APAPS 23.11: Tomayto Or Tomahto; That Is The Question

 A break with a long tradition this week, the Full English Breakfast being abandoned in favour of an experimental continental-type repast. "Feedback", if you will excuse the expression, will be welcome. The early morning light on the beach gave our photographic team ample opportunity to test their art skills. I received lots of pictures to choose from; 68 all told. Tough job to whittle them down for the Blog. Now, over to Yves for his stimulating description of events.

He writes:-

The day dawned in a contrary fashion, as was its wont that morning…

Now, the Blogger had left the warmth of his nest in good time to be at the beach for daybreak, snap the sunrise over the distant shoreline and the water before meeting up with the Walkers at Café Paradis… That was the plan but, as the sands of time clogged his sandals on that lonely beach, the sun was having a lie-in. Nothing for it but accept defeat and return to the Café .......

.....where the throng was getting stronger: some still sheltering from the not-so-cold cold air in their car, others joyfully beavering at various tasks involving tripods, cameras, little action and the threat of scratching the Blogger’s pride and joy… His car, it must be emphasised, lest some misinterpretation should slip in!

Final score:   Mercedes 1 - Honda 3.

The Leader had clearly arranged for the sun to appear at the correct time as he marshalled the troop into a near-disciplined gaggle of beaming young faces. 

The Starters: Dennis, JohnH, Samantha, Dorothy, Tanja, Hazel, Brian, Daniela, Julia, Fabrizio, Yves, Maria, Myriam.

These youngsters, fit, happy and bursting with energy DO have the effect on some of us to underscore how less fit and certainly not bursting with energy we are slowly becoming… Happy, still! But that is largely down to Cask Strength Single Malts.

And so we departed in the opposite direction from the usual: had the Leader lost his byword sense of direction? Was he distracted by sirens’ songs? No: he simply fancied a change.

The foray through the brush bushes with a still very low sun behind us presented wonderful opportunities for back-lit happy-mood pictures of golden hair, bright eyes and smiles to keep ad-agencies wanting more: not so! The Leader maintained a determined and steady pace while the lower ranks did their best to move in front of each other in random fashion with the larger persons in front of the smaller ones, etc. Decidedly, the Fates were not letting the Blogger do his worst; next week, perhaps?

Be that as it may, when we reached the raised road skirting the beach, all was revealed: the Leader had taken the troop that way instead if this way in order to avoid the unseemly scramble under the wooden walkway: clever man! The road was crossed in a very dignified fashion but not before the girls spotted some pretty flowers, delicate and white, those were, and with seed sacs bursting onto the sand; indeed, many seeds were collected in the hope of recreating that sandy look in back gardens and patios. We might report on that venture’s outcome next year: bi-focals on and watch this space!

The beach awaited us: a glorious expanse of fine sand with only few fellow-walkers enjoying their constitutionals with their dogs and girl-friends, or boy-friends, or unspecified friends; as none were displaying badges with their preferred pronouns, conjecture is wide open. The only certainty is that only the dogs were chasing after tossed tennis balls, we think.

The ebbing tide drew strange patterns in the sand

Sand trees

There we also saw for ourselves how thoughtless –perhaps accidental- actions can affect our environment: a young sea-gull was trailing some discarded fishing net tangled around its neck. 

It would not allow us to approach and possibly free it from that horrible plastic but it was clearly stressed by it all. Should that netting catch on drift wood or the walkway planking, the poor bird will surely die…There was no option but let ‘nature’ take its course and we marched on our own course. 

Brian, Julia, Fabrizio, Samantha

We soon came across a stream running across the sands, tempting some to splash water, others to paddle like children and this Blogger to cross manfully, to the far side and then back! He should have heeded the instruction that we were not going across but walk up away from the sands, silly man! Still, there was the perfect opportunity to put Decathlon’s best Gore-Tex to the test: would water get through? No! Water did not get through the material, splendid stuff! It got over the top of the boots, however. The Leader was tactful enough not to laugh out but he could barely restrain a smirking smile. Memo to self: either listen to instructions or buy higher boots still!

Then to the Board Walk and the Bird Sanctuary, to see if we could spot any.

"Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry"

Maria does her trig point celebration although there was no trig point nearby.

The Bird Look-Out

(Apparently, this is a picture of Dennis getting a slap for helping some but not all the  ladies across the drain. He has been approached for a comment but has not responded. Ed.)

