“That contractor doesn’t know what to do anymore either,” says amiga J., who is telling me a wonderful story about her Ukrainian-Russian neighbour Maria over coffee. Maria is struggling with her Portuguese contractor, who according to him “has done everything possible”.
Foreign approach to Portuguese architecture
Maria wanted a roof window. Absolutely. Now. Can’t live without it anymore. “It’s autumn, wouldn’t it be better to wait until spring?” an acquaintance cautiously suggests, but no. It has to happen now, because if she can’t look at the stars in her bed, life is worthless.
Of course, Maria didn’t say all that – I don’t even know her well, but it is my interpretation of the Eastern European passion, and a nice build-up to the coming drama. And it is also quite comforting to me, because last year I absolutely wanted to remove a piece of roof, flatten it, get rid of that rotten point, and it has to happen now, otherwise life has no meaning anymore.
(Dutch people can also have some of that Eastern European passion, you know.)
We don’t know Portuguese architecture, contractors, circumstances that well yet
Stupidest decision ever, I know now after one winter. So I can sympathize with her adventures, which I hear from amiga J. – mutual friend, and support & confidant of many residents in the area.
“What is she supposed to do now?” asks J., and absently takes another sip from her empty cup, “I spoke to her on the phone yesterday, she was in tears, it’s leaking, and no one can do anything. Apparently. They’ve already smeared everything with silicone, but it’s still leaking.”
“Oh gosh,” I sigh sympathetically, “so no stargazing, but emptying buckets. That is a confrontation with the harsh reality.” “Yes, and the contractor now wants her to sign a statement that this is the last thing he does, and that it is beyond his responsibility.”
“What?” I am astonished, “How can you get something leak-free in this wet time of year?? The humidity alone, and then all that rain on top of that. There is no product in the world, as far as I know, that sticks and dries in such conditions. And that always has to be done with some kind of lubricant.”
What would I do if I were Maria?
My Dutch stubbornness makes itself heard in the form of a smug little voice: “But I would never have done that ….” “Oh no?” the bully voice of my conscience answers: “And what about your roof flattening, and your condensation, and your moldy ceiling because of it? That roof point is gone, yes, but have I made my point now?”
Yeah, yeah, the foreign approach to Portuguese architecture is not always the smartest
Good. Point made.
“I would buy a large piece of plastic,” I say firmly, “at the Cooperativa in Soure, for example, and then place it generously over that skylight, and secure it really well with stones and beams and such. And then only in the spring see what you can really do about it. That contractor is not right in the head for wanting to do that now. Not a good idea, I’d say.”
This idea works well. The execution goes as follows. Last week, a week full of wind and rain, those two brave women went up onto the roof with a ladder. Armed with a huge piece of plastic measuring 6 by 6 metres, and some stones. It turned out to be very difficult to get that huge piece of plastic flat on that roof in the strong wind, so they were struggling quite a bit.
Then they heard a loud bang.
The ladder had fallen over, and there they were on that roof. A threatening black sky came blowing in – of course at that very moment – and the skylight was of course firmly closed. Fortunately, the neighbor was standing in front of the window. Amiga J. waved: “What is helphelp again in Portuguese?”
She must have waved too friendly, because the neighbor waved back cheerfully and was going to leave. “Seguro! Seguro!” J. shouted, laughing desperately, and luckily that was understood, despite her shouting “Insurance! Insurance!”.
Neighbor understood that it had to be “Socorro!”, and came over to put the heavy ladder upright again in the rising wind.
In the meantime I am leaking too. From my eyes. From laughing so hard.
Thank God that more people make stupid decisions. I am not the only one.
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We moved here in 2000 from Rotterdam, Holland to the Termas-da-Azenha, Portugal.
A big step, especially with two small children.
We are busy to rebuild one of portugals cultural heirlooms: Termas-da-Azenha, an old spa which has been turned into several holiday houses, rooms and a campsite.
You’ll find mosaics and paintings everywhere.
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