AWW 30th September 2015: A Paparazzo´s Hour in the Limelight

 

Sunrise over Lagos on 30th September and reports begin to filter in of a serious “domestic” at Casa da Oliveira. Apparently, the Whittles´ washing machine had run amok in the pre-dawn hours and Antje, in attempting to kick it into submission, had damaged her Anterior Cruciate Ligament or some such essential, and was now doubtful about being able to lead her long-looked-forward-to “Over The Hills And Far Away” expedition to Bordeira. Presciently, however, she had enlisted Hazel and your scribe for her recce the previous week and through them had some leadership fall-back. At that stage, she still hoped to be at Carrapateira for the off. At 8.45am, however, she called to say that she couldn´t make it as she had been advised to rest. In the interests of feminine solidarity, she suggested that Hazel should lead instead. But when I relayed this to Hazel, she turned down the nomination point-blank. A vastly experienced leader in the shape of Terry “The Legs “Ames then hove into sight, but he too declined the invitation to lead on the grounds, I think, that he did not have a mandate and that, if he was to walk from Carrapateira to Bordeira and back, he wouldn´t normally have thought of taking Antje´s proposed route. So, there I was, stuck with it, to the detriment of my taking the usual number of photos.

The Starters outside the lively, early-morning, seize-the-moment Café Bravo

Starters: Dina (welcome back), Ros, Yves, Ingrid, TerryA, David, Hazel, Pam, Lynn, FrankM, JohnH.

Hounds: Rose, Java. 

(Pam´s husband, Nick, was on hand to take the Starter pic but, being under the weather, didn´t walk.)

Track: not exactly as shown by the blue line in this picture, but near enough:

 

Statistics:

Start: 9.15 am – Finish: 2.15 pm.

Distance: 18 km.max.

Followers of political developments in the UK will know that, recently, a new leader of one party has emerged on the scene who has the novel idea that, although mandated as leader, he will not take any decisions himself but will consult his party at every turn. Bizarre perhaps, but I thought I would adopt his m.o. for the purposes of this walk and, to my surprise, it worked pretty well. I began by asking my party which direction we should take at the start. FrankM, who I guess had not much of a clue where exactly he was nor where going, pointed decisively up the Carrapateira hill (which was the correct way by chance ) and we were off.

On we went and at every crucial junction, we were as a murmuration of starlings, veering in unison, stopping and starting as if wired to a single inaudible signal, inseperable. Just as well, as I was struggling to keep up with the pack leaders.

We even paused contentedly to let Yves play with his prehistoric Lego set.

We breezed along to Vilarinha, no problems, and then tackled the 100 metre-plus ascent over the hills with suitable and amicable pauses for the more breathless. We crossed the upland interior without incident.

A relatively minor dislocation to party policy then occurred on the ridges above Bordeira. This was when when Lynn and Yves were inspired by the sights of an old mill and a trig point high on a hill up which they hared, leaving most of us flat-footed in their wake, with TerryA, clearly determined not to visit yet another ruin, staying put. At the trig point, which incidentally Hazel had discovered on the recce, Ros volunteered to go up top, which she did with some anatomical assistance from Yves, toujours le gentilhomme.

At Hazel´s trig point.

On the way back down, we found that Terry and Java had disappeared from  the track. Abandoning them to their fate without a qualm, the rest of us made our way down to the village, from the south, by a narrow but reasonable path (which incidentally had not been included in the recce the week before).

The rooftops of Bordeira

The smokestacks of Bordeira

Here we were pleased to find that the Café, which had been closed that previous Wednesday, was now open again with Terry busy behind the bar laying out attractive dishes of fresh salad, boiled eggs and tuna – alas not for us but reserved for another group of walkers. But we obtained sufficient beers and other refreshments and took our lunch under the trees of the village square.

 

 

 

Terry and Java then reappeared, coming downhill into the village, from the west, and they plus Yves lunched on the Café verandah. (This means, Antje, if you happen to read this, that there are at least three viable routes down into the village from the ridge.)

