To be honest, when we booked flights to the Azores, we didn’t know where they were. I had imagined them way down south, and it was a bit of a shock to look at a map and see them due west of Portugal, about 1/3 of the way across the Atlantic towards New York. The climate was reported to be mild, but highly volatile, which is just how it turned out.
We flew into Ponto Delgado on Sao Miguel, the largest of the nine islands, after a stop-over in Lisbon to have a good lunch with Stephen and Antonio. Nervously negotiated very narrow streets and tiny parking spaces without scraping our rental car.
Stephen had described the Azores as ‘Ireland with pineapples’, and that turned out to be true too. Very green, very laid back and friendly, and we were pleased to see pineapples in the market, even if they are not the big export crop they used to be. [picture?]
The next day turned out to be cracking weather, and so we rapidly got to the classic, much-photographed, view from Miradouro da Boca do Inferno over the caldeira at Sete Citades. The lakes vary from blue to green, and were very impressive. Lots of people on a sunny off-season Saturday – heaven knows what it would be like peak-season.
We couldn’t resist going to the nearby Ponta da Ferreira, where there is a thermal spa and vents where the hot water warms the sea in a small cove. It turned out to be quite busy and quite rough, so grateful for ropes to hold onto. Great fun being thrown about, with a certain tension between getting to warmer water and being dashed on the rocks. Felt smug in our cold-weather swimming robes, which we had lugged on holiday, taking up much of our hand luggage.
Our only real preparation had been to book into the Terra Nostra Garden Hotel in Furnas, built in 1935 as part of Portuguese modernism, and recently restored into its Art Deco glory. Waiters in white coats, jazz band in the bar – it was like staying on the Queen Mary, and we expected to see Poirot appear at any moment.
The Terra Nostra gardens had been laid out in the 19th century, and with a huge thermal pool of orange-brown bath-water. Locals could pay to hang out in this all day, which they did, but hotel guests had access day and night, which we used. We wandered down in our dressing gowns, whether in the morning mist or the blackest night, and just wallow.
Nearby were the bubbling hot springs, where pots of meat and vegetables are lowered into the ground and cook naturally for hours to make cozido nas caldeiras. There is, understandably, only a limited supply each day, but fortunately we were able to get some in the evenings at Tony’s, a large jolly place full of locals and tourists, all amiably stuffing their faces with excellent food.
Sao Miguel’s trails are well marked, and so, in grey and blustery weather, we tried out PR37 from Maia to Praia da Viola. Fine descent through abandoned water mills down to an empty black sand beach, and rather intimidating sea of big waves and steeply-shelving beach. Bracing, very cautious dip.
We decided to go to highest point on island, Pica da Vara at 1100 metres. Steep and continuous 700 metre climb from the car park, but were lucky with weather, and got fine view from top. The map showed the sites of two old plane crashes near the summit, a reminder of the Azores’ importance as a stopping point in early trans-Atlantic flights.
After our indulgent hotel, we moved to an inexpensive house with shared bathroom in Ribiera Quente on the south coast, with a terrace and view of the sea that varied from sun to rain with extraordinary rapidity. Gave up on forecasts. Very friendly Italian hostess, and nobody else staying so made ourselves at home. Cooked some very good food in the kitchen, which was necessary as all nearby restaurants closed, and used bar round the corner with over-friendly drunk local insisting on buying us drinks. Could walk to beach in our robes, and fine sea, warmed a bit from underwater thermal springs.
We flew to Terceira and stayed in the fort, which is now a pousada. Excited to find this was the headquarters of the British in 1943 when they built the airfield to protect the convoys – now the civil airport. Churchill was apparently prepared to invade neutral Portugal, but got persuaded to use our 600-year-old treaty to negotiate. Presumably by 1943 Portugal had realised who was going to be on the winning side.
The old town hall gave Kate a chance to head the Portuguese inquisition.
A local guided us to La Canadinha, a small place full of Tourada à corda photos and memorabilia, where bulls roam the streets, taunted by macho men, who then take the consequences. Fine atmosphere, good and cheap wine, friendly madame, and a menu on a board that got wheeled round. Went for the local delicacies, including very good inhames, or fried taro root.
Our final day was a bit disappointing, as we had planned to go whale-watching, but there was thick rain and almost zero visibility. But it was rather enjoyable going for a steamed-up bus ride, walking around wet streets, having a swim in the drizzle, and doing nothing much except looking forward to our second meal in A Canadinha, where we were welcomed as old friends.