The western end of the lagoon did have some water and a curlew was spotted

In any event, the Leader had other things on his mind: time and breakfast! In spite of his best efforts to keep a pace consistent with a timely arrival at the Café-restaurant, some in the party were rushing at a speed belying their age and the shortness of their legs; was it a form of contrition for delaying the troop on a previous expedition? [See previous blogs] They did not say. As he observed the sun’s arching progress across the morning sky, the Leader felt that there was no option but throw in a short ‘extra-loop’. And this was done.

The extra-loop took us past this extensive ruin

The Track and, courtesy of Dennis, the Statistics

At the Café-Restaurante, a different style of breakfast from our usual English style awaited the hungry troop: bacon had matured into jambon, toast became croissants, friendly fried eggs were soon brouillés and looked very inviting while the Sagres beer gave way gracefully to orange juise and café au lait… 

Brian truly hit the jackpot when he ordered a cappuccino.

For many, the pièce de résistance was an unassuming bowl of tomates cerises served with chopped onion and garlic, sprinkled with herbs and in a very tasty dressing of olive oil: the essence of simplicité but ever so pleasant! 

More please.

What was the secret ingredient in the dressing? Perhaps the Leader will mull over repeating the experience at some point?

He´s not talking about that slap, is he?

A very satisfying morning, for sure! Thank you to all for making it enjoyable!

Until next time, be good!

Thanks to Yves for his report -he has now been confirmed as a Blogger, by the way, and to all who contributed photos. Commiserations to Dot and Dennis who had to miss  out on the cherry tomatoes because of  pending medicals, and to Paul who missed the meal and the banter because of a chipped tooth. Dot packed him a "carry--out" which kindness he acknowledged in WhatsApp. Since it was he who introduced this idea of the Full English Breakfast in the first place, one wonders what he makes of the break in tradition. 

At the end of the meal, Myriam tried to get through to Rod in hospital in Lisbon after his back operation, to wish him well from all of us, but she could not make contact; apparently he was engaged in having a shower. We will keep the shower curtain closed.

And for those who wondered about the slogan "In Tartiflette We Trust," tartiflette is a dish from the Savoie in the French Alps and from the Aosta Valley in northwest Italy. It is made with potatoes, reblochon cheese, lardons  and onions. A splash of white wine can be added too. If you replace the potatoes with crozets (a small, square -shaped pasta), you get Croziflette.

For the closing music, I had thought of "American Pie" in view of the earlier quotation but it´s a bit long, so here´s something with tomatoes in it instead.

APAPS 23.10: Alarms and Excursions: Pit Stops and Fig Stops.

 

The alarm in question belongs to Janet. Rather like "the curious incident of the dog in the night-time" in the Sherlock Holmes story (what was curious was that the dog did not bark), so equally curiously, Janet´s alarm did not alarm, so she rang me at 7 a.m. to say she couldn´t make it. Never mind, there´s always another time.

Anyway, lots of good pictures from several contributors (many thanks), some photos from the archive and, as always, Yves´ scintillating report - he assures me that "all the swelling myth-takes are intentional" - so let´s get to it.

Yves writes:-

The day dawned, quite shyly: the weather looked rather uncertain in the East; sunshine hardly pierced the gloom of heavy clouds; still common sense prevailed and the clouds behaved themselves.

Setting the camera up is easy: the difficult bit is remembering to pick it up afterwards

Lady Starters only

Plus two

The small but perfectly formed group of Walkers were arranged into a passable if slightly unruly mob for the Leader’s camera benefit. Several voices were heard reminding him not to leave it behind: they are learning! And so we set off, light of foot and heavy of bag, towards the first of several gentle hills. Gentle, they had to be: early in the day is no time for Seniors and Near-Seniors to exert themselves unduly. Alas, nobody had told the Leader and he selected the nearest climb with his usual aplomb; some looked up and raised eyebrows. (Don´t know what the problem was; total ascent for the day was only 190 metres.)

His pace was strong; he’d evidently had his Weetabix, or his oats, before leaving home; some say that he puts salt on his ‘porridge’, others contend that the secret ingredient is piri-piri… Whatever it is, he reached the top of the slope with great speed and gusto: faster than his shadow that just lay there full-length, flat on the path and panting.

The sun eventually won its skirmish with the clouds and ‘Les Girls’ kindly enjoyed a breather under the pretext of posing for pictures.

Going down is tricky

Do we take the low road or the high road?

