A month in Vida Pura.
Pure Life, proper like.

Accepting, selfless, inspiring, calm, beautiful, happy, free people. And in a month I spent just 8 euros (on a crate of Sagres).
One of the hardest places I've ever had to leave.

Thank fuck our fambly home will be, in one sense or another, just around the corner, in the not-too-distant future.


Get a copy of this book,
really.
Some more of Daniel's wonderful photos.

Never ending chicken families.





Goodbye tits&arse.





made a 'lounging lizard' for Robyn in the almost finished apartment.




Another one of Thais hilarious English speaking surprises… While her and me are walking along the beach to find her a piss spot because she refuses to go in the "TOO FUCKING COLD water"….
"oh, 'olly, i got question… what you say if boy, ask you, 'put your fingers in my bum'…..?"

Which results in, "If you like fingers, tell me… I cut my nails.."
 
Here is Thais and her English speaking.


On Sunday Ole and Bella take us inland to hidden rock pools. Miles cross-country in the back of the pick-up, Ole driving, hammering his hand on the horn a mili-second before charging through a pot-hole/ low-hanging branches. To a tranquil paradise, swimming upstream in the gauges, huge cliff-faces either side, waterfalls, water-lilies, lagoons and mer-people.


What was supposed to be Ole coming down to the workaway house for a couple of goodbye medronha shots turns a full medronha bottle into a big empty one, Robyn arriving with two bottles of champagne + hash, Thais rapping in Brazilian, weird musical improvising reaching it's weirdest peak, Robyn convinced he's having a vision, and us all dancing around and around and around the kitchen table until some hour.

Some fab photos from Daniel.








Team Brazil is split up as Gustavo mysteriously departs for Italy, leaving Thais, who speaks verrrrry little English, apart from when she suddenly comes out with 'Hollyyy I don't remember NUUUTTING and I wake up in morneeeng and my fuckeen arse hole it fucken HURRTS' and other things that make me die laughing. But communication works in strange ways, we laugh a lot. She is teaching me how to sing 'three little birds' by Bob Marley in Brazilian Portugese, and I'm teaching her how to say 'you stupid shitting boy cunt BOY crusty wan shaft tit bags I couldn't give a flying FUUUUUCK' in English, along with all other important phrases.

Sometimes in the evening we climb up the hill behind the farm, up the ladder to the platform on top of the white cube water tower. For yoga + sunset + the view + swallows + the bats.

Our last beachy weekend together, Jack has a bath in a cow trough, Thais and I consistently win at hitch-hiking, so many thanks to the kind people who save us the 4km walk, thrown around by 6ft waves, dreadlock from Brendan (sorry mum), Thais pisses on the sand, octopus salad and Sagres at the beach bar before a night in Odeceixe and a lot of crazy juice medronha. At some point everyone is lost and I'm having a dance-off with a huge Brazilian man who's favourite move is rubbing the top of his bald head on my stomach.

We have a new arrival, Daniel, WALES WOOOO. He asks how to say 'you have beautiful eyes' in Portugese and naturally (oblivious to him) we instead teach 'your cocks are really pretty'. He excitedly shouts it around the bar practicing his pronunciation.

Ai buseta velha.
ARRGHH OLD PUSSY.


Sean with Elvis and Katie and Mercedez.


Swimming river swimming.

German Paul and Ole.


Jack is burnt.









Vida Pura, you see that castle? Don't go there... Never go there... A song about yellow t-shirt'ed Jack.
The stream that pumps water for the garden irrigation system dries up and apparently it wont rain here again until October. = Water Emergency.
Males coordinate transporting the pump to the main river, adjusting valves and pipes and complicated pressure gradients. Thais and I lug 100 5L plastic bottles to the river to fill up with river water, get ourselves stuck in sinking mud and pull each other arse-first into the river, and we're chased away by huge birds with faces like manky cunts, cocking their heads and breathing fire.

Tom drove Brendan, Sean and I along the coast in his yellow camper for a sunset game of frisbee on a different, equally beautiful, equally deserted beach. I don't know who taught me to throw a frisbee but somehow I can do it, I'm a frickin expert..
I also don't know where all the people are or why this coast is so un-inhabited by humans, but it's brilliant.

Spent a hot afternoon fighting with a hundred metres of very heavy and thick hose piping upstairs watering the fruit trees on 'burger hill' (everyone everything fries like a big-mac). Unknown cunt puts it's venom in my thumb. More painful than tattoo, more painful than breaking my leg, I swear.
Continue lizard sculpting, the Portugese builders continue popping their heads around the door to check progress, encouraging nods and 'muito bonito's. 
They weren't checking up when I was experimenting with the best way to smash wine and beer bottles into tiny little mosaic pieces. Throw a hammer at a pile of bottles then duck behind a wall, a flying piece of glass beats me to it and hits me on the eyebrow. Give myself a talking to.
We have also: dug up evil deep-rooted carpet grass with blisters and a pick-axe, carrot seeds sewn, tomato plants tamed, the foundations of a new raised compost toilet begun, burger hill is strimmed, doors are built on the recycling bins to stop the feral demonics, relentless African Tea is pulled up from around the vegetable beds, raspberries and beans and peas and courgettes and cucumbers and strawberries and beetroot are harvested, baby ducks are introduced to their newly built floating mansion..

On the weekend a nearby town, San Miguel, has it's annual street festival. Ole tells us that if we want to go we should go along with him or we'll get beaten up. What he really means is that it's a festival organised by the locals for each other, everybody chips in so that food on the evening is free and medronho (a spirit made from berries grown in the valley) is cheap. He introduces us to some smiling faces and we're accepted into the party. Streets are decorated, singing accordion playing man, traditional dancing in pairs around a square. Pick up a plate and take it to the man gulping medronho and waving a meat-cleaver, who loads you up with raw meat for you take away to cook on one of the huge iron oil-drum fires. Feel sick at the mounds of MEAT but he's too happy to say no to. Follow the sound of whistling to a man grinning and dangling a cooked sausage in the air, waggling it at my face. I guess this means come here and eat this cooked sausage, so I do..

Moneys are exchanged for tokens that are exchanged for medronho shots. Un-labelled glass bottles are pulled out from cupboards under tables, apparently the alcohol content of home-made medronho exceeds the legal allowance. Laugh a lot, dancing with an old indian chief and a dog. Cross-country stumbling route home with a little flash-light, too many rivers to cross and too many right turns left turns, electric fences, paths through corn fields, pot-hole tracks to navigate, a 20 minute walk takes us almost 2 hours. WHERE IS LAMP-POST CORNER. Thais and Gustavo get left behind somewhere and have a 1am power-nap on the side of the road. Until they're woken by the sound of falling piss.

Kut met peren.
Cunt with pear. (Dutch).





Sean's musical improvising... and the return of a confused Frenchman.

Veggie fruity garden

Dirty pirates







Dirty Pimps and Whores



Robyn & Ole



 



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