitted a number of items - all straight linesthough! But flushed with past success I have embarked on a knittingproject. So, off I went to Jackie’s for a knitting lesson - how tocorrect mistakes, how to change colour, how to pearl stitch (who'd have thoughtit was that simple). So, I made a hat (straight edges but look atthe pattern). I made another hat for a neighbour (Peter calls it atea cosy, and it does have a resemblance).

Nextlesson needs to be in how to follow a pattern, how to work out my tension(maths never a strong point) and how to decrease and increase. PoorJackie, patience of a saint I think is the phrase!

So, my new project...it’s a throw for the bed. Straight lines again,but a nice big project to keep me going in these cold winter nights. However, a week in and I've realised just how big a throw will be - yep ffffingenormous. Two squares in.....a zillion to follow. And it's going tocost a small fortune in yarn. But I intend to keep going, just as soon asthis shoulder injury from repetitive strain injury from the knittingabates!

In celebration of the chestnut

2011-10-31T03:18:00.000-07:00

In October the chestnuts start to fall (mind your head theyare spiky buggers), but the whole village and beyond start collectingchestnuts, young and old alike, everyone is carrying buckets of themaround. As with all gluts, you do start to tire ofthem after having baked chestnuts the 4^th night running! But we’ve been collecting with the best ofthem, as the proud owners of one of the best chestnut trees in the village, we’vebeen out there every day clearing up, throwing some on the bonfire (which hassmoked away for several days now) and hearing them pop, preparing 100s of themfor freezing. I even made a chestnutflour cake (recipe below if you want to try it).

So, what better time to have a chestnut festival! The village of Coentral hosts an annualchestnut festival, with music, dancing, food, drink and you guessedit...chestnuts. Normally held inside dueto poor weather, this year the sun shone and almost all the surroundingvillages came out to celebrate this humble (but staple part of the autumn diet)nut. Well, maybe it’s just an excusefor a party, but who cares!

Folk dancing in these parts is a big thing, at almost everyevent (before the modern keyboard players come on with their leggy dancers –remember Nuno and the Nunetts from last years blog?) the crowd are alwaystreated to a display of local dancing. Eachregion has their own style unique to their heritage, from the snowmen ofCoentral to the fishermen of the west, folk dancing has its place at everyfesta.

Now, some of these charactersmay look like a local production of Bugsy Malone (check out the hats), but it’sa great tradition and something kept alive in rural Portugal. Having said that, the music is OK, thedancing great, but the singing....oh god, the singing....it’s not all it shouldbe in my opinion. Have a listen

See what I mean? Afteran hour or so, you just WANT IT TO STOP! Now I love tradition and heritage but COME ON!

As the evening draws in the bonfire is lit and the chestnutsplaced on dried grass to cook. It’s alovely site, especially with a glass on red in hand, tummy filled from roastedpork and sopa de pedra (soup with large chunks in).

In celebration of the chestnut – long may it continue, butnext year I might wear some ear muffs!

Chocolate, ginger andchestnut flour cake

5 oz of cooked chestnuts (without shells)

2 oz plain flour

1 large teaspoon baking powder

6 oz brown sugar

3 eggs

6 oz butter (salted)

2 oz chocolate chunks

1 oz stem ginger

Vanilla essence

Prepare the chestnuts

Score the chestnut shells and place your chestnuts intoboiling water, bring to the boil on the hob then leave for 10 mins. Drain then with asbestos fingers remove thechestnuts from the shells (easier to do when they are hot, but you do need tohave asbestos fingers). Leave to cool.

In a food processor shred the chestnuts until they are lumpyflour.

Make the cake

Mix the sugar and butter until it is well combined, add adrop or two of vanilla essence. While stillmixing add the three eggs and combine. Add the flour and chestnut flour and baking powder and combine until itis nice a light but still a little runny (you can add more flour and a dashmore baking powder if the mixture is too runny).

Add in the chopped chocolate and the chopped stem ginger (ifyou don’t like ginger then just leave it out) and mix until it is combined.

Pour the mixture into a prepared cake tin/loaf tin. Put inthe oven for about 25/30 mins until the top is golden and when you insert askewer into the centre it comes out clean. Leave to rest for 15 mins then turn out onto a rack to cool.

Serve large slices with Crème fraîche!

FIRE

2011-10-13T07:43:00.000-07:00

Wednesday the 5^th October was not a great day forCastanheirade Pera, a small fire started in thewoods sometime in the early afternoon. By 2pm it was a pretty big fire with 30 firemen (Bombeiros) and numerousfire trucks.

Coming home from a lunch with some friends, we got a phone call askingif we were OK. Well, we’d seen the smokefrom the road, but not realised it was happening so close to home.

The village was out watching the fire, it seemed under control. No one was worried, everyone just calmingsaying how awful the fire was.

2 hourslater the wind got up and blew the fire across the valley, on an on it went,along the top of the ridge through thousands of trees, covering miles andmiles.

At 4pm the helicopter came over head, dropping tonnes of water on ahotspot just at the top of the hill. Through the binoculars we saw the Bombeirosrun for their lives as the down draft from the water dump and the helicopter movedfire and smoke into their path.

The helicopters kept coming over until nightfall, but with the fireraging on many fronts and just two helicopters our side of the fire was not apriority. We hear that the fire tookhold just on the other side of the hill.

As it got darker and more windy the fire made its way across the ridge,moving down the valley but creeping down the hill towards the village and ourhouse. At one point the fire was about600 meters from the back of our garden ! Fortunately the wind was taking the fire along the valley, I hate toimagine the situation if the wind had been blowing in another direction.

At 8pm we packed our bags, got the dog ready to leave and got our ‘importantpapers’ out. Peter soaked the garden for2 hours, dampening down the parched grass, trees and plants in a bid to try tostop anything taking hold should the fire make its way down here. Also at 8pm, all the bystanders watching wenthome for some dinner – what’s wrong with these people! Well, I suppose they’ve seen it allbefore!

At 9pm the fire was at its peak, a small clearing in the hill behindthe house took alight. I’ve never seenanything like it – white hot only makes real sense when you’ve seen that.

After that, we had a beer! Wellwhat more can you do? We were ready toleave, we’d filled every bucket we could find, we’d got all the towels in thekitchen ready to soak them (should they be needed). Time seemed to fly by, we could hear thefire crackling in the trees, watched as some trees ‘blew up’ and burned with awhite heat.

It must have been about 11pm when I feel asleep on the sofa, then atabout 2am I went up to bed to try to sleep. Peter stayed on the patio watching all night. At 5am after numerous bad dreams (whichincluded, me not being able to put the collar on the dog as we ran for ourlives from the fire) I gave up sleep andcame down to make a cup of tea.

6am and the fire was under control in our area, well enough for Peterto give up his vigil outside and try to get some sleep.

Unfortunately it wasn’t over. All of Thursday helicopters flew overhead dumping water all over thehillside. A flare up close to the househad me in tears as the helicopters dumped tonnes of water just 600 meters fromus. Flying directly overhead and so low theymade so much noise, it was so intimidating. With the smoke rising from all over the valley, the helicopters flyingoverhead I thought, ‘thank god our neighbour Jon isn’t here, it’s just like theVietnam war and I wouldn’t want him having any flashbacks!’

Later, I walked the dog down the road, passing lots of Bombeiro truckshurtling along for more water. God onlyknows how much water was used to put this fire out! The smoke was in pockets along the valley,but as the wind started to clear the smoke you could see the areas devastated bythe fire. Huge areas of the forest,gone.

Even now, 7 days later there are still pockets of smoke coming fromhotspots along the valley. The fire wasstarted, they think, by a carless cigarette butt!

The really crazy thing, this wasn’t even a big fire! Fires like this happen in Portugal every dayduring the summer. No, hang on, thereally crazy thing, is that the Bombeiros of Portugal is largely made up ofvolunteers....every year these people put themselves in harms way to protectpeople.

Thank you Bombeiros.

It's just not romantic

2011-09-27T07:22:00.000-07:00

I've never been grape picking before, not had the wanderlust need to fly to Oz and pick grapes with a lot of gap-year students and a couple of old hippies. But when the grape harvesting season started recently in Portugal I started to feel the need to snip some grapes and become part of the wine making process.

So instead of the lush vineyards of Bordeaux or the stunning landscape of the Douro wine region in Portugal nor the far off general loveliness of Stellenbosch we plumped for Avelar. Not somewhere (although it pains me to say it) where you would really go for a romantic image of grape picking, complete with wine lodge and Keanu Reeves (if you've never seen A Walk in the Clouds you won't get that). No, Avelar has a good bakery, a hospital, a car show room and is the home of João, whose father in laws grapes we were about to pick.

