26th September 2021

Breakfast at the hotel was a substantial buffet, though COVID regulations required guests to wear masks when not seated and to use plastic gloves while selecting and handling food. By the time we arrived at 8 a.m., the restaurant was already very busy, and we were fortunate to find a vacant table. It seems the hotel serves as a hub for coach tours, and I suspect that departing guests were up early to ensure full stomachs ahead of what may have been long journeys.

As we left the hotel to begin the first day of our road trip, several coaches pulled in, brimming with fresh arrivals, a new wave of French tourists ready to take their place.

Rain was in the air, and the surrounding mountainous landscape was shrouded in low cloud as we drove west along the southern coastal road. It wasn’t long before the windscreen wipers were called into action. Our destination was Feteiras and a thermal pool where, on a previous visit, Sarah had enjoyed a warm swim in a small rocky volcanic inlet.

We passed through a couple of brief showers en route, but the clouds thankfully parted as we arrived. On foot, we followed a narrow, gravelly path that wound its way beneath towering cliffs streaked with black and red volcanic deposits. Eventually, we reached the pool. Several people were already soaking in the warmth produced by volcanic vents mingling with the seawater, and more arrived as we carefully clambered across the uneven terrain, all seemingly eager to experience the heat for themselves.

We had come prepared with swimming trunks, but decided against dipping our toes into the supposed therapeutic waters on this occasion (too busy). Instead, we chose to visit the nearby lighthouse.

We continued our journey along the coast road, stopping at fishing villages, thermal vents, windmills and other points of interest as the mood took us, until we reached the township of Mosteiros. There, we took shelter from yet another passing shower and enjoyed a welcome coffee in a small beachside café.

Our meandering along the coast resumed, eventually bringing us to Santa António, where we decided to stop for lunch. We joined the locals in a charming roadside restaurant and enjoyed a leisurely meal in pleasant surroundings.

Sated, we continued, cutting across the island and heading ever upwards to dizzying heights where the lush vegetation of lunchtime gave way to a more rugged landscape. Our destination was a hot waterfall that Sue, Sarah and I had enjoyed on a previous visit.

However, things had changed. A ticket office and gates now barred entry. Joining the small queue, I requested a couple of tickets, only to be informed that the pool was currently undergoing maintenance and was empty; it might reopen tomorrow, they said. Like the majority of other disappointed would-be bathers, we returned to our car in search of alternative thrills.

Leaving the metalled road behind, we followed a rough track to view a spectacular gurgling and gushing spout of steam, part of the island’s thermal power infrastructure. Not long afterwards, we made another detour to visit a second waterfall, this one harnessed for hydroelectric power. The scene was made all the more entertaining by the misfortune of a minibus driver who had managed to get his vehicle stuck in the damp ground. A recovery lorry was called to extricate it, an embarrassing incident, but undeniably amusing to watch.

We returned to Ponta Delgada via a series of cloud-shrouded lakes and calderas. After leaving the car at the hotel, we set off on foot into town, making our way to the small fort at the end of the harbour. Having paid the entrance fee, we explored the ancient monument, wandering along its walls, through its tunnels, and into various rooms, taking a keen interest in the military items on display. I’ve visited the fort twice before, and it was pleasing to see that the exhibits continue to be updated and refreshed.

We spent the next couple of hours people-watching from a small bar in the main square, before heading to a harbour-side restaurant for our evening meal, and more people-watching. Later in the evening, we returned to the bar where we had previously sheltered from a downpour, only to find ourselves doing the same again, sharing drinks and laughter with fellow patrons under yet another deluge.

27th September 2021, A day of incidents.

We woke to heavy rain and the news that petrol prices in the UK had reached £1.50 per litre. Out here in the mid-Atlantic, however, we were faced with a different sort of vehicular problem.

With breakfast consumed and the rain having abated, we ventured out to discover that our little runabout refused to respond to the central locking key. Frustratingly, the battery was flat. Rather deflatingly, Jamie had forgotten to switch off the headlights the night before.

Despite breaking the ten-second sprint barrier as I pushed the car down the hill, it stubbornly refused to jump-start. Fortunately, it came to rest beside a motor sales outlet. After explaining our predicament to the salesman on duty, he kindly produced a jump starter, and before long, we were happily revving our way along the coast road towards Lagoa.

Once again, we hugged the coast, avoiding the mist and cloud-shrouded interior, stopping to explore little bays and fishing villages that piqued our interest. We spent time in each, satisfying our curiosity before moving on.

