My 2019 diary (part two)

A quick recap on the first six months of 2019:

• Our UK property sale continues to drag on
• I’m still spending the majority of my time hiking, running and writing
• While we loved the Silver Coast in many ways, we weren’t huge fans of the weather
• We have decided to return to the Algarve as soon as we can

And so onto the rest of 2019.

July

So, we are starting July in a new country, albeit the one bordering Portugal, and, while living in Spain temporarily wasn’t what we envisaged when we left the UK in November 2018, it’s kind of exciting.

The first few days are spent familiarising ourselves with a whole new vocabulary – words like ‘bottom cleaning’ and ‘backwash’ start featuring on the pages of my 2019 diary. We are quickly learning the ropes. On 2 July, I post, ‘ALL CHECKS DONE, 1 CHLORINE TABLET ADDED’.

Órgiva is located in the foothills of the Alpujarras, so it’s not surprising that the large garden needs regular hosing. I think I needed a hosing too after attempting to run far too late in the morning. My second attempt, on 7 July, is ‘worse than ever!’ although between pool checks, phone calls and writing, I do manage to finish weeding what we’ve been calling the villa’s ‘secret garden’ (a shady, overgrown area with a swing seat that I’d rashly offered to clear/weed).

On 10 July, we go walking mid-week, which is unusual for us. We head to some beautiful whitewashed villages – Pampaneira, Bubión, Capileira – and attempt to kill ourselves in the heat. I’m far too tired to run the following day, but I do ‘clean off some birds’ poo around the pool’ (Chris was most insistent we keep on top on that!).

I obliquely refer to the plumbing issues we’ve been having when I note ‘buy more drain cleaner’. Basically, when we flush the toilet, ‘things’ pop up in the shower. Delightful.

There’s happy news on 14 July when my middle daughter calls to say she’s got engaged. I celebrate by mending Harri’s rucksack – I’d had to pin it when we were hiking a few days earlier. The day ends with us running out of gas which means no hot water. From my diary entries, it seems I spend most of my time around water, either on pool cleaning or garden watering duties.

There are more plumbing problems on 19 July, but we establish ‘shower okay for one shower’ and head to Salobreña the next day. It’s ‘lovely’ overall, but the beach isn’t a patch on the Algarve’s golden sands.

This entry from 20 July made me laugh: ‘Bottom cleaned yesterday but it looks dirty again this evening’.

There’s some emailing to and fro with Rosemary (the farmer’s wife in Grândola). On 23 July, I realise it would have been my late parents’ wedding anniversary and write ‘Mam and Dad’s 59^th wedding anniversary’ at the top of the page. I then leave my run too late … again. The next day, we have a potential pool issue, causing me to note: ‘POOL PH up – looks like 8.2. Added half bottle of agua fuente.’

On 27 July, there is some reprieve from the heat when it’s ‘Really wild + windy!’ We celebrate by walking 10.5 miles and spend time afterwards clearing leaves from the pool. I note these ‘pool tasks’ are ‘pointless’ because the following day ‘the pool is filthy after winds’.

We like nearby Lanjarón much more than Órgiva and so we walk in the area again that Sunday. Later, to relax, we resume our second viewing of the entire Buffy the Vampire Slayer series.

On 29 July, I drop my phone in the bowl of water I’m using to clean the pool tiles. I can’t work out where it’s gone until it’s too late – several minutes – and the screen is beyond repair. I’m just about able to answer incoming calls but that’s it.

My clumsiness is likely the result of tiredness, as I note ‘No energy – not enough sleep’. This was our first experience of pet sitting, but looking back the standard of our accommodation wasn’t great – our bedroom was airless, and no wardrobe space was provided so we were literally living out of our suitcases for the entire two months.

The month ends with the news that another survey needs to be done on our UK property – for whom I have no idea. I think I have lost the plot by this point!!

August

Everything becomes clear the next day. The Jones’ mortgage offer has expired – the survey is for them.

I write ‘Bilbo hurt his leg last night’ hoping he’ll be fine and comically jot down, ‘Did Bach wash too’. This Andalusian heat is addling my brain.

Unbelievably, in a sudden flurry of activity, we finally exchange contracts on our house on 2 August and complete on 5 August. We had put it on the market in September 2018 and sold it to our original buyers. Having decided we’re heading back to the Algarve after this summer, we contact Miguel. This friend of Jorg’s is helping with the sale of Casa Nova. We discover it’s been sold to an Englishman who is happy for the German owner to continue living there indefinitely. The large pool is also unlicensed. We decide we’ve missed a bullet. Unfortunately, we took a direct hit by the Jones, who immediately after the sale, revealed themselves to be truly contemptible and far from the ‘honourable people’ the husband told us they were.

