WAGS 05 02 2020: Strawberry Fields but No Tomatoes

After all the “inspired” dramatics of the two previous blogs dealing with our annual St Vincent´s caper, for this blog we shall eschew any further such flights of fancy, and will even resist the temptation to play the Beatle´s number “Strawberry Fields Forever” (not least because its lyrics are virtually incomprehensible) and shall revert to the prosaic. 
There was a good turn-out of 11 at Café Martins, lured no doubt by the prospect, encouraged by the pre-walk publicity, of that establishment´s well-reported prato do dia, which had certainly encouraged Myriam to arise from her quarantine bed. But, alas, the Café´s chief cook was off on holiday  and there were only bifanas to be had for lunch. Stiff lips all round. But nobody went home in disappointment and we did walk.

The Starters
Jim, FrankW, JohnH, Rod, Myriam, Paul, Dina, Jill, Terry, Hazel and Geraldine
plus Shelley and Becky.

For once, the men outnumbered the women, stalwarts such as Antje, Ingrid, Janet and Maria being missing. Yves was absent too, but it wasn´t entirely clear whether this was because he preferred to be away in the west chasing some of the AWW lassies or because he was being unexpectedly sensitive with a variety of “Don´t mention the War” syndrome, the customary way of treading delicately in the aftermath of some national humiliation by not alluding to it. Anyway, he wasn´t there, and nobody else mentioned it (much) either. See Footnote* below. 

The Track

This was, as can be seen, a rather convoluted trail, to the east at first, then a long swing to the west, nearly but not quite into Poço Barreto, and then, after cutting out a planned long loop to the north in order to save time, doubling back on ourselves near the Strawberry Fields and so back east to home; a little bit of off-piste and a minor scramble or two were thrown in for old time´s sake.

The Statistics

Post-walk, participants came up with a wide variety of statistics. In such cases Leader´s Law prevails and so what his gizmo recorded will be the official figures
.
Total distance:  9.4 kms. Total time: 2 hrs 52 mins.
Moving time: 2 hrs 11 mins. Average moving speed: 4.2 kph.
Ascent: 260 metres.

The pre-walk notice had, rather facetiously, suggested that this walk would give us an opportunity to view the latest real estate developments, but no joke, that really was we actually got. Since we last walked there with the APAPS summer 2019, Caravela properties are being walled and fenced in; soon some of the paths we use may be closed off. 

The modern villas are nearing completion, what with steep exterior staircases and glass safety barriers and landscaping. Even as we passed by, trees were being trucked in for planting. “Sold” notices on empty lots, which we had previously taken to being a property developer´s bluff designed to fool the onlooker into believing the properties were selling well, have turned out to be genuine; these once empty lots are being built on, and new access roads opened.

 We walked on, some broad tracks, some scrambling.

Further inland, hitherto empty land has been commandeered by container and tent dwellers, fences are being erected and chains put across track entrances. 

What more changes are in store for this area? We shall see.

At least in the traditional little hamlet of Poço-Poço (well, well, there are two of them) old-style cottages still exist, even if some of the colouring is a trifle garish.

We paused here for a breather and Rod said to Myriam “What on earth are you doing?”

And Myriam replied "I´m a frog!” 

And this very clever photo taken by Hazel shows us just what she meant.

A little further on, we came to that building that used to be known as The House of Words. Why so, can be seen from these two archive photos.

Back then, the walls had been totally covered in writing telling the passer-by of some dark and bitter family dispute; betrayal, violence, you name it.

And this is the building today,transformed, history erased.

Then we had a little bit of a little bit of cross-country scramble.

After which the Leader, conscious that the clock was ticking away and that the day was getting a bit hot, decided to cut his planned walk short and to head fairly directly home.

So we passed the Strawberry Fields.

And made good progress getting back to Café Martins a trifle before 1 pm.

And why, you may ask, the “No Tomatoes” in our caption?

Well, before we had left Café Martins in the morning,  Bifanas com tomate had been requested, but when they were served at lunchtime, there were no tomatoes in evidence. However, the meat was satisfactorily seasoned, the papos secos were soft, and the price was minimal, so we were well satisfied.

At the table, there was the usual technical stuff concerning smart phones but also a touch of culture. Paul, having noticed that the prevailing wind of the day had been a south wind, wondered what a southerly wind was –did southerly mean towards the south, or from the south?
It seems that the word southerly can mean both “towards the south” and “from the south.” But in the context of winds, it means a wind from the south, as in that well known song “Blow the Wind Southerly.” We then began discussing the various performances of that piece which are available on YouTube and plumped for the classic recording by Kathleen  Ferrier, (not, as misheard by Hazel, by Catherine Ferrer). 
So we will close with that music, immediately after our footnote.
Footnote*
Just in case some future historian may  read this blog and wonder to himself/herself/ themselves what exactly this national humiliation was that we were so careful not to mention (much), we should perhaps clarify.
At the start of  the 2020 Six nations Rugby competition, the English team, aspiring to become “the greatest team ever known”, headed off to Paris to face a  young, experimental French side to whom they threatened to deliver a brutal shock. But the boot was on the other foot and it was the English team that got the shock. The French coq earned its right to crow.
Your scribe writes this as a Scot and as Scotland has seen plenty of rugby humiliations of its own, so one more may be on its way, especially as Scotland´s captain still has to learn that it´s not quite enough to simply drop the ball over the try line to score.We shall indeed see. The bagpipes may wail.

And now to Kathleen Ferrier:

(click the link below)

Blow the Wind Southerly