The Thief of Time
Our builder Senhor Manuel is a man of few words, but born and bred in Alentejo and in his eighth decade, when he speaks we listen.
“De Espanha, nem bom vento, nem bom casamento,” he told us nodding and looking up to the skies. “From Spain (comes) neither good wind nor good marriage.”
The last bit refers to some historically unsuccessful weddings between the crowns of Spain and Portugal which didn’t work out so well on this side of the deal.
While the moderating ocean protects us from the 46C we experienced on a trip to the inland Alentejo, an oppressive dry cloudy heat has been blowing in from the east: the temperatures have been rising and the fires have started burning.
For two years we’ve been following the wind and the weather: the refreshing afternoon breeze which air-conditions away the summer heat is the prevailing north westerly, big storms hit from the south, and the occasional east wind does indeed bring trouble.
Twice we have experienced the unworldly red glow of Saharan sand scooped up into the clouds and swept up and in from the east, but in the summer it brings hot, dry wind which in a period of historical drought means a huge risk of wild fires.
“Close” is how my late mum used to describe it (happy birthday for yesterday, ma) – it’s uncomfortable, unsettling, and reminds us about the shortage of water as our wildfire app pings updates and keeps us on edge.
“It’s a harbinger of doom,” said Firle, our friendly neighbourhood harbinger of doom.
I’m already biased against the Old Foe Spain after it anointed us with something Portugal had failed to supply in two years: COVID.
I’ve mentioned before the difficulties of getting anything delivered down the dirt road to our off-grid Alentejo home: Amazon? Sham-azon.
And just like every other delivery, we had to go and pick up our COVID rather than it getting here on its own.
After a period of excessive productivity, energy levels have dipped. I blame COVID. Why shouldn’t I? Lots of people have.
It was all going well as my obsessive early morning strimming routine was shedding kilos (and protecting us from fire), we were conquering the building permit administration, logs were getting cut, grapes were being pruned.
But then we hit the COVID wall.
It wasn’t that bad – we were properly wiped out for a couple of days and then slow but improving for a few more, even though we couldn’t manage more than biting chunks out of the lifetime challenge of finishing Netflix.
We settled into taking it easy and not doing too much too soon, but after two weeks we still required naps in the afternoon...as the to do list was gradually growing.
While reporting around the clock on a typhoon in the Philippines in 2013 I was referred to as being “like the Duracell Bunny: the only way to stop him is to shoot him” (thank you Jo Floto), but I no longer needed stopping....I needed starting.
And like a Duracell Bunny caught in the headlights I’ve no idea what to do first.
We’re managing the intricate details of our building project with a full water and electrical infrastructure to design, have a podcast to gather and produce, and three blogs to regularly write (this one plus two others...do sign up for the one on Portuguese wine).
Then there’s a new BBQ to build and install, the solar house to clean and paint ahead of the new installation, a bridge to build on the footpath, a deck on a hill, the kikuyu grass to keep alive...and I still can’t change Siouxsie the Suzuki’s flat tyre as the wheel won’t come off.
(I guess at least all the wheels haven’t come off).
I fear COVID has moved seamlessly into a lethargy and a lack of enthusiasm for hard work that accompanies the summer heat and the arrival of sun-seeking guests.
We had to turn some people away, but were well enough to welcome Stanford fields Jim & Micha from the US, Kabul chum Roger and his son Alex from Cape Town and put in some beach and braai time with harbinger Firle and friends...while not quite managing to do everything we’re supposed to.
Things will never be finished here – like Netflix, new items are constantly being added and all the stuff we should have ticked off in the past now seems so dated that we probably won’t bother.
But we are still in the early stages of building our business and our project and our podcast and our lives here.
As Fatboy Slim once said, there’s a lot to do right here, right now; right here, right now.
And on the theme of lyrics and sayings, I’ve been stealing time quite effectively through procrastination by researching phrases which cover my current mindset.
Although early birds might struggle to get a worm out of our sun-baked earth, and like Rome, a tourism lodge in Alentejo won’t be built in a day, a stitch in time will save nine.
I like the last one because it’s good advice ahead of signing a contract with builder Manuel – plan it properly now, save money later – but also because it cropped up in a recent article I read about the US Supreme Court and its decision to overturn Roe v Wade (a great, if paywalled, piece in the Sunday Times by Professor Emeritus Iwan Morgan).
The centuries-old saying was mis-quoted in 1937 as “a switch in time, saves nine.”
That was the last time a president (Roosevelt) thought about packing the Supreme Court with new judges to redress a conservative bias that threatened one of the key pillars of American democracy.
It was a sudden switch of opinion – just in time – by conservative Associate Justice Owen Roberts to uphold a minimum wage measure, which is said to have saved the nine from becoming 15.
And as we all know, it’s not just procrastination that’s the thief of time...but it’s also call centres and customer service hotlines.
Thankfully I have no room left this week to rant more than a few sentences about what has become the bane of Ana’s life (as she is the one fluent in Portuguese).
Once you get through, the opening emotion is always anger – you’re the bad guy – why did it take me two years to call back the driving license people to ask them where my new license is (lost in computer crash purgatory), or why it was up to us to navigate the labyrinth of Worten electrical store’s gas boiler installation department.
It’s perhaps ironic that Worten uses Billie Eilish’s hit song Bad Guy as their caller waiting music, but sadly neither of us can listen to it ever again after spending hours every day on hold.
You’d have thought installing a new boiler to the point where it actually worked might be their responsibility, but after days of frustration (and cold water in our Lisbon flat) it was a call to their public relations agency that persuaded them to do it again properly.
Thank you for sorting that out Worten, but please get better for the sake of everyone’s sanity...and Billie Eilish’s back catalogue.
Searing heat is not a great incentive to cut canas reeds to cover the pergola, spend days measuring borehole water flow and quality, sorting out the irrigation system before all the fruit trees die, or walking the dogs (unless it’s before 7am).
But it’s been a lot easier to get back into hot yoga in our own home, and the latest Stranger Things really was the best series yet.
Tubeless tires never go flat when you are driving. Only when you stop. (Unless it’s a blow-out).
You need to have a battery powered pump, maybe 60 dollars. Pump up a flat and drive to gas station.
You can also fix tubeless tires without removing them. 10 dollar kit and 3 minute tutorial…..
Hope your energy levels pick up very soon....it can take weeks after this damn virus....
Really enjoyable read, as ever, btw!