Seen from the road, the hills of the Algarve appear static and create an illusion of permanence. It is the same between seasons, the same in the timid humble dwellings and the same even in the wounds left by the fires. But those who have walked through these hills year after year to pick the now forbidden fruit know that this is only an illusion seen from afar. It is true that the hills are still firmly in place and continue to look at the world from above. What has changed is not their relationship with people but people’s relationship with the hills.
 
These words were written seven years ago in a report published in the Expresso newspaper’s supplement with photographs taken by João Mariano between 1997 and 1999 now belong to times gone by. Stone by stone, the medronho distilleries are falling into a state of disrepair set among cork oaks, strawberry trees, heather, sargasso and stilts. Those who kept them going thanks to their strong will and heated discussions have little by little say goodbye to this world and there are very few candidates willing to take their places. As if this were not enough the heavy hand of the Law has moved in.
 
In places where everyone is on first name terms, the action carried out by the Food and Economic Safety Authority has had devastating psychological effects. People who have lived their whole lives from farming, shepherding, fishing and the production of medronho firewater were intimidated and demoralised when their homes were surrounded by the GNR Security Forces as happened in Monchique. They were given fines for something they had always done. After this many people stopped going to the mountains in search of medronhos.
 
To justify these acts, the authorities allege the need to control an activity which, even though it only brings in very little, is still profitable. No one disagrees. What is more difficult to accept is that legislation is willing to destroy even if the price to pay for it is to lose a product that is produced nowhere else in the world. In terms of legislation the distilling of any kind of aguardente, including that made from medronhos or strawberry berrie is considered a Type 4 industry, a classification which establishes requirements such as electric power, thermal power and number of workers.
 
The Law requires that a farmer who has picked medronhos on the Algarve hills all his life – in some cases paying the owner of the land in kind (aguardente) – and fermented and distilled the fruit in a room adjacent to his home submits to his local council «a project to install or alter an industrial establishment». This Project should contain information such as the labour regime, or in other words, whether there is a single working day or shifts, and number of workers. As to the premises themselves, the Law requires that there is minimum headroom of 3 meters (which in the Algarve is in total contrast with local architecture itself), an independent lavatory with a door opening outwards, a urinal, a wash hand basin and ceilings painted a light colour. At a time when people talk so much about vocational training perhaps it would be preferable to begin by showing these small producers how they could take full advantage of a traditional rural activity – and transform it into what in some countries is called a "cottage industry" - instead of reducing the matter to a question of sanitation.
 
It is not only the abandonment of a traditional activity that causes some sadness. It is also sad to see the forest taking over everything and serving as pasture for summer fires. In order to pick medronhos it is essential that the forest be cleared. If not there is no way to get to the fruit. And to stoke the boiler where it is distilled one needs firewood. But if you don’t pick the fruit you aren’t going to clear the hills where it grows.
 
If only the French had a fruity eau de vie like the one that comes from the Algarve hills…
 
The water from the strawberry tree
Teresa Resende
 
Hidden away at crossroads or out in the open, the aguardente de medronho distilleries (fire water produced from berries from the medronheiro - strawberry tree) form the livelihood of many Algarvians. The berries are picked in October, and in December the fruit is "squeezed".
 
Cold breezes still accompany the nights when the rituals of distilling aguardente de medronho begin at Tóino’s place, a site only known to those who are privy to the secrets of the brew. The still stood inside the shed, it was difficult to make things out it was so dark, but the freezing wind needed no light to push its way through the narrowest of cracks. The cold can break the bonés of even the bravest. it was probably so cold because the day before "curdled water" fell from the skies, "curdled water" being the name give to hailstones in the Algarve. Tóino, a 72 year old farm worker, rolled up his sleeves, as if he wanted to take on nature itself. He really just did it not to dirty himself, so as he could put his arms in the pot all the way up to his elbows and take out the 100 or so kilos of medronho dregs which were distilled hours before. He has been busy at this work since the end of December and will continue to be throughout the whole winter. He sometimes even works 14 hours a day in this permissive underground neighbourhood.
 
Just like his distillery there are dozens of others spread out between the western coast and the hills of the Algarve. Aljezur has one of the most popular stills found in the area. In order to get there you either go with someone who knows the way or you run the risk of getting stuck at one of the crossroads given the numerous trails and destinations drawn out on the ground. The proprietor, son and grandson, avoids talking about the business. He doesn’t "want problems with the tax people". What this man does is the same as Tóino, Zé Carito, Isidro, Joaquim and so many others do. He picks enough medronho berries, those that his age can reach, for his own aguardente but most of the work and profit comes from what he distills to sell. For every batch of distilled fruit, which can result in 7 to 15 kilos of alcohol, or even more, depending on the quality of the berries, he always receives two litres for himelf. Some years up to 500 kilos of "really good" aguardente are distilled, so good "you think you are drinking water". This means that we can keep over 60 litres of aguardente, a part drunk with our friends and acquaintances and the other part given out to neighbours and well-wishers.
 