Around 11 a.m., we paused at a small café in Vila de Água de Pau for coffee and enjoyed the view over the pretty harbour, framed by towering, vegetation-covered volcanic cliffs. By now, we had become quite adept at clambering over coastal lava flows, investigating their strange and fascinating shapes. What a sight they must have been when they first met the sea, millennia ago.

Upon reaching Vila Franca do Campo, we parked in the main square and had what I initially thought was a very satisfying lunch in a small café off the concourse. However, upon returning to the car, we discovered we had a parking ticket.

Unsure of what to do next, we drove to the harbour where I spoke to a man working in a burger bar, who just happened to speak perfect English. He explained that we could pay the €5 fine at an ATM, but when I admitted that the machine would be in Portuguese and I wouldn’t have a clue how to navigate it, he kindly offered to pay it for me using his phone online.

Once the task was completed, I gave him €5 for his trouble, and with our conscience cleared, we were back on the road, heading towards Lagoa das Furnas and the village of Furnas.

The lake, set within the caldera of the volcano, is quite stunning. Surprisingly, it couldn’t be seen on our descent from the rim, but its eventual reveal was all the more special for its unexpected appearance. Plumes of steam rising from the far shore evoked pleasant memories of a previous visit, so we turned onto the narrow access road leading to the thermal springs.

Times have changed, however, and now a ticket must be purchased from a uniformed female ranger waiting outside her little hut. After paying the fee, we parked up, only to be immediately surrounded by a gaggle of geese, cackling for scraps. They were decidedly unimpressed with the bag of peanuts Jamie offered them and promptly spat them out! What were they expecting, goose liver pâté on toast?

We took the walkway that meandered through the thermal springs, stopping to take as many photos as the steam and overpowering fumes would allow. As we were admiring one of the larger pools, a family Messenger conference call came through. We chatted for a while, but sights and experiences must be savoured, and time was short. Reluctantly, we ended the conversation.

Continuing, we reached the forest walk that led to the base of the spectacular waterfall feeding the lake. However, we were stopped by a male, uniformed ranger emerging from another small hut. He demanded yet more euros to continue along the path. We politely declined, mentioning that we thought we had already paid, and made our way back to the geese and the car via the bank of the lake.

We soon arrived in the very picturesque village of Furnas. Plumes of steam seemed to be erupting throughout the settlement, and on closer inspection, they appeared mostly to come from hot, bubbling ponds of angry water. The small stream flowing rapidly through the centre added to the feeling of an eerie and hidden danger. It didn’t seem like a safe place to live; it can’t be too many metres below the surface where molten lava is quietly fermenting, biding its time.

As we were leaving, Jamie received a call from Ruth with the good news that she had sold her house. That only leaves Jamie to sell his now. We continued and came across a small hydroelectric museum in a tiny village off the main highway. The building was closed, but a kindly old gentleman appeared from the window of the house next door and gestured for us to wait. He was the key holder and, though he spoke no English, showed us around the sparse but significant exhibits. It turned out that this was the island’s first such generator, built in 1902. Though no longer operational, it had been lovingly renovated from a little more than a shell of a building and rusty, broken machinery.

Afterwards, we decided to follow the course of the piping that once carried water through the village and up the valley. It was as I leapt across a small stream that the second incident of the day occurred. Missing my footing, I plunged into the water, completely submerging and soaking myself. The plan had been to swim in a pool underneath a waterfall further up the valley, but having now already ‘experienced’ a similar activity, I left Jamie to continue while I sloshed my way back to the car to change into dry clothes.

As I completed this task and was considering where to hang my sodden garments to start drying, the heavens opened. So, inside the rapidly steaming-up car, I waited for Jamie. Idly checking Messenger on my damp mobile, I noticed that at about the same time I fell into the stream, I had received a message from Sue asking when we were going for a swim. Hmmm!

After Jamie returned with tales of a wonderful time in the pool, we headed to a tea plantation in Porto Formosa. On a previous visit to the island, we had searched for this place but failed to find it. It’s a shame that I don’t drink tea, and Jamie is also not keen on the liquid, but to his credit, he tried a couple of the brews while I satisfied myself with a walk through the plantation.

Our next stop was our hotel in Ponta Delgada. It was as we were ascending the elevator to our room that my stomach began to complain. I knew exactly what it was; sometimes you can taste it in your mouth. The chicken I had for lunch was to blame. Fortunately for Jamie, he had pork. Instead of walking into town for dinner and drinks that evening, I focused on ridding myself of the offensive fowl as quickly as possible, while Jamie went alone.