A month ago I moved to a new rental to be closer to the area in which I am now searching for property, and also to extract myself from the unbearable noise at the previous place. I am still in the north of the country, but not as far north as I was before. The new property came through a contact and it is lovely. Brand new, a mix of white-wash and wood, with it’s own garden, situated next door to my landlord who only speaks French and Portuguese. So, as you might imagine, communication is limited and sign language rules.

The move was confounded by an injury to my back, the result of manhandling 20 large plastic boxes of my possessions for the fourth time since selling the ‘mothership’ in the UK, in April. Nonetheless, it was a joy to hear the sound of my soul again (which I describe it as a hum-buzz, a blend of sound and vibration), and let go of the physical tension I had lived with, whilst trying to cope with the severe environmental disruption of the past three months. What a relief. The new place is much better in that regard, though not perfect. There is a dog close by who lets rip from time to time, though he is not persistent as the dogs at the previous place were, nor as high pitched. There is intermittent noise from my rural neighbours, as they tend to their plots and make building improvements. But it’s not excessive. There is road noise but it’s quiet at night and preferable to barking dogs. And there are the chickens and roosters in every garden, though not right outside my back door. The worst, however, are the church bells.

This time, there is a theme tune on the quarter hour, accompanied by chimes on the hour, emanating from a local church with obligatory loud speakers. I say local, but it’s at least a mile away. Hourly bells chime in several other churches too, but it’s background and not intrusive. The 15 minute theme tune could be a deal breaker. I might be able to stick it out for another month (making two in total), especially as it won’t be as noticeable once the weather deteriorates and there is wind and rain. But I have started to contemplate another move which would take me to the precise area of my property search.

When I am at home working, the bells are disruptive to my thinking and unless I close all the doors and windows when I want to meditate, I have just 15 mins. In order not to be stressed by the situation, as soon as I hear the theme tune start up, I ‘tone’ (emit a musical note which resonates with my being), to block it out. This has a positive effect too, in that it’s a quick way to re-balance and it helps to retain a state of peace. At least the church isn’t broadcasting its services, along with community messages this time. I asked about bells when enquiring about the reantal but was told it wasn’t a problem and, on the day I visited, we were inside with the windows and doors closed, so I didn’t notice them. It’s difficult to be as choosy with a rental as you would with a purchase. And noise is relative. If you have been brought up with it, I daresay it isn’t a problem.

There is something else too. I don’t want to be aggravated by the bells so that I become angry about what I believe they really represent. It seems to me they are a tool of entrainment of the people by the church, to constantly remind them of the religious indoctrination and their dependence on an institution for connection to their divinity and to source. If it were simply about telling the time, then chiming on the hour (without a theme tune) would be sufficient, and this would not be overly intrusive. Even so, whilst chiming the hours might have served a purpose a hundred years ago, in today’s world, even in rural Portugal, most country people (including the elderly) wear watches or carry phones and do not need the church to tell them when it’s time to get up, go to work or have lunch!

After arriving at the new rental, I spent a few days getting my bearings, finding out what the local town had to offer and sourcing a supply of organic food. The latter is in scarce supply here. The following week, Portugal caught fire. And I was surrounded. The inferno that developed destroyed 5% of the country, including property, agriculture, animals, eco-systems and lives. It was the worst in living memory for the Portuguese and an experience I hope never to witness again. It was informative nonetheless in underlining the things to avoid when searching for land.

I do not subscribe to the view that the fires were natural and a result of a warming climate. It had not been particularly hot in the two weeks prior to the onset and unusually, many fires occurred in the green north which is generally considered to be low risk. I don’t think it was primarily neglect either. I have been astonished at how diligent the people and the authorities are everywhere I have been, at clearing the ground prior to the fire season. I don’t think it is down to carelessness and accidents. Or random arson attacks. For sure, all of the above are involved though. The density of combustible eucalyptus and pine plantations throughout much of the country is also a factor, the planting of which was incentivised by the government in order to build a paper industry. However, I suspect global nefariousness is also at play, serving various agendas, in a country (and it’s not the only one) where fires are part of life and a raging inferno wouldn’t be beyond the realms of possibility. I can report that I observed wall to wall spraying in the skies, in the run-up to the inferno. But that’s another story. I don’t write about the geo-political research I have been doing for the last 18-20 years in my blogs. There are many excellent independent sources to be found, and I have recommended some in the past.

However, I wrote a daily account of my personal experience during the fires, which you can find in my Substack Notes. (I may only blog monthly, but I write short pieces about what’s happening in my life on a regular basis, which you can follow on Substack, and I make audios of these from time to time which I publish in a series called ‘Insights, Epiphanies & Notes’.) I was on constant alert. On one occasion I called the emergency services at 3 in the morning, when fire appeared on the opposite side of the road to me. For 7-10 days, I was on ‘house arrest’, with all windows and doors closed because of dense smoke outside and only ventured out when necessary.