It’s getting hotter than ever – 35.9 degrees in the shade at one point. I’m either hiding in the secret garden on the pretence of weeding or writing the first draft of my (still unpublished) novel. Having sorted out the gas, we’re now without water regularly as major pipe works are done at the entrance to the town.

No sooner is one ongoing issue resolved but another one – or two – rises its head. The plumbing in the property is being problematic again and my website, hosted by GoDaddy, has basically disappeared. Nobody at the company seems able to rectify the issue, or even be able to tell me what the issue is. All seems lost until a former colleague (from nearly two decades ago) contacts me and offers to help. That man is a saint. I move to a new hosting provider.

My runs are getting shorter and on 16 August I jot down ‘didn’t feel well this morning, felt giddy + sick’.

The plan is to head back to Albufeira at the beginning of October and so I post on Facebook to see if anyone knows of any rental properties available. Pete, a regular at Arte Bar, contacts me with an offer of a one-bedroom apartment for €450 plus bills. This sounds perfect, especially as it’s so close to our previous rentals.

There’s a weekend of pool maintenance, hosing, weeding and, of all things, ironing. I’d noted it was ‘too hot’ for a run, so I’m guessing we decided against hiking too.

I give up alcohol for five days and buy lots of cheap tomatoes at the local market. From memory, I’m sure they were €1 for three kilogrammes. I did love Órgiva’s market and walked down there most weeks. The almost entirely uphill walk back with heavy bags wasn’t so much fun, but I refused to drive in Spain.

It’s hard to believe – because it doesn’t seem so long ago – but it was in August 2019 that I changing this website’s domain name from thewalkerswife.co.uk to the current one.

Honestly, I’d forgotten how much time we spent cleaning that pool. On 22 August, I hose the garden, clean around the pool, remove the birds’ poo, fish out insects and leaves with a net and then, with Harri’s assistance, bottom clean and shock the pool. Somehow, I summon up sufficient energy for a run the next morning and a 20.5 kilometre hike the following day (could this be the point when I switched from miles to kilometres?).

Chris and Sarah are due to return anytime from Sunday 26 August, thus I embark on a massive cleaning spree. They want me to cook for them again (this, I should add, is something we have never and would never expect our own pet sitters to do).

And we’re off. It’s 28 August and we are headed for Grandôla and the farm where we will spend the next five weeks. Rosemary and Andreas have generously offered us free accommodation for the week before we are needed. It’ll give us time to learn the ropes. Thankfully they do not have a swimming pool … just goats. We spend one night in Aracena, turning up the day after a large festival ends. The only ‘tapas’ available is cheese with bread.

If we think the accommodation in Órgiva was bad, then it’s positively primitive at the farm. I cry so hard when I see where we’ll be staying that Harri whisks me off to the local Lidl to cheer me up.

Our first full day on the farm sees me helping Andreas in the field for … about three hours. He treats me as his farm labourer, something I didn’t anticipate. Eventually, Harri, who had been working, comes looking for me.

I make an official complaint to GoDaddy and log the ‘escalation incident’ number – and then head off to learn how to milk goats with Rosemary. After that, we go for a walk around their hilly land and Rosemary loses the sole of her new shoe.

September

I’m excited to help with the final gathering of grapes for this year’s wine making and quickly discover it’s not as romantic as it looks. Yes, it involves bare feet and a lot of stomping, but the scent of crushed grapes also attracts zillions of wasps. Andreas decides it’s safer if I just watch the fun bit.

Two evenings later, it’s Andreas’ birthday and we get the chance to sample an earlier year’s wine, together with their good friends João and Maria. We have a ‘lovely night with nice people’. I guess I’m getting used to not being able to use my hair dryer due to solar power issues (no storage).

After all the problems with my website, you’d think I’d deserve some technical reprieve but unfortunately not. My memory stick now dies on me. This is worse than it sounds as I’ve been saving my writing on it and not closing the files every night (and thus creating temporary files on my laptop). I have lost three chapters of my novel completely.

Devastated, I focus on my website instead and create categories for my blog. In between the twice-daily animal feeding and goat milking, I acquire a new phone.

On 6 September, we travel to São Martinho for the weekend to collect the rest of our belongings. We stay overnight at Denise and Mike’s apartment and learn – for the first time – that the couple who are storing our stuff have split up.

We return in time for a local village festival, which we attend with our German hosts who are also performing on stage. They are really good musicians. On 9 September, I’m presented at the local police station. I have done nothing wrong, but in this small rural community everyone knows everyone. Andreas is concerned that someone might spot Harri or me at the farm and think we are intruders. Our passports are photocopied by a friendly police officer, and I return to the farm on foot to help milk the goats.

I seem to be spending a lot of time re-organising my website and adding links to various books of Harri’s. I book December flights home, thinking this should give us plenty of time to find our new home in the Algarve.

