I’ve had a tumultuous time recently. On the domestic front, I moved to a new rented apartment a couple of months ago (which I have written about in my Substack ‘Notes’; I also made a video about it called ‘Home sweet home’). It’s a Portuguese ‘urban farm’, located in the suburbs consisting of a large quinta (country house), with vineyards, home grown food and an array of animals owned by an elderly Portuguese couple, whom I adore. I have learned a lot about Portuguese life and culture whilst I have been here, both good and bad. I haven’t talked about the latter, but it’s got to the point that it’s difficult to live with, so I will be packing my boxes shortly.
The noise, oh dear, the noise! I lived in the countryside for many years in the UK, and I am fully aware that it is not as quiet as you would think. But it’s an entirely different thing in Portugal. The property sits in 2 acres of ground (about a hectare) and is surrounded by smaller properties, each with a small patch of land for growing food, keeping a few sheep too in some cases, and homesteading Portuguese style. Clearing the undergrowth is a ‘thing’ in Portugal prior to the fire season but the patches of land are small and do not lend themselves to tractors. So there is continuous strimming all around me, sometimes a discordant ensemble of several buzzing machines, mostly early in the morning and again in the evening, as it’s often too hot to work over the middle of the day.
Then my landlord, bless him, is in perpetual motion at the quinta, doing one project after another. For instance, building a patio at the back of my apartment, and a laundry room just at the front. Sadly, having endured the stone cutting, hammering and banging, I won’t be here to enjoy the benefits. As he doesn’t wear ear protection when using machinery, which he has used all his life, I expect his hearing isn’t that great. Mine, on the other hand, is razor sharp. It has been amplified over the years, as a result of several concussions from riding accidents. More noise (not just on Sunday) comes from the local churches that broadcast services, weddings and announcements to the community via loudspeakers, not to mention church bells that chime on the hour, every hour.
To add to the auditory assault, during July and August, it’s festival time. Events are put on in all nearly every village for the Portuguese expatriates who return home in the summer to visit their families. There is also a two week festival in the town nearby. Fire crackers proclaim the start of proceedings in the morning, usually around 9 am. Dreadful, crooning music plays on a loop all day (which can be heard for miles around) and continues for most of the night, too. There is a 20-30 minute fireworks display around midnight, sometimes as late as 1am, which reaches a climax that sounds like WW3 and afterwards, there is more music. I can just about block it out (unless it has a strong bass beat) by closing all the double-glazed windows and stuffing ear plugs as deep into my ears as I can bear. One morning, I woke at 6am, removed the plugs to have an hour or two more sleep without hearing my bodily functions reverberate around my head, only to find the throbbing music was still going. Beyond breathtaking! There are kids in the house next door that play (I am all for that) and scream (without any reprimand from their parents) until past midnight, most nights, and roosters provide an unwanted alarm call at 5 each morning. Worst of all, are the dogs.
Everyone in rural Portugal has dogs, generally several. They are confined on a chain (I am told that is illegal), or in a cage and many are never let out, or exercised – ever! The ones in cages or kennels are often on leads too. I understand the dogs are used as house alarms. If you are an animal lover as I am, it will break your heart. They bark, scream, whine, whimper, or cry nearly all the time (reaching fever pitch at the full moon, which is today), including those that belong to my landlord. I asked when I came to view the apartment if they had dogs. “Just two” they answered and “they only bark if there is an intruder”. I discovered another 10 living in kennels around the back, adjacent to my apartment as I unpacked my boxes. Obviously, they don’t count as dogs (or at least ‘domestic’ dogs), as they are used for hunting in the spring, and that is the only time they are released from their confinement.
However, it is the smallest canine, a terrier belonging to the woman next door, that causes me the most grief. His bark is so high pitched, it is off the chart. It makes me feel sick. Even shutting all the windows and barricading myself in the most distant room, I can still hear him. My ears hurt most of the time now - I suspect there is some damage to my inner ear or ear drum. It will repair, no doubt, but it has also affected my balance and the nerves of my teeth. I am tough but I have been reduced to tears a couple of times in the last few weeks. I don’t blame the dogs. I broadcast healing to them. The only way they can discharge their pent up energy is through barking.
There is nowhere to escape, no time to sit quietly or meditate (except perhaps for an hour around midday when there is a heat-induced lull). I frequently wear ear plugs to work, or headphones which take the edge off the most shrill noises, just a fraction. As I write now (late afternoon), the fourth or fifth round of fire crackers of the day, are going off. I am not complaining. I don’t do that. I am simply recounting my Portugal experience to you, warts and all. I almost moved out the day I moved in, but I managed to check myself. It would be better to wait until I was clearer about where to look for land, or I could risk moving yet again, and three moves in less than six months would be too much. The high season for holiday rentals is drawing to an end, so longer term rentals are coming onto the market. I am going to see one tomorrow. Fingers crossed….
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Footnotes:
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Onwards and upwards 😊