Now, I do have to say that my knowledge of grape picking does come from the afore mentioned film - A Walk in the Clouds - a romantic image of a family picking grapes, living for the vine, large lunches under the sun, using your feet to crush the grapes and Sideways another wine film, but this includes men reaching a mid-life crisis, alcoholism and having a mental breakdown, so not something to aspire to. Alas, grape picking in Avelar is a little more perfunctionary!

a) As normal with things Portuguese, I seem to be the only girl

b) I'm grape picking with car-mechanics not Keanu

c) It's September and it's still bloomin' hot

d) No one, and I mean no one told it, it's really hard work and there are spiders!
e) Wine no longer crushed by the feet, but through a machine

f) Wine in a vat, starting to ferment looks a bit gross (not quite enough to put me off for life)

However, having said all that we did have a lovely time, got a good lunch and went home with lots of grapes and two massive jugs of last years 'vintage' so it can't all be bad eh!

It's all about the food

2011-09-15T03:19:00.000-07:00

It was about 9am when our neighbour Alfonso handed Peter adead, but still warm rabbit. It mightnot be how every day starts, but it works for me.

Thisis the dish Peter created for our dinner by frying off the rabbit and somechorizo then adding everything (except the rice) to a casserole dish andputting in the over for a few hours, adding the rice in the last hour.

1 Rabbit (from the neighbours)

2 peppers (from the garden)

Tomatoes (from the garden)

Piri Piri (from the garden)

Garlic

Onions

Rice

Chorizo

He’s also been using up some of our slight excess (is 20kilos excess?) of tomatoes, by making gazpacho;

It’s so simple and really refreshing and surprisinglyhearty. Just wiz the ingredientstogether in a processor, then chill, chill the bowls you serve it in too.

Just use

Tomatoes (from the garden)

Onion

Garlic

Cucumber (from the garden)

Olive oil

And as if that wasnot enough, he seems to have created the Aubergine fritter....

Grate theaubergine (note it does not grate in a food processor), add some corn flowerand spices, add and egg then shape into balls and put in the fridge. Then all you need to do is fry them! They went down well at our neighbourhood BBQ.

a mans desire for chorizo

2011-08-08T02:01:00.000-07:00

Inspired, somewhat, by Rick Steins trip to Spain, but more by the desperate need for pork based products, Peter turned to me at 6.30am on Saturday and said: 'fancy going shopping in Spain?'

How spontaneous. I love it.

Well, after we'd worked out that the reason it would take 4.5 hours to get to (the Sat Nav adds an hour as once you're over the boarder the rest of Europe is on a different time, durr) we headed off to Caceres.

We're told that many an ex-pat cross the border to stock up on food and drink, not because it's cheaper really, just because it's different and there is a lot more choice. As soon as you get over the boarder (now just a sign post saying Espana, the old boarder control and tourist office a relic of the past) (in the photo), you notice a change in the landscape. Gone are the lush hills and valleys of Portugal, and hello to the vast plains and burnt earth of Spain.

The boarder clearly follows the edge of the mountains, with Marvao the last bastion of Portugal, complete with a fortification set deep into the rock.

This region of Spain, Extremadura was dry....I know that that the rain is suppose to stay on the plains but at 30 degrees there was no rain today. So after a rousing verse and chorus of 'The Rain In Spain' I started to notice, there cannot have been rain here for ages, the ground is hard and unyielding, you start to feel sorry for the bulls resting under the cork oak and olive trees. The cork oak trees turn red, in embarrassment, where their bark has been stripped recently to dry out and make our wine corks. But at least the fields have animals in them, our region of Portugal has a distinct lack of farming animals. Like Londoners starved of the country side we pointed out sheep, cows and hurrah donkeys!

After just 3.5 hours driving, we arrive in Caceres, the World Heritage site, no less. Well a World Heritage site it may be, but parking is still a pain in the bum.

Heading straight for a butcher, Peter began the 'great pork purchase' with a cheeky chorizo or five. But adding that hour means that all the shops were about to close, ahh yes the famous Spanish 4 hour lunch time when the whole of Spain closes. So, we did as the Spanish do - headed out for lunch.

You forget when you are in Portugal (or England for that matter), the Spanish eat differently to us, their restaurants are not sit down affairs (on the whole), but stand up tapas bars where you spend 20 mins just taking a drink and eating a tapas. Well, the beer was so cold (why can't the Portuguese get cold beers right?) served in chilled glasses (not sucked out of a bottle) that we stayed in the same place and ate some of the nicest jamon I've ever had.

We headed for the old town, where the towers from the Muslim period still stand. It was deserted...Of course it was only 3pm on an August in Spain - everyone was still at lunch! So we had the old town to ourselves more or less. Neater than Toledo, the city, set on a rocky outcrop in the middle of the plains is really impressive.

We've been told that recently the town has undergone a revamp with the main square being cleaned and repaired....well they did a good job. On top of the city looking over the plains you get a real sense of being in the middle of no where, in the middle of the plains with just land as far as the eye can see, with no other notable features on the landscape. Why put a town here in the first place - those medieval guys were crazy.

Tummy filled, heritage done, we headed for the modern equivalent of the church - the supermarket! The real point of the trip and a chance for Peter to wallow in the rows and rows of hams, cheeses and chorizos. He actually asked me to leave him alone for a while!!!

So, 124 euros down (yep we went a bit nuts) we headed home, back through the plains, across the boarder and into Portugal.

It is amazing what a mans desire for chorizo will do. 7 hours of driving for some tapas and a trip to a supermarket! But, for someone that's lived on an Island all their life (England and then Jersey) there is an element of making a trip across a boarder and driving into another country just because you can!

The Visitor

2011-08-04T04:25:00.000-07:00

First and foremost, having visitors is fantastic, but, it can be a funny thing. I mean, catering for someone elses likes and dislikes, I mean, do you visit cities, go swimming, walking, museum visiting, go shopping? And hell on earth is when the weather is bad....what on earth do you do then. Somehow watching 8 hours of Glee only works for some very special people (and I include myself in that special category).

Being a non parent, there is always an element of excitement tinged with a little horror when we have children come visit. From stopping the dog jumping up and biting them ('he doesn't mean it, he's just being friendly' I say) to catering for non spice eating, non chicken eating kids (well, Peter does that bit).

But, we always have a lovely time when the kids come visit, and this time was no exception. Much joy had by all, although on the Monday after they left I did find myself asleep on the sofa at midday and undergoing a day of doing nothing - just because I could!

Lots of swimming, sunburnning etc had. In fact I am now the proud owner (well not that proud) of crow’s feet sun tan lines where my eyes were screwed up against the sun. I always laughed at my step-dad who got these, now the time has come when I get them too.

There is something about being a parent that you just get used to the noise, demands etc. It's the same for all parents, I think, but not being one, you hear everything, want to please the kids all the time, feel guilt if you tell them off and they cry, etc etc. When does the gene that parents seem to have kick in and suddenly you don't hear everything, are happy to say 'play on your own' or not feel guilty if the kid cries? I suppose it is the same gene that makes you want to have kids in the first place? !

It's a funny thing about moving away from friends and family. I've done it twice now. It is funny how you drift away from some friends when you are not in their pocket at home, how staying in touch becomes too hard with the barrier of needing to write to people instead of meeting for a glass of wine after work. The people you thought would be first out are never the ones who come and visit. But lovely Team WD have now been out twice in two years and I for one hope they come back next year again!

More visitors planned for August and September, first some Cutty Sarkers coming to visit, then some new Porto residents (I hope) then my Mum, Step-dad and Sister. It's an open invite, so when you coming?

Lazy, Crazy, Hazy days of Summer.

2011-06-21T07:59:00.000-07:00

Have you noticed that life is all about lists? What to get at the supermarket, the ‘to do’ list at work, the list of jobs that needs to be done, the list of birthdays not to forget....the list (pun intended) goes on. How crazy is it that I need to have a list (all be it a mental one) which reminds me that I must write to Sophie, drop Maddy a line, do my photo album etc. I mean, these are not jobs to be ticked off like paying the car tax!

Recently though I’ve started to notice that while I take great comfort in a list, I seem to be spending my time finding other things to do which are not on the list. Now, the house list (the one we’ll use for this sad tale) is a list of the jobs we need to do in our home - Casa Dos Avos, it’s not long – well not that long, but since writing it, the list has been pinned to the notice board and I regret to tell you it is being ignored. Now, this is the paradox, I like a list, I need a list, but I cannot seem to get off my arse and start ticking things off the list. I use excuses, currently the tennis is on, so that’s my excuse. But I can be found reading the historical novel I’ve read about 5 times as opposed to just getting on an re-sealing the shower that’s leaking!

I wouldn’t call myself a lazy person, at work I get through a huge mountain of work, all carefully listed in order of priority and urgency (was I the only one who listed to that trainer at the time management course?). At home, I really WANT to do these jobs, it is just that; watching Midsummer Murders, the tennis, reading Jilly Cooper, sitting on my arse etc seems to take priority. So much so that the poor list of jobs to do is being slowly hidden by other things being pinned on the notice board.

See my point (the list is behind the blue thing).

