WITH OPEN ARMS by Vonnie

Hi guys, it’s Von, or Maria if you prefer. So much has happened since my last blog that I am really not sure where to start. In order to cope with the multitude of comings and goings and decision makings I have been spending some of my time looking at trees, just staring, not moving enquiring into the possibility of giving my brain the opportunity to be quiet and still. One thought always leads to another and looking at my life now I see myself both as a small tree plant and as the gardener. The best way for me to explain where I am at now at this stage of our travels is through the metaphor of gardening. So bear with me a little and hopefully you will see where this metaphor goes.

I have been silent about being in Portugal because I have been watching, waiting, observing, is this place really the best place for us to plant ourselves as a family. When you have invested your time and effort in the growing of a small seed you want to make sure it’s the right place. Gut instinct and universal signs are wonderful indicators giving you a kick start or a nod in the right direction, but when you are responsible for the growing of something precious you want to be as certain as you can that the site is right. Whether I like it or not I have been at the centre of this move. It was me who said to Andy it’s time to go. It was me who said to the kids it is time to go. It was me who said to my dear friends Michelle and "Tom and Jerry" come and do this thing, whatever it is, with me. So after the thrill of moving, travelling and finding Moses I went into a little panic. Oh God, is this the right place, is this the right place for all these beautiful people to plant themselves?

The Greenhouse
A greenhouse is a place where little seeds are planted into a little soil. As the gardener you provide the greenhouse to give this fragile life some protection and shelter in the hope that it will grow. You provide some water and nutrients, you cover them when they are under the soil with some black plastic to encourage humidity and moisture retention, to make sure that the strong light of the sun that they will eventually need, does them no harm. As the gardener you watch over them, you wake early to see if they have awoken and as soon as that first green sprout shows itself above the surface you invite them to come into the light. You keep them warm but not too hot. You water them never letting them dry out but never drown them. You talk to them, whisper welcome to them, tell them you love them and can’t wait to see them flourish if you are a crazy loon like me you may even walk in every now and again and brush your hands lightly over them to encourage them to resist you and grow stronger. At some point you know that in order to facilitate better growth you will have to pinch out the top growth of that plant to encourage branching, the first pruning. You marvel at their rapid growth and recognise that no matter how much you do that the majority of the magic of their growth belongs to the seed and not to you.

Barbados was my greenhouse. My family did this for me. I was watched, loved, cherished, kissed, cuddled, encouraged to grow in every direction possible. When I was getting a little leggy (ie lippy) and out of hand I was pinched out, pruned to encourage better growth. And for all this I am truly grateful. To be loved and cherished as a child is the single most important thing a family can give and looking back now I can see that all that was given to me freely. But there comes a time when each little plant must leave the greenhouse go through the difficult stage of acclimatisation and enter the nursery bed.

The Nursery Bed
When I left Barbados at 17 I left with very little in my suitcase and a whole lot of love and encouragement in my heart. The nursery bed is all about that little plant beginning to spread roots and to become strong in a less protected environment. Indeed at first acclimatisation was difficult, the cold, the grey, the rain, the loneliness of not being surrounded by all the other little plants just like me. The loneliness of being without family. But England is a great gardening place and so many people in their own way facilitated that growth. My wonderful teachers at the London School of Economics. My great friend Eska who shared a pineapple with a lonely sullen Bajan girl and got me on my way to spreading roots - to finding Andy. I will never forget the magic of that first Christmas at the home of my father and mother in law, Rev Pops and Dr. Mops. In that truly beautiful English home I was welcomed and I was taught. I learnt so much about the environment I was in about the finer aspects of English culture, English life and most thankfully I learnt about English gardening. At Shardeloes Road the largest possible roots were spread with my beautiful friends. So many beautiful people have passed through that house and in their passing I grew stronger, with good root system and wide branches and with my beautiful Andy established some plantlets called Ellie and Josh. London was a great nursery, a wonderful place to grow and to be challenged. I left London a much stronger and more capable person.

One man and a chainsaw or an axe or a sickle or a knife or a stick…or basically anything that cuts a path.
I have discovered that my hubby loves a chainsaw or anything that can cut through a path. With great determination he has managed to clear so many of the old overgrown paths around Mos and during that process we have discovered that the land we have bought is even more special than we first thought. It has been wonderful to spend days cutting and hacking and chopping and shifting and getting horribly scratched up by brambles. The finest time so far is when we discovered that running along the boundary of the land are the most beautiful series of granite pools surrounded by impressive trees and rocks that look like megaliths. We have also discovered that there is a whole lot of cutting down to do so that will keep him occupied and happy for some time to come, result! So now we know that there is good solid hard work to do.

Leaving the Motorhome
Once the weather started to change and Michelle came we realised pretty sharpish that it was time to go. Off we went to our dear friend Sara just to ask if she knew of anyone who was renting a house or apartment with some space outside for Mosey. Within 24hours we had moved into a lovely house with more space than we knew what to do with after so long in the motorhome and the best thing of all… a hot bath! Yipppeeee! At this moment we Poopers are now comfortably housed, well fed, well watered and very content. Thanks Sara. So we know that we don’t have to be stinky horrible campers for the next year or so.