Zé Carito, tractor driver at the Mourão estate, situated in the Serra de Monchique, works a little bit differently. The owners of the place at which he works allow him to pick all the medronho berries he wants but not for totally unselfish reasons: for every five litres of aguardente obtained one goes to the owners of the estate. He challenged two childhood friends to help him out with the task – army officer lieutenant-colonel António Novais Henrique and farmworker Ernesto Baptista Amado – and his son-in-law – José Manuel Duarte, a man of about 30 years old, perhaps one of the youngest among those involved in the craft of distillation. They all work towards the same kitty, which means they divide the tasks equally and all end up with their stores full. They may give one or two bottles away for the price of 3 or 4 thousand escudos (15 or 20 Euros) but most of it is to drink with their friends and offer them a bottle from time to time. The lieutenant-colonel, currently retired, drank "60 litres of aguardente a year" in his office in Lisbon. He said it "was a kind of open shop. After lunch and during afternoon coffee he always had visitors". Now there are fewer people drinking the stuff but even so "there are days when two litres" are drunk at António Novais Henrique’s place.
 
The work begins in October when the medronheiros are laid heavy with orange coloured berries, the size of large cherries. For three weeks the four men go around the mountains between scrubland and groves in search of the best trees. Part of this is done by car when the roads and slopes allow for it and then they change to Zé Carito’s tractor, the only vehicle strong enough to take them over the steeper paths, "trails where Judas saw no wear and tear on his boots" the soldier adds. Sometimes, after a long drive over the bumpy road they have to drive back as someone had got there before them and had illicitly cleaned it out. When this happens they just drop the car wherever and disappear into the vegetation and to each his own. They can spend hours there and not see each other. They know where they others are from the sound of the dry twigs which break as they pass by and in addition to this cracking sound there is a constant tune in the ravine coming from no one knows where.
 
Zé Carito, a nickname coined by his grandfather as he loved caritas – black-eyed peas, conjured up a bag which he hangs round his neck and where he puts the medronhos he picks on his way. In this way his hands are freer to grab on to the vegetation when the slaty ground starts to go beneath his feet. The others pick the red berries in buckets which throughout the morning they empty into larger recipients. Close to lunch time, they all meet again, even darker than they were before. Anyone who didn’t know this type of work would have thought they were miners given the numerous lines of black paste which the black stilts leave on their clothes as if they had been beaten with a crop. That is why they wear the same clothes from the first day of the pick till the last.
 
On 1 November 2000 a "marvellous" day if you compare it to the days when they have to walk in the rain, the group picked the last berries, the ripest, reddest and sweetest ones. Those that remained on the boughs will be eaten by the birds, who appreciate this fruit as much as men do, who find it almost impossible to pick them without popping one in their mouths from time to time. Inside the berries are soft like apricots and are of an identical colour; outside, they are covered in granules larger than those found in pear pulp. Some think that if you eat them you’ll get drunk but they are totally wrong. Have you ever seen anyone drunk from eating grapes? But of course it’s a different matter when we talk about the drink produced from them. In terms of alcohol percentage it is more or less the same as whisky.
 
And now to the grub – Carito said, thinking of the time when the owners of the lands offered the workers a drink and food upon concluding a job – then the fruit is fermented. During the months of November and December the berries remain in barrels given up to the gurgling motions of chemistry. The operation theatre now moves on to the distilleries, badly lit places of smoke and steam, next door to their homes or lost among hills and valleys. Some only have room for the still and the still pots where the fruit ferments. Others have space to store tons of firewood, have a furnace and a smoking section for sausages. They all, regardless of their size, have a copper still, small but thick transparent glasses to test the drink, bottles and jerry cans, sticks to mix the liquid and to calculate the percentage, many seats and a scent, like all scents, difficult to describe – a mixture of smoke, alcohol, ether, sugar and medronho.
 
Some time between four and five when Tóino gets up to make the first batch, the first distillate of the day, these smells are still very faint. But as soon as he uncovers the boiler and begins to remove the warm dregs from inside, a cloud of sugary vapours quickly spreads through the shed. He fills one and then another barrow with that boiled paste, now removed from any distillable matter, and empties it in the backyard. He then moves on to clean the boiler which is absolutely essential to attain a good final product. As the still is made of copper it easily produces what the distillers call zinabre or verdigris which is very bad for one’s health and ruins the taste of the drink. Once it is clean, he fills it up again with a yellow mass of berries, some uncut others soft and some water resulting from the fermentation of the fruit.
 