Now my beloved, Peter, is not a list person. He was the unhelpful sod who when I asked him for items for the list, hilariously said ‘write a list’. Oh ha bloody ha. Peter, I think, takes a totally different view of lists, they are not to be worried about, live life instead of doing the jobs. He fills his time not watching Midsummer Murders (that John Nettles is a lovely man by the way), but weeding in the garden, planting things....I think he believes that if he is sweating it is time not wasted but put to good use! Well I am sure that many middle aged women will no doubt work up a sweat watching Mr Nettles on Midsummer Murders – does that count as time well spent?! Clarification point – I don’t work up a sweat watching Mr Nettles, but he is a lovely man.

It was only when my good friend Charlie came to visit recently that I realised that I had turned into this list ignoring, and yes, lazy person. I picked her up from Lisbon and chatting in the car on the way home, in that manic way that friends do when they haven’t seen each other in a while, we updated each other on our lives. She’s working like a demon for a well-known cancer charity, she lives in London and commutes to work (before you ask, no I don’t miss that), she has friends she sees, weddings and events to attend and is a busy person. I mean, she didn’t have a weekend free for weeks ahead. So, when she asks me what I do with my time, well I felt a bit of a fraud, a failure, a lazy arse. She didn’t mean to make me feel like that, in fact, I didn’t realise I felt like that until I explained what I did on a day to day basis. I suppose I felt embarrassed that sometimes all I do is walk the dog, clean the house, have lunch, read my book, watch some TV, talk to our neighbours. Instead I found myself telling her about all the things I have not got round to doing and making apologies for this.

Now, I must clarify, I’m enjoying life out here, it is wonderful, but it’s quiet and I’m still finding my feet with that. But faced with a friend living my previous and enjoyable life (I lived in London, worked for a large cancer charity, commuted to work blah blah blah) made me think ‘what exactly do I do?’

Back to the point, is there a point?, well yes I suppose. I suppose the point is, I am a list person, I have a list, BUT I’M NOT DOING ANYTHING ABOUT IT.....what’s wrong with me? Maybe we reach a time when it’s comforting to have the list but it is no longer essential to do the list, is this maturity or is this (as I suspect) really about being a lazy arse. There are things I really want to do; be a better friend and stay in touch with people more, write letters, do more with the blog, do my photo album, but I don’t get around to doing it....are we all the same, do other people feel like this too?

My neighbours have a list, our friends from the USA have a white board which always starts with ‘smile, be happy, get boat in water’, which I love. By the way, the boat is not in the water – yet! If it was, I’d be off my arse and in the boat like a shot. Our other neighbours have a book of jobs...now this is just too scary, they have things which are years down the line.

And, eureka, we have what the specialists call ‘break through’, I realise that, I have a problem with patience. I have to have it all done now, not in a year, two years, three years (you get the point), so the list seems too daunting, too much to deal with, too much money to spend etc, instead of just seeing the list as this reminder of things to do at some point. So I feel like a failure because it’s not done, ticked off and finished. So, I will; smile, be happy, keep a list, add to it, but not worry if it’s not done.

So, last week I made a decision, I will get on a do things. So thus far;

I’ve written to Sophie

I’ve emailed Maddy (via facebook)

I’ve actually reviewed my Portuguese verbs (horrid experience, don’t try it at home), and,

I’ve updated the blog because I love Craig’s daily blog, http://craigschallengingyear.blogspot.com/ and am a bit jealous that he writes so well and it always makes me laugh.

OK I’m off to re-seal the shower, hang on, it’s 3.30pm Midsummer Murders starts at 4pm, I’ll do it after that!

It's from the Arabic you know

2011-05-22T06:51:00.000-07:00

Having visitors is great, it means that you play tourist in your own back garden and actually go out and see things that previously you've passed by giving the excuse a) too expensive, b) we'll come back another time, c) lets just have some lunch first then we'll think about going.

But, when you have a visitor you've got no excuse. It's all based on trying to show off really, showing people the best bits of your adopted country and trying to make them a) realise why you left the UK, b) a bit jealous and c) that life here in Pera is 'peradise'.

We managed to exhaust ourselves and most probably our visitor by travelling about 1000 kms over 5 days....Porto (done), Aveiro (done), Figueira da Foz (done), Tomar (done), Lousã (done). And during our tour of Central Portugal we did a few things we've never done before. A boat trip around Aveiro (not a lot to see, but welcome cooling breeze a bonus), and we finally went back to Tomar where we went to the Convento da Ordem de Cristo Built by the Knights Templar in 1160.
It's a great place to visit, and a snip at just 6 Euors (thank you Pat) or free on Sunday morning I'm told. It expands out across a network of rooms and weaves around numerous courtyards. It's a 'fantastic space' as Kirsty and Phil would say.

Now, I have some experience in this world of heritage and tourism you know and I was surprised that the interpretation (the signs the organisers put up to help you navigate and find out about the site) was limited to the architecture of the site. You know, 'This ante chamber was first constructed in the manueline style'.

I don't know about you, but I relate to people...who would have lived here, stayed here, what was the head honcho like? While a stunning place, I found out nothing about the Knights Templar, the type of crazy religious boys that stayed there....maybe I just didn't by the guide book (nod to Anna Heritage (not her real name) here as the woman at the front desk didn't even ask if I wanted one!!! ). For me, I could see the beauty, get a sense of the religious mania which helped to build this castle, fortress and church, but it didn't 'bring history to life' (hhmmmm catch phrase in there me think). And boy did they miss a trick by not having some Living History dudes in monks habits and Templar crosses walking around chanting! Who'd have thought I'd have said that!

Although I did get attacked by a House Martin in the last courtyard, not sure he was in costume either!!!

If you want to find out a bit more, take a look at:
http://www.sacred-destinations.com/portugal/tomar-templar-convento-de-cristo

But it was here I started to take photos of the Azulejos tiles.....it continued all the way to Aveiro where I announced grandly I would 'start a study' of the Azulejos tile. I've looked online and some really clever people (and talented people) have already done this. Shame eh but no idea is ever truely original! For example http://www.newmediarepublic.com/azulejos/ so I've decided to hold the formal 'study' and just enjoy them and read what other people have to say! Seriously much less bother!

For those that don't know, the Azueljo is tile used on many Portuguese houses.
Arabic word zellij زليج is a form of Portuguese or Spanish painted, tin-glazed, ceramic tilework. They have become a typical aspect of Portuguese culture, having been produced without interruption for five centuries. There is also a tradition of their production in former Portuguese and Spanish colonies in Latin America. In Portugal, azulejos are found on the interior and exterior of churches, palaces, ordinary houses and even train stations or subway stations. They constitute a major aspect of Portuguese architecture as they are applied on walls, floors and even ceilings. They were not only used as an ornamental art form, but also had a specific functional capacity like temperature control at homes. Many azulejos chronicle major historical and cultural aspects of Portuguese history. That is all stolen from Wikipedia, to read more go to: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Azulejo

For me, it is about the patterns they make, the beauty it brings to the houses and how fantastically foreign it feels.

Fighting a losing battle

2011-05-05T04:34:00.000-07:00

There are certain things that you need to accept you are just never going to win. We all have them, you know, the things you are going to lose at. Mine are:

1) A disagreement with Peter (see what I mean)
2) The battle to get rid of half a stone (I'm not posting a picture of that)
3) Getting a quote from anyone Portuguese for household insurance (god only knows why), and
4) The battle against the garden weeds

Now I know weeding is not a new (or interesting some might say) subject. All gardeners from the Mighty Monty Don (official name) to the person with a window box suffer the same fate. But here, in central Portugal the weeds seem to be on drugs...I mean there are thousands of them, floating in the wind, depositing themselves on my seedling pots, setting up home in the veg patch and growing down the side of the house. It's enough to drive anyone insane, yet every gardener deals with it on a daily basis.

I was very excited when my flowers started to come through in this pot recently....but just a week later, what do I have but this damn weed.

Now maybe having a wildlife garden doesn't help...but the bugs and slow worms love it.

So, fighting a losing battle, this afternoon I will not start the diet again, not try once more to ring the bank to get a quote for insurance, not begin a disagreement with Peter, instead I will be in the garden pulling up weeds (and trying to avoid all the plants Peter has planted too)!

Wish me luck.

A weekend in Lisbon

2011-04-05T05:40:00.000-07:00

Or otherwise known as 'eating far too much in two days'.

Our summer time neighbours Ana and Joaquim, live in Lisbon for half the year. After much hinting last summer, Ana and Joaquim relented and invited us to Lisbon some time in early 2011. That time was last weekend.

Now, this isn't a story of the 'hidden treasures of Lisbon' (although Ana and Joaquim are certainly 'treasures', no this is simply a homage to a really lovely city, which we got to know a little over the weekend.

Meet our guide - Joaquim he's surveying the Tejo here! Despite having a foot operation this year took us to the Baixa, the Chaido, the Bairro Alto, Belem, Sintra and Cascais.

