APAPS 20.9: Dinosaur Eggs and the Grapes of Mirth

 

Particularly as your regular Blogger was finding it all a bit hard going, he was delighted that, for this edition, Yves offered to write the report of the season´s Grande Finale proceedings, the Blogger restricting himself to just  a few editorial asides, which are in blue text. Over now to Yves.

Wednesday dawned grey and murky; low cloud and rising mist formed an ominous vault over the groves surrounding Casa Esperanza. There, a few burning lights were a welcome beacon for bleary-eyed drivers and some rally driver who showed remarkable skills on loose gravel…(to me, this reference is obscure).

The Egg Man Arriveth, or Timeo Galleos Et Ova Ferentes

Soon, coffee was offered in exchange for contributions towards the feast later in the morning. At that juncture, peace was fractured (Casa Esperanza is far too civilised a home to shatter anything) and mild violence was threatened by the Cook!

 She had opened a box and found out that some eggs had been laid by Rock Chicks: she found them hard to accept! Her eyes lit up when she opened the second box: ‘Look! A duck egg!’ she exclaimed joyously… Only to discover that it was not, ‘Darn!’ With commendable restraint, the Cook threw nothing more substantial than mild rebuke at the Writer’s head.

(The Cook then disrupted the first attempt at the Starter Photograph by chastising the Writer with a wooden spoon.)

Finally, the photograph of the dashing adventurers was taken; as they set off the sun was doing a passable impression of Salomé’s dance (also obscure), revealing itself fleetingly from thin veils of wispy clouds… All was well.

(For some reason, much of the route was way-marked by deposits of old wine bottles, some of which the writer destroyed as he passed (vandal). Some survived.)

Thoughtfully, the Leader had packed some secateurs: he had noted a few growths of thorny plants along the planned route. The Writer was volunteered to clear a path and he came in for more unjustified reproach from the walkers: cutting down thorny bushes is a tricky and certainly delicate process that demands a careful approach and some time, a lot of time. The writer was left behind by the group in their dash for the promised food… Never mind, the path is now free of most scratchy plants for next year!

(It seems that the Writer had attended a barber´s class in Algoz recently and was trying to apply the same delicate trimming techniques that he had acquired there to the task of thorn cutting. Note the similarities in style in these pictures).

Another tall Tale?

And so it was that, back at Casa Esperanza, tomato juice cocktails and Buck´s Fizz were speedily produced, glasses were filled and glasses were emptied,

JohnH brings out the drinks - this one´s for Becky

 glorious food was presented (the cooks –plural, a non-walking member also hobbled around the kitchen (another obscurity) - had excelled themselves!)

There´s a sausage or two under there

and laughter-filled banter echoed from one end of the patio to the other. Toasts were drunk to those absent, inter alia Myriam, Ingrid and Rod.

Paul´s thumbs-Up for the cooks

There were attempts at some sign-language, too, to solve the riddle of the deaf, the dumb and the blind (not the blond!): some failed the test, some showed a spontaneous burst of indifference and one octogenarian cunning linguist solved the riddle in a flash; well done, that old man! (This one is quite beyond me, I´m afraid.)

After the main course, a Finishers´ Photo was taken of all present, the Rule of Ten having prevailed.

                  Terry, Jill, Paul, Chris, Yves, Janet, Antje (with Sacha), Maria, Hazel, and JohnH

and it was then that the hostess’s curiosity was piqued by reports of grapes dangling from the vine outside – (how come we had not noticed these before??? - late growth???) and these reports were investigated by some equally curious partakers. Sadly, the grapes were inedible but there ensued more threats of violence towards the Writer: Nil novi sub sole, which was shining brightly by then…

Sadly, the time came for the gathering to disband; another APAPS season had come to a grand finale.

Here’s to next year!

The Track and the Statistics

Thanks are due:

to all who contributed to the food supply.

to the “kitchen staff”

to the contributors to Hazel´s charity collection (€170)

to Paul and Yves for photos

and not least, to Maria and Yves for their mischief-making with the eggs and the grapes.

Partners in Crime !

Closing Music

Your Blogger had originally thought that the phrase he used in the title “Grapes of Mirth” was entirely original but then he found that an entertainment company in Australia uses it as a trade name for their business, which is conducting wine tasting tours accompanied by comic routines and music. Taste is important, not only in breakfast sausages, but in other comestibles, as Lonnie Donegan now reminds us.

That´s All, Folks.

APAPS 20.8: Separate Tables or Not?

 

The APAPS 20.8 outing was advertised somewhat misleadingly as follows:-

“The walk will start at 7.30 am and will be about 6.5 kms, a little bit more climbing than last week but not too much.

“Silves Parque Merendas is half a kilometre from Continent Modelo on the left  going east; it is the small group of picnic tables under the trees at the junction leading to the prison.

 Please do let me know if you are walking and breakfasting, or breakfasting only. If we are more than 10 f or breakfast we will probably have to take separate tables (maybe indoors) because of the State of Contingency.”

The sound of heavy breathing as we laboured up the final of the day´s three hills gave the lie to the forecast of there being not too much climbing involved, and the “left going east” direction must have been written when the author was standing on his head doing his early morning PE. The false direction may also have been designed to confuse Myriam and Yves in revenge for their showing little sympathy for the Leader the previous week when he had resolutely insisted on leading the walk despite having a sorely wounded left hand, the result of an altercation with a Heinz Baked Beans can which made it tricky for him to grasp his walking pole. Incidentally, that the opening of cans is a risky business was confirmed by recent correspondence in The Daily Telegraph in which a surgeon´s assistant confirmed that their surgery had had numerous patients with injuries from ring-pull cans. Another correspondent claimed that all ring-pull cans are now “guard-beaded”, meaning that when you open one, a layer of strong plastic folds over the sharp edge left inside. Modern technology to guard against cuts from the open can, he said. Huh! Not on mine, it didn´t !

