Friend Carla often has great stories about what happens in her neighborhood. She is involved in the lives of her fellow villagers because she is an extrovert and therefore gets her energy from contact with people.
For example, she has a dementing neighbor who provides stories
He has lived in the same village, in the same house, for all his life, and the only thing that has changed is that he built a large barn years ago, that his son left home, and that his wife passed away. “He is a lovely man,” says Carla, “always friendly, always laughing, and when I needed to schlepp something heavy around, he always came with his tractor. That didn’t happen very often of course, but he did drag a friend out of the mud with his camper in all kinds of weather, and he didn’t come out of that unscathed himself!”
This time I’m sitting in her kitchen, and slurping my last coffee with whipped cream. It is a festive day, she and her husband have been together for 35 years, and want to continue for at least another 35 years. “But Bob is not here, because he had to go to the hospital with the neighbor,” she says, “he crashed his car.”
“Oh,” I am startled, “Bob? Or the neighbor? Not serious, is it?” She shakes her head: “The neighbor. He kept coming by, and his car looked increasingly rotten. When I went for a walk with the dogs, I would sometimes come across his car. It had gotten stuck in the mud. His son had to come by again to pull it out with the tractor. So this was the last time, the son took the car to the scrapyard. The tailgate had not been closing for a long time, he had driven the bumper off, so you could recognize that banging sound from miles away. Then Bob said: Ah! There comes Senhor Barocco again. Let’s keep an eye on him … ”
They keep an eye on things, because it is now clear that Senhor Barocco is dementing a little
“Sometimes he recognizes me, sometimes he doesn’t. He recently arrived in a car with two ladies, I think he picked them up somewhere, to show us our village. But there’s not much to see here, so those ladies didn’t really understand. I just sort of explained it with a wink, and luckily they understood that he’s not completely lucid anymore.”
“That’s a shame,” I say, because I know Senhor Barocco a little too, “he’s a sweetheart indeed. Can he stay home alone then?” Carla laughs: “His son put him in a home a while ago, but he ran away from there. And yesterday he suddenly came roaring past on his tractor, talking and laughing behind the wheel, and his dog following behind him …. a bit cowboys like: HiHaa! – and a little later the son on the moped, with a grim face …. that was funny enough, but five minutes later senhor Barocco comes roaring back, still laughing and talking on his good old tractor, and with his harrow full of wet grass. That is now all over the road … and then the son on his moped again with an even grimmer face ….”
I can see it in front of me – it is funny but also tragic. What happens to you when you are slowly becoming demented in a sleepy village in the countryside? “He can still take care of himself, but every now and then he just loses his way.” says Carla, “I have now exchanged phone numbers with the son, because he has already run away from the home twice, and they don’t want him there anymore. He is too difficult, not very docile.”
Senhor Barocco is not even that much older than us. It can happen to you, but, says Carla: “Eat healthy, sleep well, little sugar, no alcohol and of course no smoking. Then you have less chance. Furthermore, it is a lottery, you never know, it can happen to anyone. We don’t worry about it, Bob and I. Who knows, you might have a good life in a home.”
A quarter of the population is idoso, old, who are often dumped in a home. These are often private initiatives, who have to meet a list of requirements, and are sometimes helped by the state. If you can afford it – an average of around 1,200 euros per month – your life is not that bad, but the more the state has to help out, the less luxurious and elegant it becomes.
Not much different from anywhere else. “Let’s just leave the dementia for a while,” I suggest, “but I won’t turn down another festive coffee with whipped cream … in spite of the sugar …” Carla laughs.
“You don’t be dementing from whipped cream. It’s just not possible!”
We can completely agree on that.
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We moved here in 2000 from Rotterdam, the Netherlands, 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.
Since 2018 we call ourselves the first B&B&B in the world – Bed & Breakfast & Bathrobes. You can buy a home-made unique bathrobe/housecoat with us.
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