All good tours start with food (this will be a theme), Ana is a great cook and as soon as we made it to their flat, lunch was on the table...having fully prepared (no breakfast, just a Pastel da Nata on the way down), we scoffed down pork and potatoes, followed by cake and Pudim (very sweet desert made with condensed milk).

We hopped onto the train taking Peter, Joaquim and I into the city, just a couple of stops away. Joaquim must have a standard 'Lisbon Tour' which he takes all us neighbours on, after all we are not the first he's taken around his city.

From a vantage point the city spread out beneath us, the Castelo, the Se (cathedral) etc and we were going to get round as much of it as we could.

Avoiding trams we crossed the road and went onto the Elevador, a lift which takes up up this hilly city.

Now, instead of going in the lift (the queue was far far to long and no one had the patience), we climbed to the vantage point at the top. Built by Mr Eiffle himself (or at least designed by him) this iron cage at the top of the city is great.

A stop off at a famous cafe A Brasileira was called for. This famous cafe has been churning out the bicas (small coffee) since 1905. It's an old style coffee house, which at night, or so I'm told livens up with people drinking outside on the street until 2am.

We walked down the main square, took a short look at the Tejo, before the ginga bar started calling our names. This bar is no more than a hole in the wall, where you can get a shot of this cherry brandy famous in Lisbon.Now we had a choice, more site seeing with a visit to a park, or a beer in a cavejaria. We chose the beer. So, despite having walked down the hill, we climbed back up again to the Cavejaria Trindade http://www.cervejariatrindade.pt/ where the beer was cold and the azulejos beautiful. Now, we'd already eaten a big lunch, I knew we'd have some pasteis de bacalhau for dinner, but Joaquim, in his enormous capacity for generosity ordered us some snacks....about 10 mins later a steaming plate of clams in garlic and lemon arrived. About 5 mins after that, it had gone!

Homeward bound we headed back to the train and a short time later were sitting down to a starter of choizo, morcella and farinhas (a selection of Portuguese sausages), cheese, ham and bread. Followed by pasteis de bacalhau and tomato rice. I just couldn't do it justice...

After a breakfast fit for a king (a hungry one at that) we headed off to Belém. Up the Torre de Belém first, a good workout to work off all the food. All with the sounds of the pan pipes in the background, that damn busker playing those pipes gets everywhere, I am sure the last time I was in Kingston the same man was there with his rubbish pan pipe version of 'I did it my way'.

One great thing about Lisbon is on Sunday morning many of the Museums and Heritage Sites are free of charge, so we headed for the impressive Mosteriro dos Jeronimos. Originally started in 1502, this impressive monastery is a popular site. We got there just before Mass started at noon, I cannot understand how a church service can go on with camera flashes every second, but it does, every day. The stained glass windows were the star for me, Peter liked the ceiling design. It's very Gothic with a touch of renaissance the guide book tell me!

In the wings are two museums which we scooted round quickly before heading off for more food at the very famous Pasteis de Belem cafe. Where little custard tart treats are churned out at 45,000 every weekend. Sneaking in around the back (the local knowledge of Joaquim proving so very valuable) we sat in a great refectory and ordered our Pasteis. The refectory area is impressive but a little soul less, as people come and go for the experience of eating the Pastel da Nata and don't linger. More soul can be found in the stand up bar area, where the queue stretched around the front just to get inside! Others headed for the Starbucks next door (can you even believe it).
Only three people know the special ingredient of these famous little cakes from this cafe. Served warm the pastry was light, crisp and delicious. The custard, hmmmm, I cannot even recall as I ate them too quickly.

A quick stop at the Museu nacional dos coches, a stately coach museum (bizarre I thought). We headed home for, you guessed it, LUNCH. Ana had done a wonderful Arroz e Pato (Duck Rice), totally lovely, despite being full to the brim I had two helpings!

After lunch we got in the car and headed to the coast. Cascais is where the rich are. Portugal is poor, Cascais is rich! We drove past many 5 star hotels, enormous large homes and more cafes and restaurants than you can shake a stick at! It reminded us both of the French coast. Surf and kite surfing (at the Praia do Guincho) in abundance, the surf was not good yet it was packed at each spot with dozens of surfers. Joaquim tells us that in the summer getting around Cascais is impossible as thousands and thousands of people from the city descend on the beach.

Homeward bound now our final call was the Boca de Inferno (mouth of hell) cliffs. Sadly no show today as nature came into force and the tide was out! Still impressive cliffs don't you think!?

Later, back at the flat, Ana and Joaquim's daughter, husband and grand daughter came round for dinner. We enjoyed a lovely family dinner (yes more food, strangely I was hungry, maybe my stomach has stretched to accommodate all this food, I hope it springs back) then made our way home back to Pera.

Now I know we've only seen a small part of Lisbon, there is plenty more to explore next time. But we've had a wonderful introduction from our lovely, warm, generous and welcoming (muito simpatico) neighbours.

Carnival Time

2011-03-10T04:31:00.000-08:00

It's not as hot as Brasil, which is a shame, but the Portuguese still like to party for Carnaval (Carnival). Parades, parties and dress up drinking seems the norm.

Planning for Carnival started back in January, when our neighbour Jon had a drunken conversation with Peter in the local bar. This resulted in a planned margarita party in the bar on 7 March.

Masks were made by Laurel, who stopped of at the hospital to get some bandages then put a plastic bag over our heads and bandaged us up! No, this is not how Michael Hutchins died, it was all in the process of making masks....take a look.

Decorating them means trips to the Euro store and the wonderful Pound Shop in St Helier, Jersey. So on a sunny day, glue gun heated, glitter at the ready, enough pipe cleaners to clean a million pipes, Laurel and I started to decorate.

Hmmm, as you can see it is quite easy to go 'over the top' when it comes to glitter! Although I am assured that 'over the top' is the only way to go at Carnival time.

Booze bought, limes searched out (harder than you think to find cheap limes), Triple Sec and lime mix made, glasses borrowed, make up on we went to the club for the Carnival Festa.

Now, it is not many people that can cope with more than two margaritas, and I really think our Carnival Margarita party proved that fact. With people falling asleep at the bar, being put into cabs, falling down stairs the night was a success. Typical cultural differences stayed the same. All the English (and Americans) were there at 8pm, the Portuguese didn't even start to turn up until 10pm! People really got into the swing of it, with costumes including witches, monsters and strange doll like creatures (totally random and scary).

Old Dogs of Pera

2011-02-26T04:48:00.000-08:00

No, sorry, this is not a post about trashy women in Pera hanging out at the equivalent of The Boat House! It is really an observation on the crazy dogs of Pera...

Having a dog really opens your eyes to the amount of other dogs there are around here. From little mini dogs with a sharp bite, to crazy insane dogs tied up all the time. Now my dog hero Ceaser Milan (I have read one of his books and I am sold, although not sure I quite have the calm assertive temper he requires), would do his nut seeing how some of these dogs are tied up all day as guard dogs.

Now, don't get me wrong, I totally understand that us Brits have a different view of pet ownership than many in Europe. Our dogs are part of the family (maybe too too much in some cases) and I do understand that our culture of pet ownership is just different. But when you have a dog yourself you realise how mental some of these tied up dogs can be.

Meet the old dogs of Pera.

This little chap is being looked after by neighbours while his family are in France. He is a cutie, no idea what he is called and our dog actually likes him.

On the other hand we have Kaiser, this dog is nuts. Totally nuts and possibly a danger. He has got off his chain and attacked Lord once already and no amount of kicking and hitting from Peter and I managed to pull him off. It was not until his owner pulled him off by smacking the dog around the head did he release Lord. Even taking this photo, the dog went nuts. Hackles up, dog slob dripping from his mouth, pulling madly on his chain. The problem is he is a guard dog, kept chained up all day with no where to go, not a chance to exercise, and he's a big dog, looks like a rottie cross. Like I say, Ceaser Milan would do his nut. We don't walk past this dog anymore, but even at the other end of the square you can hear him going crazy when I walk Lord. I suppose you have to feel sorry for him really, the dog hasn't had a chance, humans mess up dogs and this one is a mess.

Now let me introduce you to 'Barky Beagle'. Barky Beagle (not his real name (obviously)) we pass most mornings on our dog walk. Lord goes nuts when we pass, tries to strangle himself to either get away from the dog or to attack it. Hopefully I will never find out, as Barky Beagle lives upstairs.

Poochy is the village dog, he is a little brown thing that just loves to come and wind Lord up by barking at him from the street. Watching Lord and Poochy run up and down barking at each other is very funny, I wanted to video it for the blog, but Poochy has not been round today and unless I get this blog updated now I never will. So, you miss out. Sorry.

I do have this though. This is the noise made by three dogs who live opposite our friends Wilf and Sam. Holding onto Lord during this noise is a real show of strength!

One poor local dog lives in an old broken down house, again tied up all day he has nowhere to release any aggression or pent up energy. Although he is fed and watered every day, has a little dog house to live in, to me it just does not seem right. Portugal does not have an RSPCA as far as I know, the attitude is just different I suppose - it's something you just have to get use to and not judge.

