This has been the theme of late. A few weeks ago, I was doing a video call in my office when I smelled something unpleasant wafting through the house. I ran around closing all the windows, only to find (once I got to the living room), that a huge lorry had dumped a load of tarmac just a few feet from my house, in the village square. Toxic fumes and dust billowed in my direction from the pile. Meanwhile, a tractor was shovelling the horrible black stuff into a trailer to transport it to other parts of the village, creating more fumes and dust. In the distance, a procession of heavy machinery was approaching the square.

The previous day, a neighbour had mentioned that the village was about to have some road works. But there was no official notice from the municipality and it was difficult to determine exactly when they would start. Crazy, as the streets are tiny and accessing the village would be an issue for residents who worked away from the village each day and others who had hospital appointments in the local town, also the farmers (most of the villagers double as farmers) who were in the middle of harvesting almonds and vegetables and needed to get to their fields.

Within minutes, my home had been violated with with the toxic fumes and noxious smell. Then, as the work began in earnest, I might as well have been on a building site given the noise, including the piercing sound of reversing bleepers. My house shook in synch with the thunderous work going on outside. And crockery rattled in the kitchen cupboard. It was an assault on my senses. I was coughing, my eyes were sore and my head hurt. Completely forgetting about the person waiting for me to return to the video call, I dashed outside phone in hand, to translate my angst into Portuguese, for the site engineer.

I implored him not to dump the tarmac next to my house. There was a clearing further up the road with no houses nearby, a mere 100 metres away. Surely he could use that? I explained it was already affecting my health. He was unsympathetic. He told me that the work, initially a small job, had just been extended by the President of the municipality, to the entire village and would take two weeks. The lack of planning seemed incredible to me. How could it be? And how would I survive two weeks of this hell? I have since discovered that road repairs prior to local elections (which are forthcoming) garner favour and votes, and is ‘a thing’ in Portugal.

The unwillingness to show even the slightest consideration to me was unacceptable. I got in my car and drove to the municipality offices in the local town. A month ago, I met the President to present the Earth Collective project and engage his help in finding suitable land. I met him again more recently, when the village was under threat of fire (my previous blog) and he came to tell the people to stay calm. He was not at his office, so I spoke to his secretary who understood my distress and immediately phoned the engineer, instructing him not to dump any more tarmac by my house. I hugged her in gratitude and shed some tears of relief.

My relief, however, was short-lived. When I got home, another load was being dumped. And this continued day in, day out for a week, until they finally located the pile elsewhere so they could tarmac the road on both sides of my house. I messaged the engineer to protest on numerous occasions. Eventually, he responded saying he did not receive a call, yet I was present when the secretary spoke to him! I also attempted to contact the secretary who told me to call her if there were any further issues. She didn’t answered her phone and did not respond to my messages.

The situation was unbearable. I couldn’t open any windows, not even at night as the smell of the newly tarmaced roads was omnipresent. I struggled to use my kitchen as the wretched odour crept up from the basement into the kitchen. It wasn’t only my health that was affected, it was also my sleep. And my liberty too. My daily walk was out of bounds, and I couldn’t access my garage, so the car was parked on the outskirts of the village. This meant scrambling through the undergrowth in a nearby field and climbing over a wall to get to it, repeating this bush-bashing exercise, laden with food shopping, on my return. Incredulous! Even now, several weeks later, the road still smells when the sun is on it. To add insult to injury, for the duration of the road works, loud machinery noise also came from the barn next door for 2-3 hours a day, whilst almonds, newly harvested from my neighbour’s field were shelled. The whole situation took me to my limit. Plus some.

As I type, I am in central Portugal for two days. I have had to vacate my house. The assault on my senses continues, but this time from a different source. Ten days ago, a lorry arrived in the village with an extending arm for high rise work. I saw it in the square. Too late! What looked like Xmas lights had already been connected from the other side of the street to my house, peering in through my living room window. I was incensed. No-one had asked my permission. This was trespass! I ran outside to tell the workmen as much, and to ask them to remove the lights at once. They reluctantly agreed.

A short while later, there was a knock on the door. The village patriarch arrived to inform me that the lights were for the Friday to Sunday village party the weekend after next, and he wanted them to remain where there were, at the entrance to the village square. I objected and was going to hold my ground but whilst he was speaking, I noticed that four large audio speakers had been attached to the community building directly opposite. I asked what went on during the ‘Festa’ weekend? Apparently, it was a celebration of St Miguel (a good excuse to party), with piped music, grilled street food (being cooked outside my front door, literally) and live bands playing in the square in front of my house. In addition, my neighbour at the rear was having a party for 100 plus guests. I had already lived through one of he parties shortly after moving in, when her grand-daughter was confirmed. Noise for three days straight, another nightmare!

“When did the lights come on and the music start”, I asked? “Today,” was the reply (a week before the party)! I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My mind raced to assess the situation. I didn’t want to spoil their fun but as I was closest to the speakers and the lights would shine directly into my living room, something had to be done. So, I put forward a proposal. The lights could remain (I would have to close the shutters and sacrifice the amazing sunset views for a week), as long as the music did not start until the party weekend. The patriarch agreed. Nonetheless, I knew I would not be able to remain in situ for the party. I would be surrounded by music and crowds (the latter growing louder as they became more intoxicated) from morning until night, Friday to Sunday. There was no choice but to vacate. However, I could not take Nina (my beloved feline). It would be too stressful for her to travel and be kept inside a strange house, for several days. I would have to leave her with plenty of food and hope she found somewhere peaceful away from the village, during the worst of it. Fingers crossed (given her penchant for going walkabout), that she will be there when I get back. I will find out tomorrow.

In between the madness, the search for land for the Earth Collective project continued. I have now hand delivered 150 leaflets to village cafes in the region, and become accustomed to the leery looks of elderly men as an ‘alien’ woman enters their cafe (in practise, a second home) baring more skin than they are accustomed to seeing. Normal summer attire for me is shorts and a vest, though rural woman in Portugal are a little more prudish. While I don’t have any concrete leads yet, my knowledge of the area is quite extensive, which is useful.

These tests have exercised my patience. In a way, I feel they are a microcosm of the broader global macrocosm. But I believe I am on the right path, and acknowledge that even recent disruptions in my home space are educational. I am learning about the people and the culture of the region, the topography, the agriculture and more besides. It’s progress of a type, though not quite what I had hoped for at this stage. In time though, I am sure I will look back and see that everything happened in the right order and was divinely orchestrated. Maybe the outcome will be even better than expected, because of the twists and turns. After all, we don’t know what we don’t know.

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