And so it came to Saturday…
Today was just another normal day: a bit of writing, a bit of walking, a bit of writing, and then…
And then? There was a knock on the door.
I’d been round to my mate’s house earlier. He’d lent Vitor (my builder) some tools, and had messaged me, asking whether Vitor had finished with them. If so, could I get them back to him?
I had no trouble with this at all and had been round to his house to say that I would be seeing Vitor on Monday, and would it be OK if I brought his tools back then.
He’d said: “No problem!”
When I’d gone to his house, he’d also told me that Pedro had been there to sort out the air conditioning and that Pedro had said that he would call me later.
Pedro? My plumber? The best fisherman in the Eastern Algarve? The man who used to run his own restaurant? The man who now works at maintaining buses? The man who also does air conditioning? The man who…
What does it matter? He can do everything can Pedro! Apart from answer his phone…
So now I was back home, and as I said, there was a knock on the door.
“Who the bloody hell is that?” I thought as I pulled myself off the sofa, really hoping that my back wouldn’t go. It’s been twinging quite a lot recently.
And there at the door was Pedro! He hadn’t phoned me! He’d simply turned up on my doorstep!
But this was good news: he was there, and he had someone with him:
“This is Jorges, my Chefe!”
Chief is what they call the boss in Portugal, and the spelling? Well, that’s how I’ve seen it spelt, but who knows…
Anyway, I ushered them in.
There was no social distancing here:
Pedro, stuck his hand out – I shook it.
Jorges stuck his hand out – I shook it.
I’m not sure how I felt about this, apart from the fact that it was really nice to have formal contact again, especially when you consider that to date, there have only been 11 deaths in the whole of the Algarve.
In the context of the moment, the risk is minimal. In the global context? Who knows…
Anyway, Pedro and Jorges entered the house.
Pedro’s first words were: “Do you have any beer?”
Pedro speaks good English. Also, I know Pedro, so yes. I have beer.
“Of course!” I answered
I open a bottle for each of them, and watch as they get to it.
So why were they here?
Well, my kitchen tap hadn’t been screwed in properly, the dishwasher hadn’t been plumbed in, the drain hadn’t been capped off, the upstairs toilet was leaking, as was the shower screen, and the shower wasn’t draining away properly. Apart from that, all was good.
So Pedro and Jorges set to work – on the water heater.
Eh?
That was working fine – or so I thought.
When looking at the tap, Jorges had run the hot water. He’d said something to Pedro – about it being too hot apparently. He’d then asked Pedro if he’d adjusted the thermostat when he’d installed the heater.
“What thermostat?” I think was the answer.
Pedro is still learning it seems.
I got them each another beer and Jorges started dismantling the water heater, showing Pedro what he should have done. Maybe I should have had Jorges do the plumbing!
So now, the tap had been sorted and the thermostat set to a reasonable temperature, but they couldn’t do the dishwasher or cap the drain, since they didn’t have the parts.
We headed upstairs.
They sorted the leaking toilet, with Jorges explaining where Pedro had gone wrong, but they could do nothing about the shower. They didn’t have the right tools.
But at least the tap, the leaking toilet and the thermostat were all good now.
We headed back downstairs and I pulled two more beers from the fridge.
We then stood there chatting.
Pedro and Jorges reminisced about past jobs.
With Jorges speaking Portuguese, Pedro translated for my benefit. I like Pedro – he always includes me.
They spoke of the multi-million pound houses they’d worked on, with intricately carved cornicing, multi-coloured marble, furniture you wouldn’t believe.
One house they spoke of had a massive sinkhole or blowhole in the garden apparently. It went all the way down to the sea and you could fish in it. At least, that’s what I understood anyway.
They spoke of working on a big hotel complex for 36 hours straight. Jorges had been so tired that he’d fallen asleep under the urinals in the toilet, and when Pedro shook him awake, Jorges woke with a jolt and his first words were: “no leaks under here!” He’d thought he could get away with the fact that he’d been checking for leaks rather than sleeping.
They both found that story VERY funny and were rolling around laughing.
Was it that funny or were they now drunk?
After a couple more beers – yes, I’d been drunk out of house and home for the second day running – Pedro and Jorges decided that they had to go.
“I come back Tuesday, Mr David. You like cuttlefish?”
Not sure really. Why’s he asking?
“I come back Tuesday, finish the job and cook lunch! I’ll bring the food. You buy beers!”
Here we go…
But it’s a plan. I’ll have all my plumbing jobs done and have lunch thrown in as well.
I know from experience that Pedro is a great cook. When he owned his restaurant on Armona (where I first met him) he cooked a lovely Octopus for Sue and I. When I’d asked him if he’d got it from the market in Olhao, he’d looked at me like I was mad.
“No! I swim under the jetty and catch it this morning!”
Talk about ‘Hunter/Gatherer’! Pedro really is multi-talented.
Anyway, it sounds like I’ll be eating cuttlefish on Tuesday. Pedro told me that he has a really big one ready to eat!
I saw them to the front door.
Outside was an old banger of a car.
Pedro used to have a lovely silver estate car – a Volkswagen I think? He’d been very proud of his car. So where was it?
“I had to sell it. I needed the money. No work at the moment.”
Because of the virus, Pedro had had to sell his pride and joy. He’d told me that he’d worked for months on the local dredgers to pay for that car (until the dredger had taken on too much sand and capsized apparently – oh well).
But in the current climate, the car had been the first thing to go. The reality of the situation had hit home.
This virus really is impacting on people’s lives.
But to be fair, Pedro seems fairly stoic about the whole situation. ‘It’s just one of those things’ seems to be his attitude.
He’d had to sell his car, and he now had an old banger, but at least he had a car. He also had money and could put food on the table.
Deep down I suppose that’s all that matters.
Anyway, I’ll see him on Tuesday (hopefully) and hear more tales of his colourful life.
If you want to read more about my experiences during the Coronavirus lockdown of 2020, click on the logo below – this will take you to viralchitchat.com