Sara & Antonio’s Engagement PartyWhat do you do with a new house? You fill it with as many people as possible of course… When we heard Sara’s news last week that Antonio had proposed, we asked when the party was, naturally. But here they don’t have engagement parties. They seem to have parties just because they want to, but not for this reason. So we said because we are English that we simply had to host one for them and last Friday we held our first of probably many parties to come, in the house we’re renting. We cooked traditional Bajan food, everyone ate and drank loads, and a few stayed til the early hours, singing, joking and drinking in the kitchen or in front of the huge roaring fire in the lounge. At 2.30am someone announced it was time for the traditional Portuguese final drink of the night. The last one. The one you drink and then say goodbye and go. However it seemed to kick start more singing and drinking of wine, port and aqaurdente. 2 hours later it was all over. (Pictures: the happy betrothed. Or at the time of taking these at 4.30am more like the patient Sara and Antonio the baird!) So now we know that good parties can be had in our pad, absolutely essential for long winter nights.

First days at School for Josh and Ellie
The biggest burden I have been carrying is how will my children be able to interact with other children here if we live at Mos? Once again the support of good friends came to the rescue and for this we have to give huge thanks to Annabella or Bellita or Bellina as I like to call her. Over the course of the time we have been here she has given the kids worksheets in Portuguese and then one night at the bar she came and said to the kids, “would you like to come to my class next week?” On the first day we arrived at the school gates, let’s just say we were really nervous. Standing at the gates were an entire class. Now normally in London that would have had made us very nervous. But, as we walked up we were welcomed with a chorus of “Hello!” and within minutes Joshua and Ellie had disappeared totally enveloped by the most beautiful smiley bunch of school kids. Within the week Josh and Ellie had been to three classes and by the end of the week they were talking about going to school. What an amazing breakthrough for Josh and El. Muito obrigada Bellina, I can’t tell you how much that experience meant to all of us. (Pictures: Spot Josh and Ellie amongst the kids and in the far right corner just a little taller than the children is Bellina)

So now we know that Josh and Ellie will make friends here.

Tree Huggers
A special big up has to go to our dear friend Raquel. Raquel is definitely the mover and shaker of the group. She manages to speak English so fast that I have to ask her to slow down just so this slow Bajan girl can keep up. So far Raquel has managed to give us an amazing education on the local flora and fauna around here including a terrific seminar this week on the amazing Medronheiro trees and their fruit, the Medronho (pictured here in the fruit bowl, in the cakes and in the Aguardente). The best time for me though was when she took us to the local tree nursery. So many tiny and somewhat larger trees lovingly planted in a nearby forested valley waiting to be rehomed as sadly the nursery is closing sometime soon. And all of them, no matter what their size, can be bought for 25c each. I am still hoping that we will be able to save some of them and take them to Mos with us, but not so sure. For now we have just been going for walks there and are truly grateful that our other friend Barbara (gosh I could write a whole blog entry on our time together so far) will be coming and taking as many of them as she can. (Pictures Medronheiro fruit cakes. Very good. Just about everything to eat here is very good). So now I know 2 people who are as madly in love with trees as I am.

A Permanent Hole
Ultimately the aim of every gardener (especially one who is dealing with trees) is to find a permanent home for the plant you have grown and cared for. A site where you can plant it in the hope that it will take over the care of itself and in time care for you so becoming an important part of the life cycle of your shared environment. A good tree in the right environment should limit soil erosion, soaking up excess water to make the land more usable, provide clean life giving oxygen and take away your carbon dioxide. It should give some shade on a hot day and shelter for wildlife. It may even give you beautiful foliage, scented flowers or fruit. In short it will not only care for you but it will reveal the fullness of its beauty. For all this to happen the right tree has to be planted in the right place or the effects can be devastating.

Is what I have discovered here what I need to make the decision that Oleiros is the right place for us?

After careful observation this is what I know. The place is beautiful, no doubt. But the people! They’re truly amazing. On our first meeting with the President of Oleiros two things struck me. One, he listened intently saying very little and two, the little he did say. At the end of our huge nervousness induced monologue he said, “You’ll have all the support you need.” I went away from that meeting thinking about those words and I have been thinking on them ever since. What is it that we need, what is the support that we need? The answer I think is the same as it always is: the support of people. It was the support of people who helped me to grow in Barbados and to thrive in London and it is always the support of people that we need. Without that, all hopes, dreams and potentials at best limp along and at worst die.

If I had moved to Portugal just for the beautiful place, it would have been enough and together my friends, Michelle, "Tom and Jerry" and my family Andy, Josh, Ellie, Moses and Angel would have made a life work. If I had then realised that there was a lovely community of people who we could be on the outside of and just enjoy the fact that they were here that would have been enough too. I would still have got pleasure from watching them. But, this is not how it is. We have come to Oleiros and found a community of people who have welcomed us, who have helped us each and every step of the way and have become friends. (This is the lovely Carlos whose married to the delightful Theresa.)

Almost every night we have met them at the fantastic Bar called “Calado” which translates in English as “Shut Up”. Calado is owned by the totally yummy Pedro (in the GANT top with Umberto and Ines). Here we meet everyone and laugh, watch football, play cards but mostly do the opposite of the name ie talk. It is this talking that has been the most wonderful thing. We have discovered that just like us many of our new friends have moved from the cities, have taken all their incredible skills, energy and hopes and decided to plant them, like us, right here in this little town of Olieros. They hope to plant, to grow, to nourish themselves, the people around them and the environment in which they live. This similarity is wonderful but the truly exciting thing for me is their approach.

Yes we have great bars in London too, yes we have friends but these guys in Oleiros have something that I think has been lost in London. They have the desire to move forward together and they make the time no matter how tired they are to be together and to make sure that everyone is ok. That no one is alone. That everyone has someone to share time with at the end of the day (usually at Calado) no matter how the day has gone for themselves. In London I could never do this, so caught up was I in my own personal drama that there was never enough time to share. They share time and you know what guys, it is really really good. It is perhaps the best kind of support anyone can receive; it is the basis of community. This community is ripe for growth in all directions. (Picture: Ines, another tree hugger who I hope will one day help us to grow alot of herbs at Mos.)