Rosemary and Andreas set off for their cycling holiday on 11 September and the real work starts. There are ducks, geese and chickens to feed every morning, goats to feed and two nannie goats to milk. There are two dogs, Tasha and Nicky. Tasha needs walking and Nicky must be fed on spaghetti and given medication twice a day. The farm has two cats but the original farm cat won’t tolerate the other one so I must feed that one in a field on the opposite side of the road. At some point, I must gather leaves, medronho and apples for the goats’ later meal. It’s exhausting in the heat and Harri is working full-time.

I start contacting estate agents in the Algarve, but thanks to Boris Johnson’s ‘dead in the ditch speech’ the pound plummets and property prices here soar. Houses are coming on the market and being sold within days. There is one for sale in Armação de Pêra, which we never get to view. It’s still nearly a month before we are heading down south again.

While we’re very grateful for the free accommodation, I’m working hard here in Grandôla. On 17 September, my diary lists: 7am Chores [that’s feeding everyone, cooking/giving medicine to Nicky and letting the chickens, geese and ducks out], 10am Goats [milking time] and 12pm Chores [basically, scouring the land for suitable food for the goats]. For good measure, I add ‘chop apples’ and ‘check for eggs’. After a few free hours in the afternoon, it all starts again. Why would anybody want to be a farmer’s wife? This is exhausting, unrewarding toil – and it’s never-ending. My clothes smell all the time and we don’t have a washing machine.

We have some early rain from 20–21 September before tragedy strikes. On 22 September, I cross the yard to the old farmhouse to find Nicky in a terrible state. I think he’s had a stroke overnight. I care for him as best as I can but it’s a horrid, horrid day, made worse by the fact Andreas and Rosemary refuse to allow João to call a vet to put him to sleep. This is apparently due to the fact it’s Sunday and the call-out fee is higher.

When Nicky eventually dies at 5.30pm, we phone João and he immediately returns to the farm. He is wonderful and buries poor Nicky in the stony soil, making sure to cover him with a large metal piece to stop the wild boar digging up his body. I can’t stop crying.

Our final week on the farm is tinged with grief. I cannot understand how anyone could allow their pet to suffer so much. In between my farm jobs, I ‘went for a lovely walk’ with João and Maria, who both speak perfect English. I message Rosemary to tell her we will be leaving on Monday morning (they return late on Sunday evening). I cannot wait to escape this place.

We arrive at Alcantarilha at 1pm and move into our new ‘home’ – we are renting a large bedroom/en suite bathroom from Debbie after she persuaded me that this would be a cheaper option than the Albufeira apartment.

October

There’s no time wasted in getting back to dog walking, although I don’t note whether I do this alone on 1 and 2 October or with Debbie.

I have spotted a property that fits our criteria on www.magnoliaproperty.co.uk The owners are selling privately and I’ve already lined up a viewing for 2pm on 2 October. Afterwards, we have a meeting with a local estate agent which we keep (although she has forgotten we are coming).

We like the house and its location (though not the hideous décor) and so we describe the property and its price to the agent, explaining it’s what we are looking for. We do not mention we have just viewed a house that fits our criteria and price range. When she tells us we need to lower our expectations, we know the property we have just viewed is a good price and make an offer, which is accepted. We cancel scheduled viewing for cheaper houses in Albufeira and Alcantarilha.

On 4 October, Debbie goes to the UK leaving me in charge of Leão again. Our sellers want to move to Spain as soon as possible so there’s no time to waste. We meet at their home on 5 October with our legal representative.

Meanwhile, the wonderful John is transferring my entire website to the new hosting service. These things are way over my head – I’m so grateful to him.

Debbie returns on 8 October, but days later I still seem to be walking Leão (with or without her I don’t say). Deciding I need a new challenge, I contact Tomorrow magazine about the possibility of securing a franchise with them. I do not ultimately go ahead with this idea, however, I have worked for the magazine almost ever since. I also start devising and writing up walks for Walking World, a really lovely family-run business.

The weekend sees Harri and I at last going for a walk without a dog in tow. On Sunday, I head to the BLIP exhibition with Debbie. That afternoon, Debbie finds a tiny soaking-wet ginger kitten in the street outside her apartment block. She takes us to see it and we instantly fall in love with the fierce little boy who is covered in fleas. Debbie says we can keep him – if we get rid of his fleas – and we name him Moses.

In contrast to our UK house sale, our Portugal house purchase is moving at speed. Things are different here. The buyer must put a 10–30% down and both parties must sign a promissory agreement which is legally binding. If the buyer pulls out, they lose the deposit. If the seller withdraws, they must refund double the deposit.

We sign this promissory agreement on 24 October. It later gave us great peace of mind when the increasingly unbalanced husband threatened to pull out of the sale.

On 19 October, Denise and Geoff visit. The rain is torrential and the side streets of Armação are badly flooded. Denise refuses to eat in the restaurant as the rest of us tuck into a nice meal.

