Portuguese Man o' War

From a distance - whether floating or washed up like this one - these look like discarded bottled water bottles (it gets me every time) until you get up close and find them to be the beautiful but deadly Portuguese Man o' War jellyfish. The inflated bladder floats above the surface of the sea and they are carried along by the wind, hence the nautical name.

OK, they're not "deadly" but I believe they're pretty blooming stingy. It's never happened to me yet but if it's anything like these big reddish-brown ones you get in Scotland which come up on anchor chains (esp nasty if a gobbet of it pings you in the face) - same with pulling up creels I expect - then I'm going to be giving POMW's a wide berth.

Cabriolet

The flatback truck is the vehicle of choice for many on this island. These range from that ubiquitous workhouse, the Toyota Hilux to ... err ... ones bigger than Hiluxes but I'm afraid I don't know the names of any other FBTs. "Canter" is one. It may be a Mitsubishi - or is that the "Fuso"? I don't know...

But I digress because the point of this post is to draw attention to how the FBT can be adapted to the carriage of one's staff as well as one's stuff. Thus, the following example which I dubbed the Toyota Hilux Cabriolet:-

Note the exquiste coach work hand crafted from pallets and plastic sheeting.

Now in case anyone thinks I'm taking the mick (moi?), absolutely not because this Toyota belongs to my neighbour Vitor who's a very handy guy and who, if he's got a job on in a neighbouring village and it's been a bit rainy of late, would think nothing of knocking this up to keep the chaps dry en route. (More to the point, he probably got one of the chaps to knock it up for him - and if that's not good management, I don't know what is).

The reason I'm so impressed is that I'm a soft handed townie who can barely change a lightbulb so converting a Hilux to a cabriolet looks to me like one of these TV show challenges or executive weekends where you get a couple of pallets, a roll of plastic sheeting and off you go. I'm sure my attempt would wobble ignominiously to a collapse as the Hilux took it's first corner. So if I ever achieved a Hilux cabriolet of such sturdyness (is that a word?), I would want to preserve it for ever but what does Vitor do? He calmly dismantles it when the rainy spell finishes ... I was like that!

Abel Tasman

There are certain events which are milestones each year, for example, the first cagarro of the year (February) and the first tourist (early April). Well yesterday was the first yacht of 2009

A big Dutch schooner (due to foremast being shorter than aft mast - other way round and it would be a ketch or a yawl depending on the relative position of the rudder post) of about 55-60 feet (17-18m) called Abel Tasman, the Dutch explorer of the South Seas after whom Tasmania is named. And, indeed, the Tasman Sea although I'd need to get an atlas out to remind myself exactly where that is - is it the bit between New Zealand and Australia? Might want to go 50/50 on that and if the computer didn't take away the bit between Oz and whatever it is that's north of Oz - New Guinea? - I'd be phoning a friend (you know who you are). But I digress because having a Dutch yacht called Abel Tasman is a bit like having a British yacht called the Captain Cook. And that in turn is bit like having a car registered your initials 1.

Being a something of a nautical cove myself, I can tell you Fajã Grande is not a safe anchorage and only ever tenable in the calmest of weather as we've been having for the last few days. The slighest hint of a blow and you have to clear well out to sea. After all, these jaggy rocks in the foreground could make a right mess of your topsides ...

House Numbers

I'd promised a couple of posts back to tell you all about how they're putting house numbers up in Fajã Grande so here goes:-

They're putting up house numbers in Fajã Grande ...

... and in case you're thinking this is like the moment in Blackadder where Sir Walter Raleigh says to the Queen "Perhaps, Ma'am, I could entertain you with the tale of the time I fell into the water and was almost eaten by a hammerhead shark?" and with Her Majesty's assent proceeds "Well, ma'am, I fell into the water and was almost eaten by a hammerhead shark", there is actually more - but not a lot - to be said on the house numbering saga.