You see, you can move to a place and set up your own little island and not be a part of anything around you. That is not for me. I was concerned that that was what would happen; that we would move and be put in a position of setting up our own little Eden because we would not be able to be a part of a wider community. Nope not for me. It is largely because of this community of people that I know this is the right place and the right time. I now feel we can grow here. It is not just my own personal growth that is important or the growth of my family or my immediate friends, but the growth of the whole, together. I want to be a strong tree here. Not just for me but for all. It is a fragile land here in Olieros. For most of my new friends their partners live away, in either neighbouring towns or in the cities, because there is not enough work. The weather is beautifully sunny here now, and in many ways that is lovely but it should be raining and if it doesn’t rain what then? Will there be fires, will the trees survive? Will my new friends have to leave some day simply because the environment can not support their needs? Will we one day have to move on for whatever reason? Is this our permanent planting hole? The answers to these questions no one knows. And I find yet again I have to rely on instinct. My instincts tell me that there is good life to be had here, not flashy life, not showy life, not a life of constant leisure but a life of time shared and a life of community and a life of hard work and a life of open arms. So whenever you are ready come and share time with us. Our arms (just like our postbox that we finally got the key for a few days ago) are wide open.

Life, parties, markets, Oleiros. By Josh

The past few weeks have been great. We’ve been gardening, on the internet every day looking for mosaic makers and suppliers, the best type of horses to get (we think we should get the Lusitano aka: the wind and pride of Portugal, and the Peruvian Paso: bred for working the land and carrying heavy loads. Considering they are both 14-15.5 hands I would say that they should be top of the list since we have two six-foot-something guys with us and Ellie is supposed to be 6ft 4” and I’m supposed to be 6ft 6”) and have found some local suppliers. We have our tools (sickle, clippers, mini shovel and fork the only thing we need is a chainsaw to cut down the dying fig tree in our courtyard) and we are searching LOCALLY for tractor suppliers and 4x4 suppliers (quatro by quatro as they say here in Portugal). We have had our first proper conversations (Ellie and I get one word every 10 which is enough to put a sentence together and no matter how many times we say ‘mais devagar por favor’ they never slow down, it’s even harder now we have the accent and I look so Portuguese). So far we love it here and there is a new surprise every day.

My vocabulary is small but I understand the difficult words and many of the words are similar to English words (name=nom) and Italian words (Portuguese is Latin slang). 2 in 3 people speak French and I can spot it when someone switches language after spending 4 weeks in France so the sentences eventually piece together. It’s great learning the language. Mummy says that when I go to sleep my mouth is in a permanent pout because Portuguese is all ‘shushes’ and ‘ão’s’ (pronounced like ow!) it is definitely one of the romance languages. Every day I’m learning at least one new word or verb (we have tackled the hardest one ‘to be’ but frustratingly there are three verbs for ‘to be’ in Portuguese) which is difficult. I think Moses speaks the most Portuguese because the amount of people that come up to him and say ‘oh bonito!’ and speak at the speed of light must be about 50 billion a day.

We can trust everyone in Olieros like family; we leave our bikes outside the café in Amieira, we park our motor home outside the school or the gym, everyone knows us since everyone in the council are our friends. Every Tuesday there is a market which is really cool because everybody shouts out and rings bells to draw people’s attention so it gives it a feel of those old English Medieval movies. Olieros is our home. It has a fountain ten times too big for the town with a park that is 20m² that looks like it is there to soak up all the spray from the fountain. The funniest part is when all the sprinklers turn on and miss the plants completely, when they turn off though the cars are all sparkling. Olieros is like one of those villages that you see in cheesy T.V. shows. It has a butcher a baker and a candle stick maker (I’m not sure about this last one but it makes it sound good). Since it’s a farming village it has a ratio of 10:1 of bars and houses and the restaurants are full of beef, pork and chicken (I bet you that if fairytales could include bars and loads of meat they would). Olieros has everything we farmers need. It even has a good clothes shop and the market has the best jeans and jumpers I’ve ever worn. Olieros is known for its school (it’s so good the one in Amieira has gone out of business) and its children in fact we are visiting it today (the last half of this blog will be written after we go to the school). Yes, Olieros is perfect. Everyone knows us and everyone loves us and visa versa. What can you say? It’s Family.

Part II

A new adventure comes every minute it seems. An hour ago we took a 10 year old 4x4 out for a drive. Eventually we found out that Mummy was going to have to drive. Mummy had never driven a manual before so it was either the 3m (9ft) 4x4 or the 8m (26ft) 4.5 tonne motor home so she chose the mosiemobile mark II.

We bought the 4x4 from a place just out of Olieros (I said locally) and drove off. Although mummy had not driven a car (let alone a left-hand-drive manual 4x4 on the right side of the road) in 6 months I almost fell asleep if it wasn’t for the incessant panting mixed with the I-need-oil kind of squeak. My mother drove so well for a beginner (it was probably the smoothest drive I had since London!) that I actually thought dad was driving (the only way I remembered mummy was driving was the dad goes 30kmph to fast). The only bit that made her jump was when a coach was coming round the corner (in Amieira¿!?¡) so she had to reverse (well this was a tough first lesson) up the hill. I am very proud of my mother but she will give you the more detailed part of the story.