There are a few local dogs I have not included in this observation, including lovely lonely Freddy who lives at the end of our garden. An Alsatian cross, tied up most of the time to guard the veg patch of our neighbours. Freddy looks scary as hell, but once you go in, hold your nerve and pet him, he is so desperate for some love he is all over you (not such a great thing because he smells bad). His owners are lovely people, they own Poochy too, so it is not that people are cruel, it is just a different culture. I also have not included a photo of BIG DOG. Big dog lives up the road, he is an Estrella type dog. Guarding the gates of his home with possibly the oldest dog I have ever heard bark as company. Big dog jumps the gates, it looks like he'll either come over them or through them! However, when I went up to take a picture he was as scared as I was!

Finally, the horror of the village (although Peter thinks he is sweet), is Rex. Rex will have a go at anything. Leaping teeth first onto Lord, biting at our heals just out of reach of my kicking feet. Rex is a dog with small man syndrome....

We Three Kings

2011-01-10T09:07:00.000-08:00

So, new year was fun. We popped to our Portuguese neighbours for one drink around 8pm (having already eaten and booked marked the evenings viewing on the TV). Peter got home at 4am! I was slightly more sedate and admitted defeat at 1am!

The Portuguese do it so well you see. Rio and Philamina are our neighbours just over the road. Always really friendly we have been round for drinks with them a few times. Rio speaks Portuguese/Spanish with Peter and while Philamina does not speak English, she is wonderfully slow at speaking and I get about 60% of it! Typical Portuguese, they are warm and friendly, force feed you drinks and nice food, living proof of why we really love Portugal and the Portuguese people.

This time, after disbelieving we were eating so early (8pm) they invited us round for a drink. Their children (about the same age as us) were staying along with their friends. Wonderfully they were young enough to know some English, which meant I could join in a lot more. When their suckling pig arrived (with two late comers) they insisted we stay and eat with them!

They were great fun, the boys all sang and played guitar and we badly sang Oasis and Mammas and Pappas songs. Later the Portuguese folk songs started and both Peter and I loved this wonderful, friendly, family atmosphere.

And now, the 12th day of Christmas has passed and with the exception of a home made Xmas wreath all the decorations are down (to be honest I took them down the day after boxing day, it was over for me!). The next village along is Sarnardas, their social club held a Three Kings Festa on Saturday and along we went. Jack, Sylvia and Laurel joined us too.

Peter, who is not on Portuguese time yet, insisted we arrive at 5.30 and he and I sat in the social club with no atmosphere while the old boys played cards. I was worried the evening would be a bust. But hold on! Our neighbours arrived, more local people arrived, tables were put up, the smell of food wafted over to us and slowly the place filled with local people.

For five euros a head we ate mixed meat, potatoes, cabbage and rice, so much food. Drink came in red and white only! Local home brew for the evening was less rough the more you drank! But even we could not stomach too much of the white!

Again the place filled with wonderful friendly people. Everyone knows who you are, they asked after the dog, gave us kisses of welcome and were thoroughly enchanting. We were joined at the table by Nigel and his son, English people but living in the village too.

After the food, drink, auction (where Jack bought possibly the worst figurine I have ever seen for 15 euros), the tables were dismantled and the dancing began. Fernando the accordian player is a staple at these parties and since meeting him I have heard he is a one for the ladies!!!

The dancing started in earnest and the locals put us to shame with their raucous dancing which involved stamping the feet and swinging around the room. Why oh why can't I dance like that?

A local man took pity on me, well maybe not pity, maybe he was just showing off! But as I was spun around the room, feeling like a ninny but trying my best to dance.

'One, two, three, one, two, three' - amazing what you can do with a good lead!

The club is run by a local family and one of their boys was 16 today. He asked me to dance but alas without a firm lead I just couldn't do it. Needless to say everyone had a good laugh at us, especially as he was trying so hard to be gallant!

Once again we have been overwhelmed with hospitality. That's what is so great about Central Portugal.

Missing central heating in central Portugal

2010-12-04T03:29:00.001-08:00

A couple of things you are always asked (and ask) when meeting new people is' 'why did you choose central Portugal?' another is; 'don't you miss the UK?'. Well my usual response is, 1) why not, it's cheap and the people are lovely. 2) I miss my friends but not the UK. Now I can add a new response to question 2. I MISS CENTRAL HEATING. I miss it a LOT.

It is freezing up here in the mountains, the frosts and snow has started early, just like the UK - not half as bad as the UK, but you lucky buggers have central heating, me, I have a wood burning stove and a boyfriend that likes to 'air the house' and a dog that likes the door open to come and go as he pleases. I'm sitting here now with all the windows closed, the oil heater plugged in and under my legs....Yes, Peter's out!

Despite the cold weather, it has been lovely here in Portugal and we've been getting into the swing of Autumn/Winter and a little bit of Christmas. We've been out exploring the area again, and found some wonderful places and met some new people with Portugal Friends.

Peter has been getting creative and made some beautiful Christmas wreaths for our house and the social club. Made from vines to form the structure and then decorated with leaves and berries (I wanted to add some shimmer but was firmly told no). We've got two up at the house and we've also given one to our friends Jackie and Richard.

Now Peter is not a fan of the Christmas Tree, while I love a good tree (I recall fondly a wonderful tree that Jen and I had in Putney, decorated in white feathers and white lights, eat your heart out Linda Barker). But of late, such is Peters horror at the thought of a Christmas tree, he has relented.

Hurrah.

But, it was to cost us nothing. We considered walking up the mountain to cut a pine down, but then hit upon the idea of using some of the branches of olive tree that have been cut for us by our neighbour when he collected our olive harvest. I made some dried orange decorations, raided the wood store for pine cones (collected in the summer as they make the best fire lighters in the world) and here it is:

But since then, our friends Jackie and Richard have bought us (well me, as they knew Peter would not get one) a fantastic tree! Peter has gone to collect it today and I'll have my very own Christmas Tree! Lovely lovely lovely gift.

Helen and Peter in Spain and France

2010-11-06T03:18:00.000-07:00

Holiday time, a road trip across Spain into the Pryenees then across France to Bergerac. 3,000 kms, lots of wine and more chorizo than is healthy for you!

On day one we drove across Spain to Toledo, we left early (after an almost tearful farewell to the dog, who is being looked after by neighbours) and arrived in the city a little after 4pm. Just enough time to take a good look around this stunning and monument filled city. Despite being a heritage gal, there is sometimes just too much heritage to fit into one day.

So, after a disco nap, we headed out for the night of tapas and red wine. For some reason in Spain (well the cities we have seen so far) they will serve you a beer in a wine glass and the portion control on the red wine is harsh. To say I could have drunk all my glass full in one gulp (yes I'm a gulper not a sipper) is no understatement. La Mancha area is famous for Manchego cheese so we had a 9.50 euros worth (cites are expensive) along with my thimble of wine!

From Toldeo we headed out across the plains of Spain towards the Pryenees, boy oh boy that is a long journey! Pretty dull landscapes for much as the plains stretch out for miles and miles on all sides. Just a small town with a fantastic church or monastery thrown in for good measure on the side of the main road. As the Seat Ibiza ate up the miles we decided to stop for the night in a small town on the outskirts of Catalyuna. Barcelona were playing football and the streets were empty, the bars were quiet too, and when we tried to get something to eat the places were closed or dead. We ended up with a dreadful pizza watching the football.

I seem to just be eating bread, ham and cheese at the moment. Breakfast - cheese roll, lunch - cheese and ham baguette, dinner - cheese and ham on a pizza! Someone give me a proper meal!

We drove onwards through the top part of Spain passing Monserate, a very expensive place on the outskirts of Barcelona (where the city folk go for weekends in the mountains). After a lunch of (you guessed it) ham and cheese baguette (!) we headed for Mike and Jan's place just over the boarder from Spain on the French side of the Pryenees. Mushroom country!

Jan and Mike were great hosts, taking us on a tour of the Spanish side one day, then the French side the following day. I preferred the French side, it felt more relaxed than the Costa Brava side of Spain. Some wonderful areas to explore. More important that that though - I didn't have ham and cheese for dinner, instead we had some lovely food (thank you Jan and Mike).

We went mushroom hunting with Mike and collected some wonderful mushrooms. This area is well known for mushrooms with cars littering the roads as people drive up into the mountains to hunt the mushrooms over the weekends. Pharmacys have posters with edible and poisonous mushrooms on display in a bid to stop people killing themselves!

France is expensive! The local bar in the sleepy village on top of a mountain sells a beer for 2.20 euros (our bar here sells it for 70 cents).