And if any reader is getting confused (as I was at the time) about how Terry could be both going walk-about with his dog and simultaneously be preparing lunch in the Café, Ingrid explains that the name of the pleasant South African girl running the Café also happens to be Terry.

The post-lunch route took us along the flat ground towards the coast, first across a long meadow, then under the welcome shade of the pine grove, and finally along increasingly tiring sandy tracks and over the dunes to the beach, Praia de Bordeira, which  was swarming with energetic people, seemingly all armed with surf boards and rubber-suit fetishists. As we weren´t so equipped, Nick was able to spot us easily among the throng and joined us.

At this stage, I´m sorry to report that party unity broke down a bit –everybody seeming to want to go their own direct way home, some over the rocks, some by a wet or submarine route through the tidal creek. Corbyn, be warned! Concensus and discipline are not birds of a feather. Anyway, those who did follow the leader and his circuitous route got across the creek to the boardwalk dry-footed. 

Not to worry, unanimity was fully restored at the end of the boardwalk when all were of one mind in deciding not to struggle further on the sandy tracks of the Rota Vincentina but to take the easier if boring tarmac road home.

Back at Carrapateira, which was exceptionally busy with surfers and others, we found that the good lady of Café Bravo, in a remarkable demonstration of entrepreneurial get-up-and-go, had indeed got up and gone, and had closed for the day.

No, we are not open for business.

The other cafés meanwhile were open, bustling, and coining it. Among the crowds, we saw to our surprise a trio of WAGS (Rod, Paul and Myriam). Flint-eyed like a panel of judges on MasterChef or Strictly, could it be that they were there to assess our performance? Running an eye over the talent for possible new recruits to their sprinter group? Time will tell. Oh, and by the way, Paul told Yves not to mention the War (I mean, of course, the RWC.)

So, Antje, very sorry you missed what was really your walk; but it´s one that will be well worth your doing again – plenty of scope for variation. We all hope you recover quickly.

The Obligatory Quotes

There go the people. I must follow them, for I am their leader.

                                                         (Alexandre Ledru-Rollin)

And some have Leadership thrust upon them.

                                                          (anon)

Progress might have been all right once, but it´s gone on too long.

                                                          (Ogdon Nash)

                                                                                    (

 

 

AWW 3rd June 2015: Hot Day at Rosario

 

This was the penultimate walk for the season. An early-ish start of 9am was set. Yves had asked for an even earlier start and was graciously given permission to set off at 8.30 am if he wished , a dispensation which in the end he turned down. But, judging by all the red faces and sweaty bodies at the end, perhaps we would have been wiser to have heeded le Français Sagace after all, because by 9 am it was already above 25C and rising!

The Starters

Janet, Terry A,Yves, Marian, Sarah, Miriam, Lynn, Ken, Jan, JohnO, Laura, Ingrid, Maria, David, JohnH (leader).

No dogs.

15 starters in the picture, but only 14 walked. How come? Well, Terry´s car had received a direct gremlin hit. When he got out on arrival, the door locked with the key  – and his dog – still inside. A call for help was made to Jill back home but he couldn´t join us. Shame. No proprietors´ dogs then, but 2 brown corgi sort of things from the Mira Rio Restaurante decided to accompany us. 

The track 

As you will see, an exercise in how to squeeze several circuitous kilometres into a restricted space.

The Statistics:

Distance: 11.6 km, Total time: 3 hrs 30 mins. Moving time: 2 hrs 45 mins.

Av. moving speed: 4.2 kph. Total ascent: 247m.

A gentle hill

We set off along the canal which was full of water moving at quite a current. By special request of Ingrid, we avoided the first challenging hill and strolled through the little village of Vale de Lama, then up a gentle hill and along and over into the valley below Drambuie House, and then down to the shaded Canal Cottage. Here Maria purloined a large piece of pottery from the Cottage grounds, and watered the two dogs.