We entered yet another dinner with no camera and my friend João (there are many João’s in Portugal) gave us a tour round the school. The first thing we all noticed was that the classrooms were all spotless. The cleaners said that they’re like that all day and that they are just employed to sweep and mop. After that we ate……and ate……and ate……and ate…….and ate……and……then sat round watching castanhos (sweet chestnuts) roast.

Everyone wants an excuse to have a party (we haven’t had one yet but on Friday we’re introducing engagement parties to Olieros for Sara, our angel, and Antonio; the next pictures were added after the party), Whether it’s because somebody has been given thousands of castanhos (normally the reason) or whether it’s because some strange English people have come to a little town -which maps only show if they’ve been made there- to live. Olieros is the party town (dad nicked that from this blog) and that is something that should make it map worthy.

We’ve rented a little house on the outskirts of Olieros (Olierosers don’t believe that it has outskirts and that it just fades away) and I’m sleeping on the floor (it feels strange trying to sleep in a bed) in a really cool camping type bed. We have a huge open fire that heats the whole house up only when it’s on (we experimented and found that orange peel, banana skins and flies all burn, BURN, BURN!!!!!). The lady bought a washing machine (that’s already packed up and gone away after a week) a really nice leather sofa and a 50 year old Hoover and a brand new toaster. We have already made use of the bookshelves and are making it home.
Life is absolutely great here. Parties=Olieros, social life=Olieros and to Olierosers, Portugal=Olieros. Olieros=a good life.

Oleiros the Party Town

Before I put you in the picture on the subject of partying, let me prattle on about the weather here; because I’m English and it’s my birth right to talk about it. Apart from a couple of days in November, every day has been gloriously sunny with brilliant blue skies. Although the midday temperatures range from 15 to 22, and even yesterday shirts were off in the heat of it, the nights are a different story. Without the clouds to trap the heat, just like in the desert, it drops to well below freezing. Minus 8 the coldest so far. We’ve also had rain for the first time in 2 months, which has swelled the rivers and brooks, raising the volume a notch from the cascading waterfalls, especially the little ones bordering Móses.

Autumn has well and truly kicked in, transforming fragments of the landscape into beautiful shades of golds, oranges, coppers and rubies. The leaves of the deciduous trees, found sprinkled along these rolling hills, are turning through their spectrum of colours before dropping to kindly enrich the earth for the following spring. However, the majority of trees are pine and eucalyptus that in contrast drop nothing, give nothing, only take. Their prevalence creates a forestry monoculture, which people say, was one of the major reasons why the devastating fires of 2003 and 2005 spread so quickly and unbridled through most of Central Portugal. So when you catch a glimpse of the autumnal trees they convey something much more significant than simply a picturesque rural scene. Their dying leaves are a beacon of hope, albeit a melancholic one. As the rising winds whistle through stirring the branches you can almost hear their cry before the long winter sleep, “We are here. Do not forget us. Do not let us be ousted by the eucalyptus and their insatiable thirst. Stand with us. Protect us and we will surely protect you.”

Moses, of course, has been in his element. Pile driving himself recklessly through the mounting heaps of leaves and at high speed along the rivers’ edges frequently daring little forays into the frosty waters. One happy dog. While he’s been playing, we’ve all been working hard clearing out (“limpar”) the junk and the old clothes left in the houses. I bought a chainsaw (most cool), and also borrowed a truly rapid, ferociously bladed, gas fuelled, professional strimmer. We have begun the gigantean task of chopping down any erroneous trees and clearing (also “limpar”) the shrubs and bushes from the forest. Consequently, we’ve been able to open up some old paths and discovered yet more beautiful areas on and adjacent to our land. The enchanting water pools in these photos are carved out of granite and unexpectedly hidden at the bottom of two pretty valleys. They are surrounded by overgrown but superbly crafted old stone terrace walkways that appear not to have been in use for decades. Astonishing really that we still keep finding more on this little patch of land. I’m sure Von will tell you the magical tale of how she came upon them in her piece.

Farewell and thanks a million
to the magnificent Mosiemobile

It’s been 2 months since we stopped travelling on our European tour and have been residing in the village of Amieira. We bought ourselves a fairly knackered 10 year old 4 x 4 for the frequent journeys up and down the dirt track to Mos. We were able to park the Mosiemobile permanently outside the old café by the entrance road to the village. The thing about motorhomes is that they’re cool for travelling around. You drive to a new town, jump out, explore, come back, cook, wash and sleep. Sweet. But to live in it every day, in the same place, without moving is not really what they’re made for. You can read between the lines here, but as a stationery house it just became a tad too small. Then when Michelle arrived from Italy on the 9th November, and we became 6 in the Mosiemobile (cos it was way too cold for her to continue bunking down in her new house without heat, light, water or electricity although she tried valiantly for a week), it kind of precipitated a conversation with Von that went a little bit like this. “Andrew, we’re renting a house.”

So last Saturday night we asked Sara if she knew of anywhere available. 15 minutes later we were standing in a large detached 3 bedroom house with huge garden, big open fire in the lounge, next to an old bridge down by the river in Oleiros and were agreeing terms of 270 Euros a month, with Angelica, the mother of the lifeguard that works with Sara at the swimming pool. Touch.

