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.

THE DAY DESTINY SERVED A BANQUET SCREAMING "EAT ME"…

It was a day like any other really. Well, I suppose like any other of the Poop In Europe type of days we’ve been having since leaping out the Matrix 6 months ago and hurling ourselves into Europe 4 months ago. 4 months to the very day in fact. It was 7th September 2007. Woke up in Coimbra (pronounced ‘queembra’) and said to each other lets go see this place called Moses we’ve seen on the web. We can’t wait 2 more weeks for the appointment booked with the estate agent. We want to see it today. Now. Destiny waits for no man. Drive.

With no idea what lay in front of us, not a clue what the area and the landscape in that region of central Portugal would be like, what the vibe of the local village called Amieira would be, and even if we would be able to find Moses at all, we set off. On the website it had said Moses was a 15 minute walk down a dirt track from the tiny hilltop village so to search all directions might take us a few days of wild trekking to actually find it. We could ask people in the village but with my Portuguese vocabulary only just topping the 6 word mark I wasn’t expecting much quality communication.
So as usual we had no idea what we were doing, but bizarrely, coursing through mine and Vonnie´s veins, was a not inconsequential level of adrenalin. Would today be the day we found the place that we set out to find? Could this be the place we had spent so many months imagining might exist? Could this be the one?

The closer we got, the tinglier the sensation grew. And oh yes, we recognised this feeling. It was the same when we met each other 15 years ago when after only 6 hours in each others company, decided to get married. It was the same when we saw our tumbling down house in New Cross with rain pouring in through the roof all the way down to the basement and we knew it was to be our house; the house where we would raise our yet to be born kids. Unmistakably the exact same feeling. Eyes wide open. Hearts racing. Spirits soaring in delight at the expectation of what was ahead of us, what we saw around us and what was happening inside of us. As we drove the last 10km stretch to the village all we could do was grin inanely at each other. Surely this couldn’t be it? It’s called Moses. How cool would that be?

Blissfully unaware of all the commotion taking place in our emotions, Moses the dog lay peacefully asleep on the back seat. No need to get excited by what you can’t smell, eat or swim in, is there boy?

Turn after turn, view after view, forest after forest, river after river, remote pretty village after remote pretty village, our excitement just kept growing. It felt like we were going home after years of being away.

Finally there it was. The signpost to the village of Amieira. Somewhere in the surrounding forested hillsides of this sweet looking white washed village was a property for sale – and its name is Moses. As the Mosiemobeel pulled into the village entrance road, a lively little fiesta type car came bolting out and screeched to a halt. 4 blond smiley faces stared out at us in wonder. Mum, Dad and 2 young kids in the back. In their faces I read a whole heap in a few seconds. They were expressing a look that kind of said "What is that beast of a vehicle? And what is that doing here? In this village. Motorhomes don’t come here. Campers don’t come here. In fact no one comes here. What is that thing doing here? And who are those young people driving it? They have got to be lost" Then the smiley faces spoke. In English. Really. In English. We introduced ourselves. They were Chistian and Alice. Living in Switzerland which explained the perfect English. This was the village Alice was born in and they were back just for the holidays. "We’re here to look at a property for sale called Moses. Do you know where it is?" "Moses? Ummmm, There’s a Moses (pronounced like a sort of Mozezjh). It’s where my gran was born and where parents grew up. Take the dirt track after the orange brick house and walk for 15 minutes." Off they sped with a "might see you later for a drink if we’re still here" farewell.

Result. A warm and friendly welcome from a young family who spoke English and gave directions. I’ve been fortunate in my short life to have experienced a number of such coincidental encounters. Too many for me to even want to explain away with rationality. The angels were singing loud and clear. And the door of destiny was opening as wide as could be. Step on through buddy boy.

However there were quite a few dirt tracks and stone buildings and we didn't know which to take. So Von turned to our faithful 4 legged companion and said "buddy boy, you gotta know where this place is, show us the way". He turned on his paws and sped down one of the tracks and led us down a hill until we came to the top of a dirt track drive with houses below. 100 metres later we could see it all. 3 abandoned one hundred year old stone houses and 2 windowless stone store houses covered in vines, nestled in a lush little valley on 2 hectares of the sweetest sweeping stone terraces with ancient olive trees dotted along, surrounded above and beyond as far as the eye could see by eucalyptus and pine forests, with spectacular views of folding mountains into the west over which the sun would set rivalling anything we’d seen so far on the trip, and to top it all off a noisy meandering rock lined, fruit tree bordered broke at the bottom. It was the place in our dreams. It was the one. We had been led to the Promised Land by Moses. And it’s called Moses.

