By MARGARET BROWN features@algarveresident.com
Margaret Brown is one of the Algarve Resident’s longest standing contributors and has lived in the Algarve for more than 20 years.
After a cold, wet and miserable January that ended in overnight thunder and heavy rain, the forecast for February is more of the same. Consensus has it that this season is worse than usual.
Checking through a stack of old diaries with daily notes on the weather, although it is not one of the more pleasant winters, neither has it been as extreme as some in the past. The hills can absorb no more water and rain is running off into lakes and streams promising a good summer with no shortages. On the bright side, one of our neighbour’s small barragens which had leaked since excavation more than 10 years ago is almost full, finally sealed by an accumulation of the thick sediment so favoured by a family of wild pigs and used by them as a communal mud wallow.
Undeterred by cold weather, a variety of flowers is emerging to brighten up grey days in the countryside and bring a little sunshine of its own. A patch of Petticoat Narcissus, carpets of Oxalis, daisies on long thin stems struggling through the undergrowth and resplendent Gorse — all blossoming bright yellow with the promise of Spring.
There must be something in the air just now which is confined to birds and that has them in a ferment of pairing up and squabbling between themselves. Overwhelmed by matters out of my control, these magic vibes are doing nothing for my psyche and watching two ring doves fighting over a third — all ruffled feathers and puffed out breast — it took me back many years to a time when the mating game was of prime importance.
If one blackbird flies out from the edge of a country road, another follows close behind, chasing its’ mate. With no thought of the future and concentrating solely on the job in hand, to them cars are an ever present danger and careful driving might save a life along the byways of the Algarve. Our patch being well populated by these lovely songbirds, it is interesting to watch them making the best of the heavy rain that has turned paddocks into shallow lakes. When worms and other small insects struggle to the surface for air they can be picked off one by one, the blackbird standing with water half way up its legs to enjoy a good tuck in.
Annual chores are coming up during the next few months, such as tax returns to be made, dogs and cars to be legalised and for ‘Wrinklies’ and ‘Crumblies’, the biennial renewal of driving licences. Bearing in mind the length of time the DGV (Direcção Geral de Viação) in Faro takes to deal with applications and the need for a medical certificate of health from one’s General Practitioner, we have set things in motion two months before the date due.
For too many years we have driven to Faro and suffered the misery of a morning spent queuing to present our papers. In an overcrowded waiting area without any vacant seats and straining to hear our names called above the hubbub, there was always the worry that something might not be in order. This year we have employed the services of the local Escola de Condução in Lagos. At first attempt our certificates of health and mental competence were rejected because we had filled in our names, addresses, etc, instead of leaving it to the doctor. Being unaware of the ruling, she had been quite happy to write in the empty spaces relevant to our fitness to drive and to sign on the dotted line. This morning our revised applications went through, 90 euros was handed over to seal the deal and in return we received printed confirmation of the transaction. This serves as a paper to show the Brigada de Trânsito if stopped when driving in Portugal but cuts very little ice in the United Kingdom should we be asked to present our credentials. With a holiday booked in April we shall have to hope for the best.
Then there is the renewal of our Residencias, which in the past has been both stressful and exhausting, the bureau in Portimão noted for its chaotic handling of a large number of postulants seeking to become legal. The seating room being a long flight of marble steps past which those with enough chutzpah shoved their way to the front of the queue, in the past we have spent more than three hours moving up one step at a time. Once there, the office ladies dealt swiftly and kindly with us.
This year the venue has changed and today, having called in armed with all necessary papers too numerous to list, we found an airy and well appointed room of considerable size lined with chairs, and a long table at which seven ladies each with a computer were seeing clients. The guard at reception handed us a ticket and we were called almost immediately, only to be handed a paper on which were two phone numbers. “You must first make an appointment” and on asking if we might do so there and then, were told to telephone from home. This we did, but being a recorded message and because of the speed with which instructions were rattled off we were unable to proceed. It crossed my mind that as only estrangeiros are likely to use the call centre, perhaps it should be possible to speak to a living being and ask for clarification. For some reason, although one may speak and understand the language when conversing person to person, over the wires it is a different kettle of fish.