The Mosiemobile, is now cleared of all previous contents (you would not believe how much stuff we’d managed to cram into that vehicle – took us 2 days to empty it) and is parked alongside the house waiting for its final journey with us to London next week. It’s a little sad in a way to look at it just sitting there all alone. Parked. Abandoned. Cos for 8 months it was our home. On the Poop In Europe tour our environment changed daily, but the Mosiemobile was the one thing that remained constant. Always there when we needed it. Always hospitable, kitchens open 24/7. Obligingly turned itself into a night club once on the way home from that Bread Festival in Tuscany. Never once complained even when it was woken early to run away from a few dodgy predicaments we got ourselves into. Never grumbled even when it was always just slightly wider than the average Italian street. “Thank you Mosiemobile. Without you none of this would have been possible. We will always love you. But now we’ve reached the end of an era; please forgive us we have to move back into a house.” A house we will be renting probably with Michelle, "Tom and Jerry" til at least next October when the work on our houses should all be complete. So when you visit us next year, forget the tents and roughing it. Hot showers and beds await you.

Hermitdom? Au contraire monsieurs.As you know by now, our quest was to find tranquillity away from the hustle of working life in the city. But Oleiros is a busy little place. Surprisingly so. For the past 3 weeks we’ve been out almost every night. Til 1,2 even 3 in the morning. Either at people’s houses for scrumptious local cuisine. Or at a few “magustos” where at this time of year the Portuguese bake chestnuts in bonfires, drink and eat vast quantities of vinho, meat and cod fish and dance a wee bit too (the one in the picture was organised by the dance society in Oleiros even had fireworks). Or the most common place you’ll find us is in a cool bar where all the young things hang out (and kindly let us share it with them) called Calado (meaning “Shut Up” in Portuguese). Anyway, all way too late for me at my age. Way too much socialising. I don’t think I went out this much even at Uni.

We have, as a result of all this partying, made lots of new friends. Really really lovely people. I thought you might like to be introduced. So here they are. The cast of Oleiros - at least the ones we’ve had the pleasure of fraternising with so far.

The Party Cast
Sara Nunes. Yoga teacher. Works at local swimming pool. Just like the cadbury’s bunny but without the ears. Just got engaged last week to Antonio. We’re throwing them a party at our new pad next Friday.

Belita the English Teacher who is kind and generous, and who although overstretched at school (same the world over) has consistently made time for us and the children. She’s even negotiated with the school that the kids can come to her Year 5 English classes this week.

Raquel, a whirlwind of energy and drive in her quest to save the planet by protecting the land in Portugal, by introducing new ZIFs (forestry copperatives), by evangelising the world about the potential of a small bush called Medronio (from which they make the potent cocktail Aguardente). She oozes warmth and sunshine, and can speak English so well and so fast we have to tell her to slow down just so we can understand it!

To’ and Monica. To’ works with and lives in the same apartment as Raquel. His sense of humour is pretty dry. He wore his England jumper the day after England were knocked out of Euro 2008 just to kindly remind me. Monica, his girlfriend, is another English teacher and keeps To’ to heal most of the time.

Pedro, Sara’s younger 26 year old brother that runs the Calado bar. A returnee from Lisbon who’s proved lots of fun to be with already and has given me the low down on a few of the essentials about life in Portugal.

Umberto. Is worth his weight in gold with his invaluable tip off that protective fathers here check the school registers each year to see which boys are the ones performing badly and so need to be kept along way from their daughters. Good thinking. He’ll also be the potato and wine supplier for the party on Friday.

Anita and her kids Joao and Soria. Returnees from France, Anita lives in a beautiful house that we were delighted to learn was designed by the architect we’ve hired, Filipe. Dinners happen regularly there. Joao is 13 and has taught the kids how to play the card game Trinca. Anita and I are negotiating terms for Eloise’s dowry. I’ve suggested she pay 20000 goats as minimum first instalment.

Barbara and Jared we met yesterday. Barbara is a Portuguese friend of Mike Love in Leeds, who suggested we should meet if we ever went to Portugal as he knew she was doing a cool community thing with the land. But we lost her contact details after the Bilbao job and so it was another incredible coincidence to find that her place is only an hour’s drive away the other side of the mountain near Fundao. Jared, from North Carolina, is staying with her for the winter. Lovely lovely lovely people. I am sure we will spend a lot more time together next year.

And there are more that Von or I will have to tell you about later. The delightful Carlos and Theresa, Sophia from the Pool, Marinalva the nurse from Brasil who first introduced us to Sara, and many many more including Ines, Ines and Ines!

So I’m unexpectedly knackered and in need of a holiday to recuperate. We head back for London in a fortnight. But not before we sign ownership papers on Monday December 3rd. Hopefully submit our plans for our houses to the council on the 4th. Go for another dinner Tuesday night at Anita’s (their Christmas one cos we’re leaving early – bless). Kids jump on a plane from Lisbon with Michelle the next day on the 5th. And Von and I drive Moses in the Mosiemobile back via Madrid, Barcelona, and then through France for its last journey with us before we sell it on our return for my Dad’s 70th on the 15th. Phew!

The recently erected Christmas lights in party town look way better than the ones in Oxford Street last year. We’ve heard they switch ‘em on around December 1st (photos when they do, promise.) Although we’ll miss this festive season in Oleiros, we’re already looking forward to spending the next one here. I suspect it will be the first of very very many. In so many ways, this place and its wonderful people have made us feel completely at home here. And so it has become. Our home.