Saying good bye to our hosts we headed across France (in the rain) to Bergerac where my step mum (Pat) had hired a cottage for a week. Pat's birthday was on the Friday and her close friends and family were there to celebrate with her in style. The low moment for me during the trip was stopping in a rain soaked lay by having to eat bloody ham and cheese baguettes, with the car steaming up as you couldn't open the windows as the rain would come through....if that was not bad enough I had to deal with French toilets...why oh why in this modern world do the French still insist on you squatting over a hole in the ground with your trouser legs pulled up so they don't dangle in the pee on the floor from many other weary motorists! I just don't understand why they cannot fit a normal flushing loo! Rant over!

We arrived in Bergerac with the sun coming to great us and found the cottage (despite the sat nav sending is round the back roads of France). Stunning, stunning place, with wide open fields surrounding us, and more importantly a well stocked fridge and enough red wine to sink 8 grown people! Pouring myself a decent (or should that be indecent) glass of red, we took a look round. Totally stunning, take a look.

Touring the area over the next few days we decided this area of France is very neat! Neat because it is so well manicured. Lines of vines surround you, trees planted in neat straight lines, clean, well looked after. The place is simply littered with stunning chateaux's, from large wine estates in St Emillion (where we decided we did not want to part with hundreds of euros for wine) to the country homes and holiday homes of Europe's rich people! All that wealth everywhere but it still has a lot of charm.

Deciding not to take out a mortgage to pay for lunch and dinner, we all took in turns to cook each night. It worked well. For a group of 10 people it was a great way of having time to yourself during the day but sitting round a big kitchen table in the evening, drinking wine and eating far too much food - which always included stinking cheese at the end! For some reason I didn't mind cheese baguettes here for lunch and dinner (fickle aren't I?).

After a wonderful week we left Le Brandau and a huge thank you to Pat for a wonderful time, and headed towards Portugal. We drove and drove then finally stopped in a place in Spain called Burgos. The rough guide told us it was a great place to stop, it was. We fell out a bit while trying to find somewhere to stay, but fell on our feet at the tourist office as they called a local Pension and we found a room for the night for a bargain 27 euros! Peter was well happy!

It was Saturday night and Halloween! Burgos was busy. We had a wonderful time going to bar after bar sampling the tapas on offer. From fried chorizo, to chorizo in red wine, to a bar that just sold mussels in three different sauces (packed to the rafters). As normal in Spain the football was on and the bars full of people eating, drinking, watching football and smoking! Ahhh to smell smoke in a bar again - actually it was not unpleasant until the next morning when I put the same jumper on again and the smoke was clinging to the jumper! At about 10pm with stumbling across the cathedral which is so famous in Burgos! Impressive! Not a lot more I can say!

Heading home the next morning the rains started. A massive low across Europe brought thunder, wind and rain. Home in good time to a ravaged back garden and a soaking wet dog who'd been well cared for by Ana and Joaquim.

Loved the trip, spent too much money, drank too much wine, lovely to be home!

Bring in the harvest

2010-10-03T06:55:00.000-07:00

Harvest time here in central Portugal, with harvest festival celebrations, regional food markets and general thanking god for the harvest. Our village is no exception, with the annual harvest Mass and procession through the village at the weekend.

So here we are, dressed up for once (yet un-ironed as we don't seem to bother with that anymore, in fact, Peter never did bother ironing, he told me only yesterday I didn't need an ironing board when I had a table to iron on).

We decided to see the Mass, standing room only at the Mass and to be honest, thank god (no pun intended), after 30 mins I was a little bored of it.

You think the priest would be a bit more engaging, but alas, alas he read from the bible without looking up, without emotion. Although top trumps gained by the waving of the incense, very cool and Gothic (well for me a non Catholic anyway). 30 mins passed and we hot-footed it outside to where all the men where (strange that the church full of women - maybe they just have more to pray for).

The harvest festival here comes with extras -
1) a procession through town of the icon with the villages walking on rose petals thrown down to celebrate the harvest
2) then a nice bit of commercialism as harvest donations are auctioned off to the highest bidder

Bags of home-grown onions going for 10 euros, squashed for 5 euros, bottles of olive oil for 15 euros and a bizarre (live) bunny rabbits in bags ready for the slit and the de-furring for the pot. Having said that, our neighbour Alfonso brought us round a (fortunately dead and skinned) rabbit the other day 'don't tell the neighbours' he sisaid 'they'll all want one' - quiet as the grave me - oh except this post! Our veg box and squash raised 7 euros and we donated 15 euros for various bags of veg!

Meanwhile, on the coast we recently saw a different sort of harvest being hauled in from the sea. Fishing with a large net cast out with a boat and pulled in by tractors. We arrived at the coast to see this going on and stood and watched for about an hour (strange, when food involved our attention span lasted longer than the Mass).

The time it takes to haul in a net this way is painstakingly slow. So, off we went for a coffee and some torradas (toast, thick with lots of butter) before returning to the spectacle of the nets being brought up the beach.

Fish everywhere, they throw out so many, mostly mullet, which a local chap said were 'not good eating'. The fish stew you could have made with the throw aways could have been wonderful.

The seagulls had a field day and all the dopey tourists try to save the half drowned fish being thrown out by chucking them out to sea (boy those seagulls can swoop). One lovely Dutch lady worked tirelessly to save as many of the fishes as possible.

Fish sorted, they sold them off. Bags of fish for 5 euros a bag (regardless of the fish). We didn't buy any this time. The car is stinky enough with the wetsuits festering in the bag, we don't need some warming fish to add to the stink!

Good Lord!

2010-09-26T02:29:00.000-07:00

Meet Lord, our temp dog. We've adopted him until some neighbours return to Pera permanently in April 2011 or until some other neighbours arriving in October want to take him permanently.

Lord was living in the village with an elderly couple who both had to go to hospital in Lisbon. Their neighbour looked after the dog in the back yard, by feeding him and clearing up after him. This was supposed to be a short term solution, but the couple are still in hospital and will be for some time. Poor Lord was left outside on a very short chain, never walked and surrounded by his own mess. Lord was covered in ticks and fleas and his ears and eyes were very eaten by fleas.

In the end Jon and Laural cleaned up the area Lord was in, Joaquim and Ana gave him a new dog house and together he was bathed in de-flea solution. Peter and I started to walk him once a day and he was getting much happier, excited to see us, not nervous and really enjoying his walks.

Peter and I adopted him last week and it has been a trial by fire. First he was attacked by a dog of some Lisbonites here for the summer. I screamed in the street and this dog finally went away, leaving a puncture mark in Lord's neck. The next day I was out in the woods and saw a wild boar while walking the dog, then later that day the dog that attacked Lord got into the garden. Our garden is not very secure, with lots of entry points and our next door neighbour - Ameila - feeds all the local dogs which can come in. So, after a melt-down then 80 euros spent at the store, Jon and Peter secured our garden as much as they could. It's still not 100% secure, but it is the best it is going to get.

Lord lives outside, he is not 100% sure of coming inside, he is on a long chain now and he is walked twice a day (we've arranged that the attack dog goes out at 9am and I walk Lord before that). This week he has mostly been eating meat (refuses his dog biscuits) and learning to sit, fetch and return to his name. He's won the Lotto compared to the life he had before.

I always wanted a dog, but having one is not what I thought it would be. I worry too much! Still he is very very cute, although he has started trying to hump my leg - bloody typical, so much for being ALPHA, it would appear the pecking order in our house is : Peter, Lord then me! Didn't you just predict this would happen!!!

Surprise, it's Porto

2010-09-16T04:51:00.000-07:00

It's been a busy time over here in Portugal. Peter surprised me with a trip to Porto, we stayed in a manor house castle which was at the top of the hill. We dumped our bags and went to explore this ancient and beautiful city, with small streets full of houses to the river front and the tourist restaurants and cafes with the bright coloured umbrellas and the ancient churches and buildings with litter the whole city.

First stop, as always with us is the local market. Here this subterranean space was full of vegetables, fish, meat, olives, bread, garlic and plastic flowers! Yep, plastic ... maybe for all the saint shrines?

Once the market was well and truly photographed we went on to explore the inner streets, it is totally stunning with the tram running up the cobbled streets. We had the trusty Rough Guide with us to help us, but as normal, hardly ever looked at it (only when we wanted a place for dinner really). Instead we climbed up to the look out point on the top of Porto. From here you can see for miles across the city, river and beyond.

From the top of the world you can walk across the famous bridge which gives you amazing views across the river. The Metro runs right along side, it would never happen in London, where you can play chicken with the Metro!

One thing we didn't do this time was walk over the bridge to the other side of the river where the Port houses offer tastings and tours. Far too many things to do in Porto, which did include sitting at a bar drinking beers and me getting too drunk too quickly. Never good I tell you...so it ended up in a dash around town looking for somewhere for me to eat my dinner to dry up some of the beer!

Day two, rested (of a sort, just a mild headache) we toured on foot again and saw the smallest house in Porto. Built between two churches as the law stipulates that two churches cannot share a wall (this is the house in the photo below with the railings in front of it). We went into one of the churches, well you've seen one you've seen them all eh! This one had something I'd never seen before - a saint, a story and a collection box. So, you get to choose which saint to donate your euros to.