Obviously, the fires made it difficult to view any properties, as roads were closed and large areas of land were alight. I have a long list of criteria as to what I am looking for and I what I want to avoid, so this limits potential options, in any event. And I try to do as much research as I can (tricky in Portugal, as information is not very forthcoming), so as to avoid wasting time viewing unsuitable properties. So, the sum total of several weeks of work, was just three possible properties. One had noble lineage and wasn’t on the market, but the agent told me it ticked most of my boxes and could well be my dream property. However, it took weeks to get an appointment to view, and it was a disappointment when I finally got there, last week. I broke my rule of doing my own research and getting a location pin prior to viewing. This was because the seller would not agree to pay the agent’s fee. So, he needed a contract with me to pay him if I purchased the property, and this took a while to negotiate. We signed the contract en route to the property, so I did not know the location in advance. As we got close, the area looked good and I was hopeful. However, as soon as we arrived I knew it wasn’t the one. The land was a fraction of the amount it was billed to be. There was a wind farm in full view close by, and a number of properties overlooked it - I don't want someone else’s washing line in my view! All were on my check-list of things to avoid. It had some good points but not enough. It wasn’t the fault of the agent, who had done his best and was helpful in a way that most Portuguese agents are not. He was misinformed by his colleagues and the owner. The ruin that had been a royal residence in the 1800s (apparently, there is a book written about it), was not quite what I expected. It was a step up from living with the animals, who resided on the ground floor. But it would have been extremely basic nonetheless. It did have an internal toilet which probably was a luxury at the time. The boxing with a large wooden seat was still in situ, which covered a hole that dropped into to the pig sty below. Lovely!

The second property was ruled out when the owner decided to double the price! Interesting, as in the UK the price of houses that are on the market, only ever go down. This is not the first time I have encountered a hike in the advertised price in Portugal.

Last but not least, there was (and possibly still is) an absolutely massive farm. Far bigger than I am looking for or need, but from my research and that of the agent and the contact who introduced me to her (both have pulled the stops out for me), it was viable and I was also keen to see this particular area. The drive took nearly three hours. The property is close to the Spanish border in the east of the country. The landscape changed dramatically along the route and it was tragic to see vast areas that had been burned and were now blackened.

The area of the property is not as densely forested. The terrain is rolling, more open, hotter in the summer (but not as hot and arid as the centre, which I visited a while ago) and colder in the winter, with the possibility of frost on a few nights. It has an abundance of olive groves. The property itself backs onto an unspoiled, traditional Portuguese village. It has a range of farm buildings, some of which can be converted into homes and the land is beautiful, with an abundance of water. I arrived before my agent (and the local agent who was showing us the property) and was immediately adopted by some villagers who took me to the one and only shop, so I could use the toilet. Frankly, I would have been happy with a bush but I couldn’t communicate this in Portuguese.

The shop owner (who spoke basic English) provided useful intel’ about the village and the property. The village is dying. There are 38 residents all over the age of 65. The younger generations have left to work in the cities and abroad. The residents are keen for a buyer for this property, which also has noble credentials. The eldest remaining family member (a widow in her late 80s) lives in the village and her wealthy family own most of what is around and have employed the entire village in the past, she told me. I fantasised about bringing the village back to life, employing the people to help me with the land, and harnessing the local ladies’ knowledge of making all imaginable food stuffs, from melon jam to dried meats, and creating a larger market for their produce and that of the Earth Collective. I always thought my project would benefit from a wider community. And there it was. Not only that, food production is entirely organic in the area.

I spent the afternoon walking the land and learning more about the property. It’s a bonus that the land is tended and productive, and not a jungle of neglect like many other properties I had seen. But there were a few negative points to think about too. One was a (smaller than normal) telecoms mast in the village. And I noticed the same in two other small villages that were visible in the distance. I didn’t want to be that close to a mast (given the proven harms). But by the same token, I know I can use a variety of means to mitigate the effects. Second was the fact that the entrance to the property and the agricultural buildings immediately behind this, are in the village just metres away from the church. Once again, the bells ring 4 times an hour. No theme tune but 3 quick chimes for each hour, on the hour. I stayed after the agents had left to rest, eat and soak in the energy of the place. At 4 o’ clock the bells went crazy. They chimed 10 times (3 rings per chime). At 5 past four, they chimed 15 times and at quarter past, more than 20 times. I gave up counting and left in disgust. If the village wanted my economic support, there would have to be a deal in writing with the church to turn off the bells!

I returned ‘home’ to recover from the trip (6 hours driving plus several hours walking in the heat), and to ponder the property. Several days later, I felt I might be interested, so I contacted a fabulous eco-architect I had consulted before, to check if there were any planning restrictions. I had been told by the agent at the outset, that there were none, ie. the property wasn’t in an agricultural or ecological reserve, or a national park, as all can severely limit the amount of land I can build on. So, I was shocked to hear from the architect that, in fact, it was in both types of reserve and had a protective restriction on some of the woodland, to boot. I was gutted. Again, it was not the fault of the agent as her information was provided by her local colleague who was born in the village, had a holiday home there and should have known. I have a video call with the architect tomorrow, after she has spoken to the conservation department to find out if there is any flexibility at all. So, for now, the jury is out.

But even if it’s back to square one, I like the area and may go there for a few days to look around. I might even take the bike.

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Footnotes:

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