I'm not sure who is carrying out the house numbering initiative but, whoever "they" are, they've chosen discreetly classy uniform brass numbers which are being applied to all houses. Here is Number 7, Rua Senador André de Freitas (you've got to look closely, it's to the right of the door but a bit squint I think):-

Now I can tell you for a fact that José António Ramos Teodósio has been successfully receiving parcels addressed simply to "JART Flores" for as long as - well - as long as he's been old enough to receive parcels. Indeed I myself have received a letter (from the Inland Revenue, inevitably) addressed simply to "Mr N King, Main Street, Flores". That's the sort of place this island is. Someone told me that the usual postie knows where everyone lives but, when he's on holiday, the relief postie struggles a bit and will appreciate the house numbers - but I'm reasonably certain that person was pulling my plonker.

Anyway, the main street, Rua Senador André de Freitas, has been all "numbered up" as has Rua da Tronqueira - which until the recent orgy of putting up the street names (see posts passim) we just called "the street where José Grande lives" and the house at the end of which bears the highest number yet seen, 43 - but there the numbers run out. In particular, they haven't yet started on our street:-

We've counted up the road and reckon we're going to be in the high twenties RdA - the uncertainty is whether some houses down little side caminhos (lanes) will count as being on RdA itself. I'm also slightly gutted to find that it's spelt AssOmada as I had always believed it was AssUmada - although you do see it spelt with a "U" as well. So I'm not sending out any change of address cards yet.

Actually, I think it's great the way they just get on and do things round here. If Fajã Grande was in Scotland where I come from, it would undoubtedly be a conservation village which would mean not a single house number could be put up until the Planning Commitee had received reports from Historic Scotland and Scottish Natural Heritage (who of course would need to consult with their statutory consultees) and a risk assessment had been commissioned from the Health & Safety Exectuve and ... ... ... (yawn, snore) Here, they just send a couple of geezers with a wheel barrow to get on with it.

World Tour

A batch of printer ink which has seen the sights of Puerto Rico and Brazil on its 6 week odyssey to the Azores from Manchester.

This is not the first time this has happened. Because I initially believed the name of the street we were going to be living on was Canada Assomada (as opposed to its actual name Rua da Assomada), that was the forwarding address I gave my pension company. Do to the fact that AXA's computer slightly cocked up that already cocked up address, and compounded by the precise size of windows in the envelopes employed by AXA, what the postie sees is "Neil King, Canada Assomada, Faja Grande, Ilha das Flores, Canada". So my annual pension statements do the rounds of a country located to the north of the USA before someone (probably in Thunder Bay, Yukon Territory or similar) tears a nick in the envelope below the window to reveal the magic word "Portugal".

Incidentally, I don't know why AXA bother sending me these reams of paper round the world when they could equally well send me a text saying "You're going to get stuff all."

Useful links

I gather it's good manners in blog-land to add a link to one's favourite blogs so these are mine:-

Life at the end of the Road - crofting and car ferry maintenance on a Scottish island

Le Moulin - watermill restoration in France with a culinary twist.

Enjoy.

Espirito Santo

Espirito Santo - Holy Spirit (or Holy Ghost?) is difficult to explain but I'll try.

It's sort of the Church of Rome meets the Masons. Every village in the Azores has one or more imperios which look like churches but are actually meeting houses of brotherhoods of the Holy Spirit. Each imperio has its day a year for its brethren to march up the street with flags and carrying a crown (you can see the flags in this pic but the crown had already gone past). Someone's also banging a drum and there's chanting.

In a big town a Espirito Santo march is a traffic stopping major league event but here in Faja Grande, it's fairly low key and note how it doesn't prevent the march past pausing to have a chat with guys loading a cow into a truck.

Other aspects of Espirito Santo are that the imperio has a party night in the evening mostly involving playing bingo (of all the ungodly activities) and portions of freshly slaughtered beef are distributed to all houses in the village.

Apologies in advance if I've not explained this properly and/or caused any unintentional offence by wrongly describing it due to my ignorance.