Of course any tour of any city would not be without a coffee stop (and a cake) every so often. Although Cafe Majestic is very famous, we were seated inside the fab building, with lovely linen and bustling waiters, but alas it was far to posh for us, so we headed to cafe up the road.

We both totally loved Porto, it is a great mix of old and new, city and river, cafes and bars. Next time we go I promise not to get too drunk too quickly and we can stay out past 10.30pm!

Community Project

2010-08-30T04:04:00.001-07:00

Most of the year, Pera is a quiet village with 100 or so locals going about their business and drinking in the club. Local men don't really put a lot of work into 'best kept villages' over here...in fact Peter and I walked past a dead chicken in a bag outside some old guys house yesterday...now that's rural Portugal for you!

Come August though the village gets busy, with Lisbon(ites) coming for their summer holiday, staying with family or in the 'done up' houses in the village. We have a few from America too, originally from here but living in New Jersey. The village is more vibrant and things get done.

In Pera we have a wall, it's a big wall, it's grey, not very nice and runs the length of the main village road. One of the ladies from Lisbon has been on at the local CAMRA (Parish Council) to do something about this wall. The CAMRA are not interested! After she went to shout at the men in the club drinking, telling them that they are lazy sods for not doing any work on the village, and being told to f-off by the men, she gathered a group of out of towners and the foreigners to paint the wall!

So with donated paint and brushes, about 15 of us got together over a few mornings (before it gets too damn hot) to paint the wall. Not quite sure if it is just bringing attention to something very ugly. But it does look better. Next year we tackle the large wall on top of the swimming pool in the village!

Felt good to do something for the community, even if the locals think we are crazy!

My next community project is a local dog called Lord. But more about him another time.

Pasteis de bacalhau

2010-08-26T06:59:00.000-07:00

Pasteis de Bacalhau are my new favorite things, they are a staple here in Portugal and every household knows how to make them. Except me, when I tried to make them they just weren't as nice as the ones we've had in the pastelarias. When I explained this in bad Portuguese to our neighbours, Ana and Joaquim, they invited us and the neighbours over for a lesson.

Bit of a shame that no one told me that despite the invite saying 6pm, they'd be making them at 3pm ready for the evening. At 3pm I was walking back up a mountain in blistering heat and my water bottle running low!

But we have such lovely neighbours, Ana and Joaquim photographed the lesson and here it is, how to make Pasteis de Bacalhau Pera style!
250 grams of bacalhau (you get it frozen in the UK, but here they soak it for DAYS)
200 grams of potatoes
half an onion and a clove of garlic
pinch or two of spice
one cap full of port
3 or 4 eggs
saltpepper
parsley
oil for frying

This is Joaquim, our neighbour - he starts by peeling the potatoes (having soaked his salt cod for three days or having got the frozen salt cod defrosted). Put the potatoes onto boil until they are soft.

Cook the salt cod by boiling it so it softens through.
Now shred the fish and mash it up a bit!
Now mash up your soft potatoes and add them into the bowl with the fish. Put your chopped up onion and garlic into a pan and heat through with some olive oil.

Add your warmed through onions to your fish and potatoes, then thrown in your salt, pepper, parsley, port and spice, mix it all in so it is well combined. Add it three beaten eggs and mix, your mixture should be sticky and still stick to the spoon and not be too soft. If you need another egg add it at this stage and mix well. Use your hands to do the mixing - it's traditional.

Now let the mixture rest for a moment, put it in the fridge for a while. Have a swig of the port.
Make some quenelles using the two spoons. Just move the mixture from spoon to spoon, forming a rugby ball shape. Traditionally a mans job!
Once you have made a few, test the oil by dropping a small amount of mixture in. If it bubbles around the mixture you are ready to FRY.

Carefully drop in your cod cakes, they shouldn't take long to cook, just a few mins. Turn them once so both sides are brown. Now you need to multi task (sorry), keep an eye on the ones cooking, keep making the cod cakes, take the cooked ones out and put them on kitchen paper to drain.

You should have enough mixture to make a mountain of cod cakes. So give some away to friends, or get a load of people round to enjoy them. Best served cold at room temp, with rice and beans and a salad. Totally lovely.

Oh and here we all are enjoying them!

Visitors and self sufficiency

2010-08-05T08:01:00.000-07:00

Our very first visitors were the JWD family, they were with us for 8 days and it was great fun.

Sam went down very well with the locals, all that blonde hair seems to work a treat. And Zack was learning four new Portuguese words a day - that's more than I can manage. I got them 'singing' Boa Tarde, Bom Dia etc after day one. These boys are quick learners.

The week was spent visiting all the local watering holes, both fearless at diving in (along with Michelle who did all the jumping in despite what you may hear otherwise).

I think everyones favorite place was Fragas Sao Simao, where it is idyllic jumping off the rocks into the clear (but cold) water. However, despite this wonderful vista:

It is possible that the boys (grown up ones too) picked up on a different view of the local area....Sam seems to have his goggles focused on the lady in the background...my those are big!

Now they have gone back to England, I have a cold (caught from Peter) and we are starting to get back into the swing of doing nothing really. Our self sufficiency book has been out and we've started to pull up some of our veg and get the ground ready for the next lot to be put in. Our onions are tied (by me, so no one criticise please).

Our glut of tomatoes are being made into sauce or are drying outside on the rack,

and our stumpy carrots (too much water we are told) have been made into a local snack, where they are prepared in oil and garlic. Yum.

That should last us about 3 weeks then!!!

Like veg, but fried!

2010-07-21T05:50:00.000-07:00

We are learning that when you grow your own veg you need to plan carefully. If you don't plan, then you end up with a glut of the same veg all coming along at the same time. Take the simple courgette for example, everyone grows them so you cannot give them away (but we took some of our friends Jackie and Richards courgettes, so maybe that is not strictly true that you cannot give them away). The courgette needs to be eaten, it won't keep too long and we are starting to get monster ones!

Our neighbour made a suggestion the other day, which was that at the start of the year we all get together and decide who is going to grow what veggies, then we share them out throughout the year. That way we have a 12 month growing cycle, never too much of one thing and everyone gets to have a bit of everything. Now, it is a good idea...I see the logic, in fact I applaud it. But isn't this how communism started...?

These are some of the veggies grown by our fair hands (well Peter's manly hands really but a lot of cheerleading from me). My new fave food is the humble courgette fritter (it's veg, but FRIED veg, it is very almost healthy!).

So here is how to create this feast:

Grate one courgette (make it a big one) along with an onion. Put into a bowl then add some herbs plucked straight from the garden (am I showing off now?). Put in a little cheese add two eggs (which reminds me, we must get some chickens) and 250gs of plain flower.
Mix it then put it in the fridge for a little while.
Heat up some oil (we've got some olive trees in the garden so come Winter we'll make our own oil, although everyone says you try it once and never bother again as it is too much trouble).
Mold the mixture into little patties and then fry them (hurrah) until they are nice and brown. Put onto kitchen paper to drain and serve with home made tzatziki (yogurt, cucumber and garlic) or home made salsa (our tomatoes are not red yet so we had to buy them!).
Totally yum.
But the best thing is when you serve them with some red wine bought from the local store for 11 euros! Look at the size of this monster box of wine and it's all mine I tell you, mine!

Everything in the garden is rosy

2010-07-12T04:02:00.001-07:00

A bit more weedy than rosy, but lush and green none the less.
Peter has been busy with t he veg patch, mostly filling up mole holes when we water. The moles are a problem, our lawn is full of mole hills at the moment, I've tried sticks in the holes, filling the hole with water, putting lemon down the hole (local old wives remedy) but still they pop up. We need a killer cat!

The local cove cabbage grows in every garden, Jersey folk will call it a Long Jack. It's used in soups throughout the Winter and just keeps growing.

All his hard work is paying off as we've had courgettes-a-plenty, lots of radish, lettuce and spinach. The tomatoes are on there way, along with the corn, beans, onions, beetroot and peppers.

We've still got lots to do, the lower garden is a haven for weeds (some may call it a wild garden). We've cleared some space, but the weeds just keep on coming.

So, today Peter has been out there strimming the weeds away with our neighbours strimmer. We'll sill have to weed as we've read that 'one year seeding is 7 years of weeding' and all the grasses have already gone to seed.

What we are going to do with all the weeds is a slight concern, our compost heap is already out of all control, although it has given us a sunflower in apology!

It's Festa Time

2010-07-04T13:40:00.000-07:00

The Festa is a big thing in Portugal, every village has their own Festa, some lasting a week but most take place over the weekend. The whole village or valley come together to walk the streets, watch the entertainment and drink! Now, I'm no expert (I have been to two so far), but I can see a theme.

1. Parade your religious/local hero icon
2. Hang around a bit
3. Listen to some wonderful local music
4. Wait for the entertainment to arrive, which is usually a singing group with very scantly clad women dancers! For example: Meet Nuno and the Nunetts, who performed at the Figueiró dos Vinhos Festa in June.