Purloined pottery put to good use

This spot brought back memories of a walk here (5th January 2011) when the canal was dry, and two lambs got trapped in it, and today´s missing Terry A was at hand to help the owner retrieve her lost sheep. Four pics from the Archive follow.

 

No such drama this time and we travelled peacefully along the canal to the Clube Nautico where we had quite a long pause. The Clube seemed to have had a face lift in the past few months and, although no barmen were evident, we were able to make ourselves at home.

 

 

“Well, fancy that !”

Further on we struggled for a bit over a pathless hill and the leader lost his sense of direction for a moment, blaming it on recent ploughing activity having obliterated the track, but good humour prevailed despite the ever-increasing heat.

Nifty footwork demonstrated by Ken

At the summit, a strong wind dislodged Maria´s bouquet, but Jan was at hand to re-anchor it.

Back down the hill to the Canal Cottage once more where water was provided for the one dog still with us, when the owner of the cottage, a large bearded fellow, emerged to see what was disturbing his peace. He turned out to be a quite friendly Frankfurter, 15 years resident. Jan asked if the Cottage was for sale, Frank said “jah, for the right price” and, as far as I know, negotiations are ongoing. Does Otter approve? Does Otter even know?

We made our way homeward along the canal, some turning off for a few moments at the Ilha Rosario view point where they saw a fisherman with his haul of dourada (golden bream)

Back then to Mira Rio for cool drinks and for some purchases of oranges, lemons and dried figs.

Instead of a closing quotation (pace the Emeritus Chief Blogger) , how about a reprise of the Muppets´ Whiffenpoof Song” of the lost sheep from January 2011?

Click here:- 

https://youtu.be/nwqgR3MV62g

AWW 15th April 2015: Walkers not Wimps, Whatever the Weather

The previous week, the AWWs had come in for a wee bit of friendly badinage from the WAGS when it was learnt that they (the AWWS) had called off their walk, partly because of the weather, whereas they (the WAGS) had gone out through wind and rain on their geriatrical walk. So this week, several brave and determined AWW souls did go forth despite the extremely grim forecast and the equally grim actuality of the early morning weather. JohnH´s phone had begun ringing from early on.

“Surely we won´t be walking in this? You cannot be serious!” “For safety´s sake, let´s cut it short.“ “It´s coming down like stair-rods in Algoz.” “Sorry, I can´t hear what you´re saying, John, because of the thunder!” “ It´s really bucketing here in Covoes.”

But JohnH was either obdurate or optimistic -  to tell the truth, in a sadistic sort of way he was rather looking forward to filing a report about a sodden route march on a par with that soaking wet day 2 of last year´s Trilho Historico – and he insisted that his walk was on: there was to be no wimping out this week.

Extremely disappointing for him, therefore, to have to report that there was scarcely a drop of rain throughout the day – it was perfect walking weather.

The Starters

Whoops, sorry, wrong picture – those were the starters on the same walk led by Terry Ames back in February 2013. Terry, by the way, sent me this message on Tuesday:

“Hope you have a nice walk, I always find that walk to be “Just a good walk”; what more do walkers need?  Walked it with clients 4 weeks ago lots of spring flowers out and orchids.

I will not be with you have the EDP calling to change meter and do other things so they better come or I will not be a happy man, having just finished my 9th Algarve Way on Thursday my feet are still a bit sore.”

Blimey, 9 Algarve Ways !

Let´s start again.

The Starters 15 April 2015

From the right: Yves, Miriam Wood, JohnO, Hazel, Lynn with Harry, Ingrid, David, Janet, special guest re-appearance by Bruce Lygo, Mary Cave and JohnH (the Leader). The two dummies wimped out.

Late arrival: Eileen Dalton had a bit of a lie-in that morning but joined us at Benafim for the second stretch.