For every five or six buckets of this mixture, Tóino introduces the last aguardente from the previous mix which in terms of alcohol level makes it weaker but it is vital. «It is like yeast for bread», all the distillers repeat. Then the furnace has to be lit, the essence of all alchemy. «The secret of this aguardente is in the fire. It controls the whole process», the farm worker guarantees. In order to start the fire going he places a piece of gorse in the furnace, adds cork and sets it alight with a lit match. He gets up on some bricks to mix the huge boiler with a stick from the strawberry tree. He puts more firewood in the furnace and lets the fire crackle alone. Meanwhile he washes the top of the boiler, a kind of mushroom with an enormous tube. When he is finished, he stokes the fire once again this time with thick firewood. It is such a comforting moment that even a cat takes advantage of it by rolling itself up on top of a trunk of wood used as a stool.
 
With a thin stick which has a cloth wrapped round the tip, he washes the place where the desired liquid will flow «to remove any zinabre there may be». Now the boiler begins to boil and releases the smell of hot alcohol and boiled fruit. The distiller then adjusts the quantity of medronho paste by removing or adding a part because when this mix heats up it swells and it is therefore preferable to leave it a little below the level than to have to remove it boiling from the boiler. With everything ready, he closes the pot, which is like fitting the head on to the boiler. The two parts are sealed with white clay and a bicycle air-tube is placed round the tube protruding from the top and which is joined to another one placed inside a tank of cold water. Therefore with the vapours caught inside the goals of the distiller will be accomplished.
 
The stills are composed of the boiler – a pot inlaid and concelaed in a furnace –, of the top and of a tube which can be straight or winding. The boiler is heated directly by the fire after having been filled with what one wants to distil. With the heat, the material begins to release vapours; these rise to the top of the boiler that channels them to the tube which is dipped in a tank full of cold water. When in contact with the cold water the vapours liquefy. And from a small orifice on one side of the tank the first drops of aguardente can be heard going "drip, drip, drip, drip" inside a container. It takes about one hour from the cleaning of the boiler to the first drips. But a whole boiler takes up to seven hours to distil.
 
When you are not sure of the quality of the medronho, which sometimes happens with the first batches of the year, the distillery professionals live through moments of some anxiety. When the drips thicken and move on to a steady flow the first thing that a distiller does is to fill a thick transparent glass and mix the liquid with a stick. «If it makes large bubbles that immediately disappear it is strong. If it makes small bubbles it means it is weak», Tóino explains. Even though everyone agrees with this method – some even boast of never having failed in their predictions – no one resists using an aerometer, which is similar to a thermometer but is used to measure the quantity of alcohol in the mix. The wine weigher is introduced inside a piece of cane filled with aguardente. The instrument floats, leaving in sight only a piece of the scales. The surface of the liquid indicates the percentage of alcohol in the drink.
 
Aguardente should "start at 25 degrees", Baumé degrees, of course which is the equivalent to over 40 percent alcohol. Then it decreases to 21, this is when the container should be changed in order to release the aguardente that cannot be sold, which returns to the boiler and is only used to strengthen the following distillate. Sometimes the first aguardente is weaker than that desired or starts to drop too early. And the weaker the liquid is at the start the less liquid there will be when it comes out at the end. This is what happened to Isidro on the first day he distilled that year. A few minutes after this farmer from Alfambras weighed the first batch his aguardente had already dropped to 23 percent. «We are sad because it’s weak», he complained. José Maria, a friend, had foreseen it: «Seven or eight litres» per boiler.
 
Tóino’s explanation, a man with a long experience in this field, is simple. Everything depends on the quality of the berries and the land where they are picked. Those which are green when they are picked "make less and more bitter aguardente". But fruit which is too ripe is not much better "you’ll get no more than seven or eight kilos" per boiler. Good medronho berries are those which "caught no rain, cold and were picked on sunny clay land". These are the best "you get a lot; almost 20 litres". Could Joaquim have picked these ones? At Viana’s place the boilers are producing 17 litres this year. In his distillery, decorated with ever so spicy calendars, they are trying to work things out. «At three thousand and five hundred escudos a litre, five boilers of 17 litres each...». In other words, with some barnacles caught in the sea, plus the wine produced, potatoes and onions he grows he has enough to live on for a while.
 
Once the containers are more or less full the tasting of the nectar can start. In Joaquim’s distillery, just like in every other one in the surroundings, glasses were downed in one go. Then, feeling the warmth of the brew, tongues loosen even if only to confirm what everybody already knew. At Viana’s, it’s Joaquim who sets the pace: «There’s nothing like hunger to bring out the wheat, there’s nothing like wine to bring out the music. There’s nothing like the cold to bring out the gloves. There’s nothing like effort to bring out the strength of your knees and legs to leap and jump. And there’s nothing like wine from the grape to make man change. There’s nothing like Justice to punish the crime. There’s no dome like the sky, there’s no cork like a real cork. There’s nothing like the Grim Reaper to kill the weak and bold and all of us together. There’s nothing like luck if there’s no cheating. There’s nothing like a widow to think about marriage. There’s nothing like water or rain for the fields to grow.» And for a good aguardente to make us merry there’s nothing better than a tasty medronho berry?