Or the girls who performed at the local Castanheira de Pera Festa.

The dances seem to be the same. Wave hands in the air (like you just don't care), wiggle at little, flick hair, repeat until fade!

These events are fantastic, local community getting together. It is something that is lacking in England I think, or at least something I didn't experience in London (Boat Race day is not the same).

Today at our local Festa in Castanheira de Pera we had some local dancing, none of this wiggles and flicks. It was great fun, a parade through town then performing different dances on stage to a audience that was a little too hot from the sun. The costumes were fantastic, and a real display of their local heritage, that everyone can enjoy and get the nostalgic feeling for past times that the Portuguese call - Saudades.

More Festa's next weekend. Looking forward to it....now all I need to do is work out this hair flick and I think I'm in the band!

To Croc or not to Croc

2010-06-19T09:27:00.000-07:00

I always swore that I would not buy a pair of Crocs, I know people love them, but I never understood it. My reasons for swearing never to buy them were:-
1) They are ugly
2) They remind me of working for someone that wore them into the office
3) I never had any need for them (high heels moved to flats when I moved to Jersey, but never to Crocs).
4) It seemed everyone had them
5) I hate those awful Croc jewels that people put in them (ref #2)
6) I had a lovely pair of jelly shoes which Sarah brought back from India for me
So, numerous reasons. When Peter bought his:

Blue ones, from Jersey. But bought with the intention of wearing them in the garden here in Portugal, I resisted....OK, OK, I did look at various pairs of fake Crocs in the shops...I toyed with it, but mentally listing all the reasons 1 to 6 in my head I did not make a purchase.
Since getting to Portugal though, I have tried out different shoes...I fell down the garden steps and hurt myself in my Moroccan slippers (now they languish at the bottom of a bag), flip flops leave my feet open to ant bites, lovely jelly shoes are sadly falling apart after 5 years of summer wear, my Nikes are too good to get muddy (well actually they make my feet smell so I don't wear them as often as I thought I would). So I thought about it, discussed my fears with my next door neighbour 'you're a farmer now' she said to me. I tried out Peter's....they are quite comfortable...I felt the change coming upon me.....then I lapsed, a moment of madness in the supermarket....I bought some (stylish?!) brown ones.....I know, I shouldn't have, I know. I simply cannot fathom what happened...but only yesterday I was out in town with Peter, I looked down and there they were....Oh god, it's happened - Yes my name is Helen and I own a pair of (fake) Crocs....and the worst thing is, they are currently my most worn shoe (I have them on now) - THE SHAME.

Bull Fight

2010-06-09T11:00:00.001-07:00

A Portuguese bullfight differs from a Spanish one, firstly the bull is not killed, it's mostly done on horseback and it seems that only six attempts at spearing the bull are permitted.

It was with some second thoughts that we made our way over the mountain to Miranda Do Covo for the bullfight. Set in a temporary rotunda stadium just out of town, the bullfight is part of the national heritage here. We'd decided to go for the experience - it was an experience.

It seems that most bullfights are just a lot of posturing by the men (mostly in tight trousers)! Lots of clapping, cheering, music and trumpets sounding. You know instantly that it is steeped in tradition, even from the way the spikes are handed to the horsemen to the calls for the bull to appear.

As soon as the bull came into the ring I felt that it was wrong to be there. I just couldn't look at it. I was not sure I could stay...while Peter took hundreds of photos of the bullfight I looked away. The first team did there thing, you fear for the bull and for the horse but not for the man. Then an unexpected (well for me) thing happened, the horsemen left the ring and a line of 10 men appeared. Calling to the bull the men walked forward in a perfect straight line looking straight into the eyes of the bull. The bull charged, the men stood still, then the lead man hoicked himself onto the horns of the bull! Such a strange site to see, this man over the front of the head of the bull. Quickly others crowed the bull, held onto it's tail and formed an exit plan...one, two, three, they jumped off leaving one left with the bull. So strange, strangely fascinating, strangely exciting.

In Portugal they have a very famous lady bullfighter, she is loved across Portugal as she is the only lady fighter. One she came (more blooming clapping), the crowd made a lot of noise for her. The bull took ages to come out into the ring, the anticipation builds, I could actually feel it, my eyes came back to the ring to watch...the crowd carry you along.

I wouldn't say I enjoyed it, I felt the horror of the cruelty to the bull (to the horse maybe as it was charged at by a bull), but I watched it fascinated. I am not sure how I feel about that, it's been a couple of days and I still cannot decide how I feel about the fact I watched it fascinated by the spectacle.

It is part of their heritage here, families attend bull fights with children. Flowers are thrown to their idols and bands play in honour of the fight. The photos Peter took are fab, take a look

Road Trip

2010-06-06T06:50:00.000-07:00

'Pack some things' he said. So I did! Got a little concerned when I saw the tent going in the car along with the sleeping bags, but never mind - in the spirit of adventure I'm willing to try camping again.

We're off on a road trip up to Northern Portugal and beyond...well into Spain actually! We headed up to a town called Viana Do Castelo, a town where the bridge was built by Mr Eiffel (of the tower fame) and the most Gothic looking building I've ever seen sits on top of the hill.

Lunch was had in a back street place, now don't get the wrong idea here, I say back street but alas it was blooming expensive for Fish Rice. A quick trip around the town before we head to the coast for surf! Cloud coming in though as the inlet means it's hot hot hot, but cloud covers the sun. A surf had (I had a sleep on the beach behind the wind break) and we head for a seaside town called Villa Praia de Ancora. Hotel found we went exploring, a fantastic seaside town with lots of places to eat and drink. And guess what there was a Sardine Festival starting the very next day! Quite common in Portugal I hear, since only last week some town somewhere near here broke the World Record for amount of Sardines eaten in a day (oh my that's a lot of fish).
Smoking still allowed in some bars over here, and you guessed it, those bars are always busy. Woke up smelling of smoke but it was strangely nice being in a smokey bar again!

So, did we stay for the Sardine Festival?

No!

Just a few miles north was Spain and the Gallicia region - a wonderful rugged coastline of inlets and rocks stretching for miles. Full of hotels just random on the cliff edges the area must be really popular in the Summer. We stopped briefly at Oia to take a look at their church and the harbour. They make fancy churches the Spanish!

Shortly after we hit Baiona, a Spanish Monte Carlo by all accounts. Hundreds of places to eat and drink, but hundreds of coach tours stopping at the fort for people to get off and spend spend spend. We took a tour of the fort, paid our 2 Euros (only people that did, but you know me I like to support the heritage).

We walked up to the fancy Pousada hotel called Parador de Baiona, right nice! After two beers (served in wine glasses) I went to ask the price of a double room.....234 Euros a night. I didn't turn it down right away, well it was a very nice place. But then we paid 12 Euros for 4 beers (served in wine glasses!) and we decided it was beyond our means.

Onwards we went, slightly fractious since we did not know where we were going and I needed to pee! Peter pulled another winner out the bag and we went to O Grove on the coast. Set on a salt lake O Grove is lovely. We explored as soon as we'd found a hotel, and soon learned that because of it's location at the end of the Peninsular O Grove is THE stop on the tour bus route, there were so many tour buses and so many Spanish people getting off them. All that tourism puts the prices up in O Grove. Tapas for dinner, along with these peppers - a local speciality where these mini peppers are flash grilled with salt and oil. Only one in every 12 peppers are hot, so you have to hope for a hot one!

The next day we headed home. Via Carrefour for shopping. Watching Peter choose chorizo and hams from a selection of too many was a sight to behold! We ended up with a fair few in our trolley, so I know what we'll be having for dinner from now on!

A new car

2010-05-30T10:10:00.000-07:00

We were told that buying second hand car in Portugal is a bit of a mission. Dodgy dealers, lots of tax, changing your driving licences into Portuguese ones...the list goes on. What is common knowledge is the price of second hand cars, I mean my old metro could have been sold here for about £500 and anyone who knows my old car knows it ain't worth £500!

Our neighbour Jon, introduced us to Joao who runs a second hand car garage and repair shop in one of the towns locally. First great thing - he speaks perfect English, second great thing - any car he sells comes with a years guarantee, third great thing - his brother in law runs an insurance company and final great thing - he is prepared to find us a diesel car for our budget of 500 Euros!

Trouble is, it can take some time...a week later we get the call, he's found a Seat Ibiza converted car into two seater (cheaper here as the tax is lower on 'commercial cars'). It's a bit old, about 10 years old and needs some attention.

We tell Joao 'yes' and about three weeks later, once it is done up we have ourselves a car! Although it does take ALL day to get - things happen slowly here. Very slow sometimes. But 9 hours after we start to collect the car we have it in our posession!

It's black, OK maybe not great for the 35 degree heat, but lets ignore that. It's diesel which is about 40 cents cheaper a gallon than normal petrol!

Needless to say, I have not be allowed to drive it yet!