This walk followed the Terry Ames´ track of 6th February 2013. First, a casual stroll through Alte to the Fontes Bridge, where we paused for a moral-boosting team photo-shoot. (At this stage I was still expecting a cloud burst.)

Then we took the high-road up the fairly stretching hill into le pittoresque village of Julia –Ingrid solo protesting that there had been no pre-warning about this ascent in the pre-walk publicity. If I had known that she were to be so pernickety about there being consistency between what it says on the tin and what comes out when the tin is opened, I could have given her an easy low-road opt-round.

But, as it happened, when we did pause for a breather on the benches in Julia, it was Ingrid and the rest of the girls who looked as fresh and  as fragrant as daisies on their way to a matinée dance……….

……..and it was the men who showed all the signs of feeling the strain, the poor Old F***s:

Duly rested, the group then headed down and across the valley towards the deserted village of Rocha Amarelo; your scribe recalled that Terry Ames had made two speeches on that stretch, but he was unable to remember what he had told us other than that, in the old days, the Rocha Amarela villagers used to travel 12 km to the Fontes at Alte and back fetching their drinking water. Now all is apparently abandoned, but not entirely so; nearly all the plots of land have newly painted white markers complete with owners´ initials to comply with Loulé Camara´s plans for a digital land register. They remember their roots, these people, and their property rights. 

We then crossed back across the valley floor, passing by the sausage factory at Chouriço Corner and then headed up towards Benafim across country that had, believe you me, been carefully reccéed some 5 weeks earlier by Yves and myself.

And this is where the trouble began. 

First, in the intervening weeks, a crucial landmark had been dismantled and taken away; secondly, some zealous farmers with harrows had been scouring and churning up the land under their carobs and in so doing had obliterated the tracks and paths that I had carefully memorised. And so it was that we had to plough our way through the mato grosso, your disorientated leader trusting more to vague instinct rather than to certainty about where we were going and how on earth we were to get there. David, with his wealth of experience of such situations, was a reassuring presence in this hour of need!

And it really was a case of ploughing our way – the sticky red mud addding extra thickness to our boot soles as we went. And now, Yves  our designated Tail-End Charlie, where had he disappeared to? Contact was lost. Whistles had to be blown. Let him explain in his own words:-

The Back-Marker´s Tale, part 1: Bees and Broken Sticks

“Now, your Honour, we were proceeding in an orderly file along the lack of track or piste when a lot of noise and activity was perceived up ahead: Janet had a bee in her bonnet! Clearly, there is only room for one head in that bonnet so something had to go: the bee or Janet’s head… The bee was a small but pugnacious fighter who refused to concede an inch in that territorial battle (an inch is a lot when you are a bee) but it had met with an equally determined if slightly nervous opponent. There followed much thrashing of arms and other limbs, some shouting, a lot of wing flapping, the sound of twigs snapping and thigh slapping to the accompaniment of shrill shrieking… By sheer happenstance, John O was close by and did not fail to notice the commotion: he charged to the defence of the lady in distress with all the gallantry of a small Irishman, his stick thrusting, flashing and slashing through the air like an older D’Artagnan, missing both bee and Janet by not much, truth be told! The bee was quite a small target compared to Janet, it has to be said, and it was moving quite fast, too… It was obvious that the bee’s comrades may come to join the fray when they heard the fracas so the decision was made to concede that bit of land gracefully and move off to rocks and thorns new; and this was done…quite successfully: the bee had eventually drawn blood!”