Some took the high road

Daniela and Hazel took the low road

Once re-united again, we passed through the narrow valley once known as Lingerie Lane (according to Google Maps the area is actually called Roupa Branca) where those with long memories recalled the delicately coloured pair of smalls that once decorated the hedges there.

Two pictures from the Archive: 31.08.2016

Then further on, the valley had been cleared of many trees and Yves, toujours le gentilhomme, helped the ladies along by removing much debris from their path

Is that debris or is he blowing his own Alpenhorn?

The Leader was still marching ahead at a ferocious pace until he came across a very imposing piece of heavy machinery casually parked in the middle of a junction. 

Big, smelling of diesel fuel and definitely not easy to steal despite its missing ‘doors’: some clever Forestry worker had placed a very cunning anti-theft cable device on one of the huge wheels!

 ‘Now, just you try, you marauding WAGS!’

By now, the pace dictated ever so courteously by the Leader was beginning to take its toll on the gentler half of the party: the gap from front to rear was increasing alarmingly; indeed, we lost sight of Les Girls altogether! Fortunately, sound travels rather well in the hills and we were reassured of their distant presence thanks to some well-known voices; patience, friend, they’ll soon be here! Breakfast will still be served, even if it is a brunch now…

Les Girls appear at last

This enforced separation meant that the blogger had very little material to report on; no matter, the photographic record from Les Girls made up for it and then some! Not only that but they also displayed a lot of initiative: seemingly innocent questions like: ‘Where does this track go?’ were nothing but a cunning plan to avoid steep-ish hills by circling them at a leisurely pace on flat paths… They are learning, for sure! Trust the Leader if you must! Trust your instincts can be much nicer…

Be that as it may, and with the Leader muttering dark oaths in a foreign dialect, the Walkers reached the ‘canal’: downhill to the cars from there! Yes and no: having consumed their last food at some ungodly time earlier in the week, it felt like- Les Girls were quite partial to ‘nibbles on the go’: passing fig-trees were providential: just as a Murray** must never be ‘hurrayed’, fresh figs from the branches deserve to be enjoyed at a respectful pace: select the ripe ones, peel parts off gently, prize the meaty fruit open to reveal the goodness within and consume with delectation! 

The accompanying sound-track of satisfaction among the feminish crowd did cause one or two field-workers to look up from their toil, only to dismiss it all as ‘funny furren wimmin’ but in Portuguese words.

Around a bend in the canal, we came across a small ‘bridge’ and this snapper’s idea of posing a young lady above the water fell on deaf ears; instead she insisted that she would take the picture! Cunning! I tell thee, brother! Barely had the Blogger sat on the ledge that he was assaulted from behind, nearly strangled and almost pushed into the water! Not only cunning but fiendishly hiding their murderous intents, were Les Girls! 

The day was saved when the Leader reminded everyone that the kitchen would close for lunch promptly at 11.00…

Myriam´s caption "Trendy way of carrying a rucksack."

(No, I´m not trendy; the bag is simply inefficient.)

All that remained to be done was to demonstrate to the amazed audience how the canal disappears under a valley before climbing up the slope on the other side: it does! It twuly and weally does! Are there teams of hamsters pedalling their little wheels furiously underground? Who knows, twuly and weally? The Leader might know but his lipths are thealed!

Can you hear the water underground?

Sam´s caption to her pic is "John telling Daniela that she was standing above the water canal and showing the flow of water to the town. I am curious to know how the water could flow upwards without a water pump."

See postscript to this blog for evidence.

The track

Back at the café, a reduced troop of four was met by even older Walkers - Rod, who on this occasion did not stop to witness the feeding frenzy, and Chris and Antje. 

and in due course, com IVA, breakfast was enjoyed well past the planned time… and more figs. But what is time if not an abstract notion? In Portugal, life happens at PMT* and everything is fine…

• PMT: Portugal Maybe Time…

Another fine outing, thanks to all who made it so pleasant!

Be good, see you next week?

*Murraymints

During the walk, some had tried to recall Leonard Cohen´s Hallelujah.

Here it is, as gloomy as ever.

Postscript

Here is a map showing where the canal goes underground and then rises back up again into Encherim

The red dot, upper right, is where the canal plunges down; the yellow dot, centre, is where Daniela was standing; and the red dot lower left, is where it re-emerges in Encherim.

The canal in Encherim, upper level. I think a syphon effect has something to do with it.