Hook, line and sinker

It’s been almost 2 months since we miraculously and magically were led to our piece of paradise on earth here in central Portugal. Since then, we have seriously fallen in love with this place. As they say, "hook, line and sinker". This is the one. No turning back. All bridges to burn. Here in this little village of Amieira we will raise our children, grow the most beautiful gardens imaginable, grow our own vegetables, raise our own animals, spread a few tonnes of shit in the soil, host our friends for months at a time, drink copious amounts of homemade wine, build spaces for our parents to stay for as long as they like, grow old ourselves, entertain our grandchildren, and one day, die here. This is not just a project. This is the rest of our lives laid out before us. And the very idea of what all of that could mean fills me with such excitement that on some days it feels like I simply cannot contain it.

"Tom and Jerry" flew over from Leeds via Luton airport and Michelle travelled for 48 hours from Tuscany for a wonderful weekend at the end of September to view the properties and then to buy them. As you do. Von said we’d find a village to buy one day. And we did. And they came. And fell in love with this place in an instant as we had done. We had a bit of an intense weekend grilling each other on the reasons why we all wanted to do such a crazy thing as this. By the end it became crystal clear that although we shared many similar values and aspirations about this new life, we also each had fundamentally different personalities and skill sets; the diversity necessary to become a strong team. Strong enough to build a community. One which we will begin to create when we gather back together in Amieira next March, April.

We also began to consider the principles by which we want to live together. The first of these principles, these values, seems to be self sufficiency. There is an unbelievablly useful and inspiring book written by a bloke called John Seymour that has taught us (read Von) an incredible amount already and we’ve not even begun yet. The guy talks a whole heap of sense too. What he writes in the first few pages has taken me years to work out. That millions of people just like us, in cities all across the world, are working as hard as they can in organisations, to earn money, to buy from other organisations the goods and services which we are more than capable of growing or making for ourselves. When you look at it from his perspective, our city lifestyles sound bizarrely ridiculous. Like we are all, albeit unwittingly, slaves to a tyrannical and immensely wasteful system that exists solely to support itself. Self sufficiency on the other hand seems to be such a simple, common sense alternative; it is a wonder that more people have not sought it. It might well be the enormous amount of work involved that put people off. But it is also unreservedly satisfying work. To eat what you sow. To grow roses from the poop that you produce. To harness the power of the sun and to utilise the water found in abundance beneath us. To become intimately and vitally connected to the natural systems that sustain the entire planet. To eek out a lifestyle that also requires interdependence on others, without which people aspiring to live self sufficiently apparently tend to go either go nuts or starve. We will let you know how we get on. But do buy the book if you can. Lots of practical advice also provided for people living in cities to help them transform their over reliance on our ‘developed’ evil consumption system.

Second, to make this place as beautiful as humanly possible. The land in this area of Portugal was ravaged twice by merciless fires first in 2003 and then again in 2005. Which left the vast rolling hills, forests and landscape looking, we think, much like a shorn sheep. In many places, new trees have yet to be replanted and only the tall broken black charred pine trunks remain as a stark and sad reminder of those catastrophes. Within this context we want to nourish the land. To plant gorgeous gardens on our plot. And to work with the dynamic local people we have met working here (Raquel and Antonio link to Apfam) to help restore the natural beauty of this place in a sustainable and exemplary way. This land needs caring for. It needs investment. It needs loving. And its for this reason that if and when things get tight financially as I am sure they may well do over the next few years, we do not want to skimp on the quality of what we do. Everything, from the way we restore our houses, to the gardens, to the vegetable patches, to the accommodation we create for guests, to the yoga sala, has to be utterly magnificent. There really is no point in doing it any other way. Life is just too short to waste it on mediocrity. When resources are scarce, or limited, the pressure to dumb down, to compromise on quality, to simply do the essentials, we imagine will be a real force, which right at the outset we are committed to fighting every step of the way. We are aiming high. It has to be beautiful, draw droppingly gorgeous. It’s the very least this part of the world needs after such devastation.

There are more values which I will write about in future. But for now in this blog entry I want to tell you about an angel we’ve been given in Oleiros who has helped us open more doors and introduce us to more people than we thought was possible in such a short amount of time. She is not the first angel we have met. The first in Portugal were probably John and Sam from Bosch Real estate who have gone above and beyond at every step of the way to help us purchase Moses and Quinta and begin to settle here. The second were Christian and Alice who we met the day we discovered Moses (Christian popped back from Switzerland this week to help his father in law make some wine and it was so nice to hook up with him again.) The latest angel in our adventure is Sara Nunes and we met her 2 weeks ago.

We heard about Sara one fine day, and boy have there been lots of those here this October, when Von and I went for a stroll around Oleiros early in the morning. Skipping would probably be a more accurate description. It really is so exciting to be doing this. Anyway, there we were, in awe of the gift life has been giving us recently, when we bumped into a lovely middle aged black nurse from Brazil. “Bom dia.” “Bom dia.” “What you 2 young things doing here and where are you from? Fancy a wee coffee?” (my best guestimate of her softly spoken Portuguese, probably translated nothing like this, but hey ignorance lets you interpret everything just how you want to doesn’t it?). Over coffee we found out that Marina works in the local health centre, and by chance (there’s been quite a lot of that going on recently) does yoga every Thursday night in the local sports pavilion. She gave us the number of her yoga teacher, Oleiros’ one and only yoga teacher. Sara Nunes. We called her mobile, delighted to discover she spoke excellent English and met up the next day in the town square.


(This pic shows the wine vats in the basement we'll convert into our kitchen.)

