The Azores have an incredible variety
of plant life, and one reason for this is
their subtropical climate, which keeps
both air and sea temperatures relatively stable year-round. That is not to say
the ocean water is always warm—unless
they’re having an underwater volcanic
eruption—but whales and other marine
life tend to like it. In fact, they’re around
so often, you can swim next to them in
the ocean if you’d like after you’ve had
your fill of hot springs hopping, canyoning, bird watching, kayaking, hiking or
mountain biking.
Public transportation, even on São
Miguel, is limited at best. A car rental is
essential and easy, but what they didn’t
tell me was that a good map or GPS is
just as essential. We rented our little car
easily enough and took off sight-seeing
with no real plans. Driving in the Azores
is generally simple: they use the same side
of the road as us, and traffic is nonexistent. Plus, driving with the intention of
getting lost is amenable, because you’re
practically guaranteed to do so. There was
not always reliable signage, and several
times over the course of my stay, I accidentally found myself on a mountain
path, happily taking in the view in the
wrong direction, or waving to locals in
their yards as I turned around. The wonderful part about the Azores is that the
scenic route is literally all around you,
and none of the islands are very big. One
minute, I thought I’d made a wrong turn
as I began to plunge toward the ocean on
a steeply inclined single lane road, when
seemingly out of nowhere, a secluded waterfall would appear or a horse pulling
a cart loaded with milk jugs would trot
past, loaded with deliveries, because yes,
this still happens in the Azores.
One day during my visit, I drove to
Lagoa das Sete Cidades, which translates
to Lagoon of the Seven Cities. There, the
twin lakes and villages rest literally inside
the crater of a now dormant volcano. I
will admit that I tried to take a few panoramic photos of the location’s astounding vistas, but I ultimately had to put my
camera down and take it in the old-fashioned way. Nothing truly does the scenery
justice. As I wound slowly down into the
crater, I saw farmland dotted with streams
and unfenced livestock, an undulating
patchwork of green and blue spread out
like a picnic. Mist and fog were common
at the top, but every now and then, the
TOP TO BOTTOM: Tea leaves are bagged at the
Chá Gorreana tea plantation on São Miguel.
Traditional Portuguese architecture in downtown Ponta Delgada.
Pineapples, a major island export, for sale in
Ponta Delgada’s Mercado da Graça.
Traditional hand-laid stones in downtown Ponta Delgada.
mist would part for a minute and I would
stop at the overlooks on the side of the
road and have a peek. I’m convinced there
is not a disappointing view anywhere on
São Miguel, and it wasn’t difficult to pass
an entire day chasing down vistas on one
country road after another.
The roads that crisscross the island are
lined with picnic areas and thousands of
pastel hydrangeas, making an impromptu stop for lunch my obvious choice. I
stocked up on picnic supplies at Ponta
Delgada’s Mercado da Graça, where I saw
first-hand what a major export pineapple is for these islands and how rightfully
proud the islanders are of it. They also
had fruits I’d never seen or tried before,
like annonas, diospiros and nesperas. I
was constantly asking to see or taste or
touch something, much to the vendors’
amusement. Azoreans are friendly and
easy to talk to, making this West Virginian feel right at home.
My favorite part of the market was the
cheese shop, lined floor to ceiling with
wheels of local products from animals that
have been eating from pastures right next
to the ocean. They had everything from
hard, tangy cow’s milk cheeses loaded
with umami-filled salt crystals to wheels of
goat’s milk cheese that had to be eaten by
slicing the top off the wheel and scooping
out the cheese with a spoon. I needed little
more than a bottle of wine and a loaf of
bread to round out my meal.
My days in the Azores usually ended
less dramatically than they began but
no less happily. Most nights, I ate traditional Portuguese food in family-owned
restaurants. My table was always filled
with local wine and plates of arroz de
polvo, which is octopus rice; bolinhos de
bacalhau, which we call cod fritters; spicy
sausage they call chouriço; amêijoas, the
local name for clams, or bitoque, a Portuguese dish of steak served with fries
and an egg on top. My legs were a little
sore from clambering up volcanic hillsides and running through surf on black
sand beaches, but my eyes never tired of
the view of the other Eden.
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summer 2016
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