And in the end, separate tables were not needed at Mira Rio because Antje, Chris and Rod had all made their excuses. As it was, 6 of the usual suspects successfully found their way to the Parque Merendas

where the early morning mists were still draped over the meadows. After a short drive into the Bom Homem Herdade, we were to take the Starter photo

and get the walk under way 5 minutes before official starting time.

The initial route was up a modest hill, and we then swung left, no I mean right, onto a side track which went uphill before stretching out up another longer hill. The fact that it was a real hill didn´t seem to bother Maria a bit, who positively raced ahead of the rest of us..

There, in the light of the rising sun, right in front of us was a trig point. But we decided not to tackle it, trig points not being an APAPS tradition as Terry pointed out. Becky was greatly relieved.

Besides, we would need all our energies for later on, as we shall see.

We made our way down onto flatter ground, where one observant walker remarked that the last time we had been here, we had been caught in a downpour. Yes indeed, and Yves had at the time captured the oncoming rain cloud on film.

But no rain this time, maybe later in the week with luck. A bit further on, we came to a ruin which is usually concealed by heavy undergrowth, but that had now all been cleared, exposing a pile of green bottles, at least ten of them.

 Yves remarked on their apparent antiquity and seized the opportunity to take one of his artistic photos.

The pace then picked up and we put in some serious walking

until we arrived at the foot of the next hill. We had been down it in the past, but never up. It did look steep. The Leader pressed on regardless; after a few minutes he heard a shout and looked down, Some people were still down on the flat. Was this a mutiny? No, it was our professional photographer, stung by the previous week´s criticism, determined to capture the action.

This shot shows him far down below on the right of the picture

where he took this one showing Terry and JohnH high up on the skyline.

But at that stage they were only one-third of the way up. Lots more climbing ahead of them. Google Earth shows the hill to be 51 metres, over less than 1/3 of a km, with much of it being a 37% slope. No wonder there was heavy breathing. Not sure if we will tackle that one again. All downhill from now on said the Leader and, for once, he was right. While we all paused to catch our breath, for some reason the subject of frogs legs came up. Yves (and I´m not implying any cannibalistic tendencies here) said how much he enjoyed them.

And so downhill back to the rest of the cars and then on to Mira Rio for the breakfast.

Here we were joined by Paul – (I will not bore Ingrid and Janet with details of his crisply tailed black gilet and of the technical specifications oft his man bag, nor dwell on this week´s headgear) – and by Hazel in a most colourful outfit.

At the breakfast table, conversation was wide-ranging. At one end of the table, they discussed how and why Cantonese matriarchs have the reputation of being 老虎乸 ( Lao Hu Na, or tigresses) while, at the other, we learnt that, when it comes to darning socks, the British use mushrooms and the Portuguese use eggs. (Apparently, there are still some people who do darn socks. Hats off to them for keeping the old traditions alive.)

The conversation about 老虎乸 reminded Myriam of a little story which can now be related in her very own words:- 

“In 2011, we had another family reunion. Instead of cruising, we chose to join a coach tour from Vancouver to Yellow Stone Park, organised by a Chinese tour company. There were about 35 passengers (mainly Cantonese speakers), 15 of whom were from the Lo Clan, and only one Caucasian!! Obviously they were curious about us. Paul was asked, in English, how he was related to the family. He pointed at me and answered in perfect Cantonese, "She is my 老虎乸."  There was an uproar of laughter and he immediately became the whole group's bet! 

That was his most famous moment!!”

Our meal was its usual excellent standard. Pity Paul forgot to bring his special sauces. Although some thought that the toast was cut too thick, others were to be seen really enjoying it, thick cut notwithstanding.

And of course we all talked about Gordon Ramsay´s rip-off “Full English Breakfast”

                                                                         The Gordon Ramsay

Nice eggs, but.....One mushroom ! One sausage ! Baked beans in a poncey side dish ! No toast !And what´s that wilted bit of greenery doing in the middle of it all? And this at a cost of £19 19 !!! Mira Rio, although it does not claim to be the FULL English, is a real bargain at €4. Mind you, if you were to go to The Balmoral Hotel in Edinburgh for their Full Scottish, that would set you back £25. I don´t have picture of that one but here is the ultimate fry-up courtesy of The Fry-Up Police.

Notice that they keep the eggs well separate from the baked beans

The Track and The Statistics

                                        This is a reconstruction - not the real thing.

We don´t have a genuine track this week because my ViewRanger gave up the ghost after only 247 metres, but Terry measured it at about 6.8 kms, as did my Health App which also told me that I had taken10,960 steps and climbed the equivalent of 32 flights of stairs.

On the other hand, Myriam´s Whitings watch (screen grab above) recorded the distance as being 8.6 kms. Why the difference? Well, one possibility is that the watch is Chinese and reads its figures right to left, not left to right. Another is that she lives in a different dimension from the rest of us mere mortals. Or maybe Paul should just get her a new watch.

To close, first a fry-up video (Careful! Look out for that baked bean can!)

and then some slushy music from the film Separate Tables, a slushy Hollywood adaptation of two one act plays by the English playwright Terence Rattigan which are definitely not slushy.