We sat and imagined. Didn’t take much imagining either. It was immediate. Like a film. Like flashes of light illuminating our paths with each new view. Our entire lives stretching out in front of us here in this out-of-the-way grassy Portuguese idyll. So many flower beds. So many olive trees. So many grapes. A myriad of walkways and vistas. A whole farm to sow, nurture and harvest. So many delicious meals to be created entirely from the produce of this small piece of rural paradise. So many sun soaked evenings spent supping home grown wine with friends joining us from around the globe and new ones we’d make in the area. Everything was possible. It might take us a lifetime to create but everything was beautifully and bountiful in its potential. A banquet of promising possibilities.
We set off up the hill to the village awe struck by what we had found. A bit numb to be honest.

After only 4 months of searching round Europe we had found Moses. We had found our home. But in all these things the waves of doubt come in like a tide sometimes. A bit like snakes in the head. So even by the time we had got back in our motorhome to drive off to a local campsite for the night, we were questioning everything. Are we just naïve fools? Are we laying layers of meaning to this place when in fact it’s just a dud? Silent in our thoughts we exited out the village lane. Then, again by the most provident of consequence, along scooted that little fiesta to block our path. Out jumped Christian and Alice with more gushing warmth and excitement for us. We told them of our fledgling plans and they were overjoyed for us. If someone could calculate the probability of both those meetings, I know it would be a rather large figure. We arranged to come back and see them the next day. We returned over the next few days to dream some more and to start planning how it could all fit together. We met with Alice’s parents over an impromptu Portuguese breakfast which included home made port and grappa. And heard more stories of village life.

Vonnie being Vonnie, wasn’t entirely happy. Although there was loads of room for a yoga retreat in the midst of a Giverny style garden, there wasn’t really enough housing space for our friends "Tom and Jerry".  So we set off on a wee hike, which Christian kindly offered to be our guide on, through brambles and fennel along the brook to see if we could find another property nearby that would be suitable. And we did. We found Qunita Perfume (keenta parfum) much closer to Amieira than Moses was. Another beautiful ruined farm with 2 houses and several outhouses. Perfect for them. We had read that the nearest neighbours to Moses were 0.5km away but didn’t realise that it would be abandoned and for sale.

So, a house for us. A house for Josh and Ellie next to it (you wouldn’t believe how excited they were when we told them that was what we were thinking). A house down the valley lane for Michelle. A house 500m away for "Tom and Jerry".  And about 7 or 8 store houses that could be converted into guest houses or into granny flats for all our parents when the time comes. No need for planning permission for yurts either. Tutt’ a posto as they say in Italy. All in its place.

That evening we nipped into the local town of Oleiros 20 minutes drive away to look for an internet café. We found a state of the art one provided free of charge by the council. Again, result. Not just cos it was free (see earlier blogs on my fondness for freeness) but because it demonstrated a forward thinking council. The council staff guy that worked there that night asked what we were doing in Oleiros. In response to our project he said he thought the council would love it, be right up their street and he thought they would help us however they could. Roll out the red carpets. We emailed pictures to Michelle, "Tom and Jerry" to see what they thought. And when "Jerry" saw the blue doors of Qunita she just cried and cried and knew we had found them their home.

Later we went out for a meal with Christian and Alice, and while gorging ourselves on barbeque chicken, meat, chips and salad in a local restaurant we discovered they were considering returning to live in the village too at some point in their future. They were also on their honeymoon as they had just had a church marriage the week before. They were christians and felt as strongly as we did that someone somewhere had orchestrated our happenchance meeting – for both our benefit.

Day by day everything seems to be falling into place for us. Moses fits us like a glove. Exhilarating challenge lies before us. Mountains of hard work and toil. But what a thing to invest our lives in. Up to now its all been rhetoric and ethereal notions of a life less ordinary. Today it’s real. It’s tangible. It exists. And its name is Moses.

Offers for an early advance on the book and film deal are most welcome. Only thing left to do now is to buy it.