When people ask how I discovered Portugal, I always reply the same way: “I didn’t; my parents did.”
Joe and Alice discovered Portugal decades ago and visited countless times, from summer holidays to entire winters. Every time my mother landed at Faro Airport, her first words were, “I feel like I’m home again.” Their favourite destination was Olhos de Água, near Albufeira, and from there, they would explore Portugal.
It’s now become a generational discovery: my sister Carole, her partner Robert, my brother Tony, his wife Janet, their children James and Amy, Amy’s partner Lee, and their children Orla and Thea.
I wonder how you discovered Portugal. Was it an impromptu visit, or was it planned? Perhaps someone introduced you to the country – if so, do they know how you feel about the change they helped bring into your life?
During one of our family holidays, my mother saw an excursion to Monchique. None of us had heard of Monchique before, but Alice was always eager to explore new places. On that day trip, we visited Caldas de Monchique, which became a moment my family would remember forever. We were captivated by the beauty and tranquillity of the place. Over the years, we found ourselves returning time and time again.
Fast forward 30 years, and I was living in Monchique. As Christmas approached, Alice called and asked, “Are you coming ‘home’ for Christmas?” We had always spent Christmas together, but this time it felt important for me to be at my new ‘home’. My mother said, “Well, if you’re not coming to us, we’re coming to you!”
Joe and Alice arrived in early December, and it was one of those Algarve winters when the sun kept shining. It was also time to make the farmhouse a home. We headed to Guia on a shopping jamboree. My mother was also looking out for a sighting of local resident, Sir Cliff Richard, whilst I was holding out for a heroine, Bonnie Tyler!
It was a day of happiness that came along when least expected. Joe and Alice helped me choose a sofa and other furniture. As a moving-in gift, my parents bought me a wood burner that would come to keep us warm on many nights. As the afternoon closed in, we sat in a cafe enjoying small beers and pastéis de nata whilst chatting about everything we had accomplished. Looking back, perhaps we were creating a home in Portugal for all our family.
The next day, my parents, now in their eighties, slept in. I awoke and went to the kitchen to make a coffee. As I opened the cutlery drawer, I was greeted by an uninvited guest: a mouse was quietly sleeping in the knife tray. It quickly scurried away, but as I checked other cupboards, I discovered many of its friends. To be frank, the place was infested with mice and their droppings!
I knew that if my mother found out what was happening, she would be on the first flight back to the UK. So, I disposed of all the evidence and called Patrick (big legs) for help. He arrived under the guise of doing some “odd jobs”. In reality, he was filling every nook and cranny of the farmhouse with expanding foam!
The next morning, I rose early to see if our ‘mission impossible’ had been achieved. Unfortunately, as I opened the cutlery drawer, I discovered that ‘Charliemouse’ – a name I had chosen for him from the BBC TV series ‘Bagpuss’ – wasn’t even bothered to move from his bed!
After another call to Patrick, he returned for more “odd jobs”. My father began to grow suspicious, and just as he was about to ask the right (or wrong) question, my mother said to Patrick, “You do have big biceps; can I feel them?” At that moment, my father and I rolled our eyes, took some beers from the fridge, and headed to the patio, leaving them to their own devices!
The following day, the mice patrol began again, but this time there was not a single rodent in sight. Although I felt relieved, I also felt a strange sense of melancholy for not seeing ‘Charliemouse’.
Then it happened: the sun stopped shining, the rain began – and it never stopped! It was torrential, and we found ourselves living in the clouds on the mountain. On the third day of the downpour, I awoke and heard an unusual sound, so I left my bedroom and explored.
It didn’t take long to identify the source – moreover, the water source! The place was flooded, and water was gushing in at an unstoppable rate. I alerted my parents, and my mother screamed, “I’m not leaving this bed!” My father and I sprang into action, grabbing buckets, pans, and a mop!
Watching the chaos from across the valley was my neighbour Andy, ex-forces (you know the type). When he rang, I explained the situation, and he immediately said, “You need a pump, and I have one!” I thought, ‘well, you would, wouldn’t you’, and politely said, “please come over as soon as possible.”
Andy arrived and quickly formed a bond with my father, thanks in part to their shared experience of serving in the forces in Germany. My father tasked me with going to Monchique to buy plastic sheeting to help prevent the water from pouring in.
At the shop, I decided to try out my newly-acquired (useless) Portuguese language skills and asked for 5 meters of plastic sheeting. Instead, the owner brought me 50 meters! When I got home, my father (correctly) quipped: “You can now wrap the whole farmhouse in plastic sheeting.” After using the pump continuously for two days and with the rain finally stopping, the house was mostly dry again.
Christmas Day arrived, and Alice cooked turkey with all the trimmings. We had our meal in the kitchen since we didn’t have a dining table yet. In the evening, we played dominoes and got merry. My father sang Dean Martin’s “That’s Amore”, while my mother sang Frank Sinatra’s “I’ve Got You Under My Skin.” This memory of my parents in Monchique is the one I treasure most.
Boxing Day meant football was coming home! My brother, Tony, called in the morning to share the team fixtures with our father. Joe then advised Tony on what bets to place on the fixed odds coupon from almost 2,000 miles away. Later that day, they both commiserated, as usual, about being “one down” on the coupon. Meanwhile, Alice enjoyed the peace and quiet of the kitchen, working on codebreakers and making endless turkey sandwiches.
Then, it was time for Joe and Alice to return to the UK. At Faro Airport, we said our goodbyes. As my parents walked toward the departure gate, I pushed the tears inside, because, at that age, you never know whether this may be the last time you see your elderly parents. Then my mother suddenly stopped, turned around, and said, “We’ve had a wonderful time, but next year, you’re coming to us!”
Joe and Alice would visit Monchique many times again during the warmer months, but this would be our ‘Last Christmas’ together in Portugal.
This column is dedicated to the memories of Joe, Alice, and Tony Hughes, all of whom passed away within an 11-month period in 2024. They loved Portugal, and now, every time I visit my brother, I am reminded of all the special times we shared there together. The place Derek now calls home. Dedication written by Carole Hughes.