And there was more to come:-

“Then there was the loss of John O’s walking stick! As we struggled during the short off-piste section, it became noticeable that John was walking with a very pronounced limp : two feet down on every right step, to be precise. A quick inspection of the trail behind him soon revealed the cause of his predicament:he had lost the lower half of his right stick! It was duly picked up and John was almost righted but no amount of squeezing, pushing, shoving, swearing or invoking the wrath of the Little People could put the stick together again. John battled on manfully to the café where a thorough examination of the confounded item revealed that it was ‘well knackered, man!’. Of course, said stick belongs to Rose who may yet have something to say about it when she returns: wait and see? Unless the staff of the shop whence it was purloined from agree to do something about it… All in all, life at the rump end of the peloton was quite eventful…”

Up front, of course, we could know nothing of these dramatic events. And even more drama was to come. When, somehow or other, instinct had brought us out onto the broad track leading up to Benafim and we could regroup, Janet, quietly and with considerable self-control in the circumstances, asked for a short pause. She didn´t mention the bee episode but divulged that she had just been assaulted by a wild asparagus, in proof of which there was blood streaming down her shin, in quantities Mike Pease would have been proud of.

Was there a doctor at hand? Yes, have no fear, M. le Médecin Sans Frontières races to the rescue again!

 

Unguents, balms and bandages applied, the flow of blood was staunched and relative normality was restored and, close to 1 o´clock, we were able to adjourn for drinks and lunch at Café Ponto do Encontro in Benafim which was where Eileen joined us.

The weather after lunch was if anything even more clement than it had been before, as we ambled through the back lanes of Benafim, pausing to admire the diligence of some dung beetles as they tidied up underfoot, and then made our way down to the river crossing.

where the stepping stones were firm, and all crossed without difficulty.

Bruce, with his customary gallantry, was at hand to assist some of the more hesitant across……….

…… among them Yves who endeavoured to thank Bruce with an effusive Gallic kiss, which luckily both Bruce and the camera managed to avoid.

All would have gone smoothly thereafter, had it not been for the Mysterious Affair of the Lost Pedometer. Let Yves take up the tale once more:-

The Back-Marker´s Tale, part 2: The Pedometer and the Lady who stopped for a Minute

“Lynn asked that we went ahead while she enjoyed a private moment of reflection. As she re-joined, she seemed quite happy with herself but that did not last long: she stopped on the track and patted down her jacket, belt, bag, etc. to look for her pedometer: ‘I must have dropped it there!’ she exclaimed as she raced back down the track… A few minutes later, she panted back up the same track and announced that she could not find it, sadly; that would be €19.99 wasted and it did not work all that well anyway but it would good to know how many calories she had lost… then she paused to catch her breath.

“We walked on a while and as we neared the leading group, there was a joyful cry: ‘Aye oop! I think I’ve found it!’ Indeed, Lin was tugging strongly at the calf elastic of her trousers(?) and she extracted said pedometer from some crevice below her knee. Quite delighted was she, as she found out that it still read something! Then ensued some technical discussion between a few of the ladies, mostly centred on how a device the size of a small oyster but smoother could slip from a high position to a much lower one in feminish garments… I was losing the will to live by then, but the sight and happy sounds of the leading group rekindled some kind of fibre; somehow, I swept them towards the leader. In the meantime, the pedometer had been prodded, opened, closed, sniffed even! And the ladies agreed that they would say nothing about it all; why? The only guess is that the distance measured by the device could not have included the descent down Lynn’s leg; that was almost confirmed at beer-time when the reading from the pedometer was grossly lower than the contradiction of GPS apparatus!

“Still, we had a happy Lynn, reunited with her gadget (incidentally, its light blue colour almost matches that of her eyes) and her faithful companion Harry who ran up and down the track at great speed many times to check that BossLady would still feed him tonight.”

So, after a welcome 10 minute pedometer pause, we resumed and without further excitement made our way back through the Fontes to Alte for some welcome refreshment and relaxation.

Mustn´t forget the Track and the Statistics ………….

The Statistics

Distance: 18.5 km

Total Time: 5 hrs 56 mins

Moving Time: 4 hrs 25 mins

Moving Average: 4.2 kph

Lunch break: 30 mins

Total ascent: 426 metres.

……….nor the obligatory quotation, just to satisfy The Emeritus Blogger-in-Chief:

“Whan that Aprille with his shoures sote

The droghte of Marche hath perced to the rote”  (Chaucer: The Canterbury Tales – Prologue)