Moses is putting on weight and is 420g by 21 October when he is wormed. We pay half the large amount the buyer wants for his furniture. I hate most of it but he won’t sell the house to us unless we agree to buy it all.

Things are moving fast and we’re talking about completion on 28 November. I chat to my middle daughter on a video call and note ‘she looked gorgeous’. She’s just back from Vietnam and tans very easily.

Debbie and I are alternating cooking an evening meal for the four of us. On 29 October, my offering is mussels in wine sauce.

We enjoy one of our last-ever nights out at Arte Bar where there is a Halloween party. Debbie, Antonio and one of Debbie’s friends join us.

I am growing to hate living in Debbie’s apartment. We’re actually being charged more than we’d have been charged for the one-bedroom apartment. The 400-euro-rent quoted increased to £400 upon arrival. We have no privacy as our landlady barges into our room all day long. We’re terrified she’ll enter our room with Leão when we are out and that’ll be the end of Moses. I find myself going out walking more and more, using Walking World as an excuse. The truth is I need to get away from daytime television and my once good friend’s continual presence.

November

In Wales, Harri’s mother celebrates her 70th birthday and we Facetime her.

On top of everything else, we are now car hunting – or at least, we’ve asked an Albufeira friend to keep a look out for us. When he tries to sell us his girlfriend’s car while she is in the UK, we suspect he’s not serious.

I go over to our new house to do an inventory with the sellers. The husband is ex-military and the task is executed like a military exercise, starting in the front garden and working our way from room to room. I have several pages of A4 notes when I leave.

Moses has his first vaccinations and on 12 November I have my first decent run in a long time, noting ‘Really good run’.

Debbie disappears to the UK again and I’m once again walking the dog. It is nicer when she’s not around though so for once I’m not complaining. By now, I’m running around trying to get everything sorted for our move, i.e. electricity, water, internet, etc. It all starts feeling very real when I go to our bank in Albufeira to organise the transfer of our money.

On 22 November – one week earlier than originally planned – we become the proud owners of a three-bedroom townhouse in Armação (well on the hill above the resort). We’re barely finished at the notary and arriving at the property when MEO arrives to fit our internet.

We cannot believe the house is ours. The husband has been as difficult as possible this past week. He insists he has paid the property tax for a year ahead which is impossible as the bill is issued a year in arrears and even threatens to pull out of the sale the day before we complete. His text messages are more and more worrying. Even with the legal safeguards in place, we have a very sleepless night. Then, at the notary’s office, he behaves as if nothing has happened in the run-up. He even rings and offers us a lift to the notary. We are baffled but relieved.

It’s wonderful to have our own space again.

Unfortunately, not everyone was as pleasant and helpful as our notary. At Silves finanças, an officious bureaucrat had refused to let another English-speaking customer help me with an address change. I was told to return with my own translator. We took Miguel and made the most of it by meeting up with Jőrg for lunch afterwards.

On 29 November, I fly back to the UK for the first time in months. I take my ‘dead’ memory stick with me. John is going to look at it one last time.

December

There are no more entries in my 2019 diary until I return to the Algarve on 13 December. While I go ahead with my flight, I am clearly not well. In fact, looking back I am convinced I had Covid, but this was well before anybody had heard that word. Harri picks me up from the airport in a hire car and I go straight to bed when I get home. We miss the Arte Bar Christmas party the following day – ‘TOO ILL TO GO’.

The plan is to buy everything we needed for our new home while we had the hire car, but I can barely stand up. Whether I was still delirious or not, I have no idea, but on 17 December I jot down, ‘List all the exciting things I could do: projects, writing, gardens, etc.’

I’m feeling a bit better, though wheezing badly, by 19 December when guess what … we’re minding Leão yet again, this time for two whole weeks.

We’d agreed to the dog sitting long before we had a kitten and just for the one week. Harri has caught whatever I had and is in bed feeling very ill so it’s me who must pick up Leão and me who will be walking him twice daily despite feeling terrible.

At the bottom of that day’s diary page, I write: Leão attacked Moses! I tell Debbie (via Messenger) in no uncertain terms – ‘no more dog sitting!’

On 23 December, Denise and Geoff arrive to spend Christmas with us. The following day, we do a short walk along the levada near Silves, a hike that has proved really popular with our visitors and Hiking Algarve members. Our friends leave on 26 December – unfortunately, Leão doesn’t. Debbie has changed his departure date from 29 December to 2 January.

We head over to Albufeira to meet up with Nan, Dennis, Cecilia and Phil and get home to find the mutt in our front garden. He’s escaped into next door’s rear garden and, as we are out, they have no option but to put him there.

I walk Leão again on 30 and 31 December and vow ‘never again’. I am definitely a cat person. I’m convinced it’s not a coincidence that Debbie drops me like a tonne of bricks upon her return.