What a fabulous lady she is. Recently moved here from Lisbon with her boyfriend who works in the local pyrotechnic firework firm (one that organises firework events globally apparently, from this little remote town of Oleiros). She teaches yoga twice a week to a handful of people and works part time as a receptionist in the brand new swimming baths. She was so excited to hear that another 4 yoga teachers were coming and that we intended to do something so aspirational, that she organised a meeting for us the very next day with the President of the council for this region. Just like that. A meeting with the top man to present our plans. His name is Jose Marquis and he is the numero um. With a fantastic Portuguese moustache and a stoic, kind face, Jose listened attentively to our aspirations, ably translated by Sara for the yoga parts, and by her friend Ines for the environmental/gardening parts. At the end the man from Delmonte he said yes “you will have all the support from this council that we can give”. Nice one. Not sure whether this helped or hindered our cause, but Eloise was so overawed by the occasion of meeting the President that she dropped a wee fart in that meeting. I spun round so fast to look at Els and then back again in utter embarrassment and with hope that my offsprings contribution had not been acknowledged by the dignitaries in the room. Politely all pretended not to notice. Von and Josh did incredibly well to hold down the giggles.

(This one's a view from our courtyard)

Our angel Sara has also introduced us to Raquel and To’ from Apfam, the forestry charity that works here (Von will tell more about that delicious encounter) with whom we want to partner with to help them implement their sustainable land strategy for the region. And yesterday she arranged for us to meet the councils planning department. I don’t know whether you have had experience with dealing with planning departments in the UK. But accessible and generous are not words most people associate with dealing with them. In Oleiros though we were bold over by how they agreed to meet us so quickly, how 5 obviously busy professionals all gathered round us to listen to what we want to do here and how eager they were to make us feel welcome that they went off to find gifts for us. All we expected to achieve was say a quick hello before seeking formal planning permission later in November, but instead we left with 2 bottles of the powerful locally made vodka called Aguardente, a jar of yummy honey, an Oleiros pen and a personal and immediate introduction to an architect they recommended called Filipe Bartolo. Truly astonishing. And we are really grateful to Sara for opening all those doors for us. Muito obrigado Sara.

Finally, on the subject of hook, line and sinker, lets talk fishing. In my final year at college, I was sitting in a particularly dull accounts lecture scribbling notes down as fast as I could. A friend, Nick Marshall, sitting next to me at the time was in contrast writing absolutely nothing. What you doing, I asked. He wrote down a line that I will never ever forget. With an arrow pointing towards the pompous lecturer he wrote. “Bet he can’t catch a fish with a spear.” Since that day I have always wanted to learn how to fish. If or when the western world crashes, our so called advanced professional skills like accounting, too oft valued with ludicrously high salaries, wont count for ought. To fish, to farm, to build fires, to feed your family will be the most treasured skills. So, I bought a 10 euro fishing rod from Decathlon and for 2 months have been trying to catch something in the rivers. "Tom" came out and showed me how to do it, but we caught nothing apparently because we didn’t have the right tackle. Last weekend we popped into Coimbra and bought the appropriate hooks and bait and tried them out immediately. Again Josh and I had no luck. But along came Eloise with a “Can I try Daddy?” Course you can sweetheart. 3 minutes later she reeled in an 11inch something just big enough to eat.

Since then I have a bit more luck but only caught a few tiddlers. Lost a load of tackle to the river bed in the process. But I'm hooked. Addicted to the serenity and the significance of this new pastime. "Tom" tells me some guys are able to meditate and call the fish to them just with the power of their minds. So in years to come while Von and the others are meditating on their yoga mats, you’ll know where I will be. When the first huge catch is landed, this blog will be full of nothing else but photos of the momentous occasion. I have faith. And patience. And hope. And lots and lots of time to practice. Ate logo as they say here. Laters.

On the Road to Zion - Josh

When we first saw Moses it was like a dream come true. All we had were smiles and ideas (this is after I changed my mind) and it was the same with "Tom and Jerry" our friends who are buying Bacelo (quinta parfume) aka: the perfume estate. Michelle was more like me but she is starting to feel what it could be like. Now, after a gazillion more ideas, guess what, we still have more! Every idea brings knew ideas and new smiles and new expressions (good ones luckily) and the picture just forms in our heads. My first idea (before I changed my mind) was houses with a huge garden. Now it’s changed to a garden with houses, except the houses drowned in flowers herbs and fruit. Who would want to live in a place like this? I certainly would.

When we first found Moses It was the end of summer. I should have been packing my rucksack and heading off to school. New teacher, year 6, yeah, cool. That is probably what everyone in my class at Myatt Garden thought. Guess what? Boring. I can imagine it. The end of summer was always the worst. Everyone walking around with the heat reflecting off the concrete and the windows. People shouting and screaming at each other; arguments about people pushing in front of other people in the four square line; having to eat in silence because the dinner hall always echoes. Not being allowed to share food and having to race to get a seat with your friends while the loser goes and cowers off in a corner with all the other rejects. All of this was probably happening while we lay laughing and eating in the Portuguese sun on the greening grass waiting for the sun to go down.

Another thing, I lived in London for 10 years of my life and not once did I notice a London sunset. I never saw one view without concrete (in London at least). It fact if it wasn’t for holidays in Barbados to see my great (in both ways) granny who goes to the gym 5 days a week, walks 5 miles everyday and is just hitting 75, or trips with my Dulwich Grandparents to Kent and Cornwall, or the 250 mile walk (400km) through England with The Lifeline Expedition, I would think that cows lay eggs and bacon came from sheep (those aren’t myths. Some kids do think that and that is scary). One last thing before I move on. To all those people out there (and I’m mainly talking to my teachers here) who wonder whether I am learning anything. I am. Not just maths and literacy either. I’ve learnt to fish, kayak, and many other sports. I am learning Chemistry, Biology, Physics, Geography and History from cool CDs and books for children aged 11-14 (key stage 3).

