Golega Horse Fair 2008 - Preamble and pre-Fair prep

The feast of St Martin falls in November each year.

So far so ..... dull? Not if you're a horse lover, or are curious about any kind of popular culture. In Portugal the Feira de Sao Martinho is the excuse for the biggest annual bash related to all things equine: the Feira Nacional de Cavalo, held in Golega. This picturesque Ribatejan town, bang in the middle of bull-raising territory and home to Portugal's best Lusitano studs, is totally subsumed by all things horsey for two weeks spanning the 11th November - the said saint's day - when anyone in Portugal, and increasingly from elsewhere, who has even the most tenuous connection with the horseworld crams Golega's narrow streets to compete, spectate, chew the fat, show off, dress up and party. And party, and party.

I've wanted to go for years and this year I am! I'm not going it alone, though - I have my more than sprightly, slightly less than 80-year-old mother in tow to keep a check on me: no, I can't afford and can't keep a Lusitano and yes, we will need to get up in the morning, so how about going to bed soon?

I have been woefully unprepared for this mega-horsefest. The original plan was to travel light, pack a tent and camp in Golega's no doubt very civilised - if previous experience is anything to go by - 'parque de campismo'. In August I went to Golega to have a look round and organise my stay. The campsite manager is courteous, but not practically helpful: no, you can't book at the campsite, you just have to turn up to see if there's space. Is that likely? An apologetic, indulgent smile: no likelihood at all over the time of the Feira: people will be queuing to get in on the first day. So why don't you allow bookings? Indulgent smile: that would be unfair on the people who come every year who would not realise that they would have to book!

Oh well, what about a B&B then? We trundle round to the Turismo office, which is shut with a note on the door informing 'esteemed clients' that if they need accommodation the campsite manager has a list. 'Hello again!' Yes, he has a list of B&Bs, hotels, houses and apartments, and rooms to let with contact numbers. It runs to three A4 pages of close type. 'Could I take a copy?' No, but by all means I could take a seat and copy out the numbers I want. How do I know which numbers I want? The manager points to all the telephone numbers starting '249': 'all these will be for Golega, the others are further away.' His office is baking. There's a fly droning round the ceiling. There's a breeze outside together with an increasingly impatient-looking husband.

'Could you tell me how much you charge for a twin-bedded room?' 'Thirty euros.' 'Have you any vacancies for the 11th to 17th of November?' I can tell you now that there are three possible responses to this question: a) a laugh followed by an apology, b) no, it is time of Feira, everywhere full, c) yes, I have room available, but during Feira the price is one hundred/one hundred and twenty/one hundred and sixty/etc. etc. euros a night.

We call in at a couple of places. One gentleman drags me through his door to show me a dingy room with a cracked basin, twin beds pushed together to create a sliver of space each side, and the loo and shower down the corridor. He wants a hundred euros. 'And you can park car here. Very difficult during Feira'. At To's Restaurant (sign outside 'We have rooms') I am met with arms held wide in an expansive shrug and disbelieving eyebrows hurtling upwards towards To's hairline. 'Rooms?! For the Feira?! No, no! Sherene from England, she has whole place booked since last year for her group. I just waiting her confirmation.' Sherene, if you're reading this, I jolly well hope you're taking up that booking!

It's extremely hot. The breeze has gone somewhere cooler. The sun is bouncing off the walls. My husband is very bored. I am very disheartened.

Back in the UK I get the list out again and hit the 'phone. I also call a friend in Lisbon and she generously offers to set some hounds running to see what leads they come up with. I either come up with straight 'noes', or offers to take my number if anything becomes available.

A few days later my friend emails me with the contacts her hounds have run to ground, but none of them is in Golega and, if any of you are thinking of visiting the fair, let me tell you, even if you are staying only a few miles out of Golega, you will spend most of the Feira sitting in your car making anagrams and funny phrases from the registration number of the car in front. You must stay in Golega if you want anything more than a quick sip of the atmosphere on offer.

But apparently everything does come to those who wait. One of my 'phone calls, calls me back! She is Dona Maria of the Quinta de Sao Joao, right in the centre of Golega and she can do me a lovely room, a private bathroom, a games room, a lounge to relax and meet other guests, and car parking. Better still, she has her own competition horses! Less good is that she is not cheap (so much for the tent plan at six euros a night for the pitch!). But on the plus side, I argue to myself, my mother and I will be in for a busy and exhausting few days and we will want somewhere civilised to retreat to; the weather may be rubbish and we could be grateful for some indoor space other than a cramped bedroom to thaw out in; someone will cook us breakfast; we will meet new people, which is always exciting; there are horses' noses to be stroked only a few metres away across the courtyard.

So my mother and I are on our way! You'll next hear from us when we've arrived - as long as I can find an internet cafe or a laptop somewhere - on Tuesday 11th November, the BIG party night. Put a note in your diary.