Amieira is our village, Olieros is our town. Dad and I are already looking for cricket clubs and have had a reply so far from one club here. There is a local football club in Olieros. Portugal has a cricket team, loads of great football teams. Porto FC is my Portuguese football club, (that doesn’t mean I’m giving up on Chelsea though), I could get used to their national football team and their cheating ways (World Cup 2006 and Euro 2004 still fresh in the memory I’m afraid). The best surfing beach in Europe is 2 hours away. A great skim boarding beach is an hour away. Decathlon is in Coimbra, only two hours away. We are not too secluded but not too close to the busy city life either.

Right now if I was back at my old life – our house is already on the market - I would be finishing my lunch in silence, not being able to talk to most of my friends who eat school dinners or are sitting on a table that is full, just because I didn’t get there in time. I would just be leaving for the playground for the last 10 minutes of playtime and then be going in for literacy that I have been learning (would you call writing out 4 letter words in handwriting and being bored to death learning?) for the past year. Right now I am learning because I want to after just helping Ellie with her maths for forty five minutes and letting her ask as many questions as possible but making her answer them. I can learn for as long as I like without being told ‘it’s time to stop now’ or ‘if you haven’t finished you haven’t finished you have to do your work at playtime’. I don’t have to wait in a queue for cold pizza or vegetarian (at school the meat is unidentifiable, it might as well be from a guy who died at war) food that looks like brown porridge (I like porridge but I’m not eating that). My P.E lessons are what ever I like, hiking, cricket (if possible), football. Home education is literally like camping. You get to go orienteering, climbing, catapulting, and all just trying to get to Moses!

My mum says I have to write something I appreciate about my old school. So. I had some really cool teachers and I learnt a bit. I really liked the school trips like going to Kent and following riddles and maps to try and find your way out first. I really do miss the cricket competitions (well of course I do I was captain of ks2 which is an accomplishment for a boy in year 5), and we did win some trophies (I was given a leaving card from my class with a picture on the front of me kissing the trophy in a competition that was postponed for 5 months due to a storm that flooded the pitch in 2 feet of water). In the football cage at playtime (which was not my favourite time because when we lost it was blamed on the centre forwards) and I scored goals -which usually came 2 at a time and in long spurts. Like the last time I played 10 matches and scored 12 goals, the starting one being a header (which is not too hard for considering I was the tallest boy in year 5 and 2nd tallest out of all) that hit the under side of the cross bar (which is 1m high) then hit the post and went in the goal (I didn’t see it because I was jumped on by my team mates as soon as it hit my head but I was told by my friend Jedd, the next Petr Cech). I’m going to get all my school friends emails when we go back this December.

I’ve got to include my friends in this because they were all great. Tyrann and Luke, the 2 monkey boys who helped me get through with minimum trouble, Jedd, Jordan, Michael and Halim, the type of friends who you can completely trust, Rogan, Katie, Izzy, Alice, Anita and Melina, the girls that I enjoyed working in a group with (on the same table every year) and helped me when I needed it and I helped when they needed it. Like the musketeers, 1 for all and all for 1.

I do miss those summer Saturdays when we travelled to Dulwich (the very posh side) to see my grandparents house when our cousins Sam and Joel and Jasmine came over and Sam, Joel (sometimes), and I play cricket or golf with our grandpa from 09:00 till 12:00 when we stopped to eat my grandma’s famous chicken-nosh-up or cod or trout potato pie with butter-drowned carrots and then apple crumble with whipped cream just to go out and play cricket again. Or those weekends when we would stay at mums house (not my mum but our other grandma, Granny Arlene! With the Barbados accent) where we would eat Caribbean style chicken or lamb chops with sweet potato pie, macaroni pie and rice, and wake up at 07:00 to smell pancakes drowned in maple syrup. That’s what grandparents are for, as well as giving and receiving huge bear hugs (the hugs not our grandmas. I’m probably taller than both by now) that make your eyes pop out. But two or three days with your grandparents is not enough. We figured that the further we are from each other the more that we will see each other.

In the real world here in Portugal, Zion Retreats (the name we are thinking for what we want to do) has not yet gone under way, although in our minds it has already begun. There’s no turning back now. We are on the Road to Zion.

Hey! I’ve found a Motto!

October in Central Portugal

Hello. New posts are coming soon we promise. There's been so much happening here in sunny Portugal (seriously sunny at 25+) this last month since we bought Moses and Quinta Perfume with "Tom and Jerry" and Michelle, that we've not had a chance to reflect for our blog. Vonny and I have been meeting as many people as possible. Builders, architects, politicans etc. We're so keen right, that even on our 13th wedding anniversary on Monday we chose to go see some (really lovely as it turned out called Freya and Evout living in Ameixeira) people about why building with lime and mortar is far better than using cement. Stacks more meetings planned next week too. So learning Portuguese as fast as we can.

Josh has just written his latest blog which he will post up shortly with new pictures. As always, he is sharp as ever. And after hours of fishing here with absolutely no result whatsoever, not even a bite, Josh and I taught Eloise how to cast last week when we popped into Coimbra for a few days. 3 minutes later she only goes and pulls out our tea. "Oh my days" I already know she will never ever tire of telling that little story. But my repost is already worked out. "Remember the time you let one rip in the office of the President of all Oleiros? " Details of that wee saga to follow.

Congrats to Joel and Zoe and Myla for making the jump out of formal school education too. Enjoy the ride folks.