April 25, 2016
After 7 days at sea, we hit Terra Firma today. Situated off of the coast of Portugal about 900 miles, Horta, Azores, Portugal is our first port of call. Most guests were happy to get ashore.
On the volcanic Azorian island of Faisal sits Horta, a seaport that had it's major growth as a whaling port. The island is one of many in the Azores archipelago and raises from the ocean with steep lava cliffs. Being the farthest easterly point of Europe, this little island is steeped in maritime tradition. Until the mid 18th century, the seaport of Horta had few inhabitants because it was a favorite stop over for pirates and other scoundrels of the Atlantic. When more and more vessels began passing, the people who lived in the center of the island began moving down to the seaport, thus creating the charming village of 6000 citizens. The whaling industry stopped over 20 years ago and the main revenue comes from food production, specifically fishing and cheese.
The ship dropped anchor just outside of the small port and passengers were tendered in on life boats. It was an easy ride for John and me however, some of our shipmates were less than comfortable during the 10-15 minute ride into Horta. The seas were still rolling and the tender, or lifeboat, was bouncing along with the swells of 5 feet or so. Not much, but enough to keep many of the less firm from leaving the ship.
We arrived in Horta on Portugal freedom day. Portugal has been occupied by Spain, France and England over the centuries. Freedom from Spanish rule came in 1640, and so the Portuguese celebrate Freedom Day. Because of the holiday few shops were open, but the central square was hopping with music, food, art vendors and plenty of locals. Traditional dance plays a huge role in each of the (very few) European countries I've visited and Portugal is no exception. With the traditional music echoing through the square, out came the large group of locals. Congregating near the musicians in a circle, the dancing and the weaving together of intricate steps was a treat to watch.
John and I were on the second tender to leave the ship, so didn't have many shipmates wandering the walks yet. We were lucky to see Huey, the proud owner of the only tuk-tuk on the island, as he drove up to the port. Huey was a wealth of information and we had an excellent tour of the town and the nearby countryside. Within sight of the port perched high on a volcanic hill, is a cross, a statue of the Holy Virgin the provides breathtaking views of the area around us. Huey pointed out the hospital he was born in 44 years ago which is now a maritime school. Like all good tour guides, he insisted upon snapping a photo of us. The weather was blustery and overcast, but he included the ship, our current home, in his photo.
Driving through the cobblestone streets of Horta and the surrounding countryside, we saw pastures of dairy cows, monuments, ancient landmarks and plant life, that reminded us of a mix of the Pacific Northwest and Hawaii. Wild orchids next to thistle plants, juniper next to palms and everywhere the blue hydrangeas that contributed to the island's nickname, the Blue Island. As the winds brushed the rain and clouds aside for a while, we zipped up to an ancient grass covered cinder cone to a small chapel dedicated to the area fishermen. From this vantage point we could see the huge inlet and it's beautiful sandy beach, which is an island favorite in the summer. On the other side of the cinder cone is the wild and sometimes violent Atlantic, pounding away at the lava rock shore. In the distance we could see small bumps of island that seemingly rise up from nowhere and are no more than a few hundred square feet.
Huey dropped us off at Peter's Sports Bar, a favorite spot for the yachts that come to port to have a beer and surf the free wifi. We grabbed a beer and took advantage of the wifi, munched some lunch at yet another spot on the waterfront then headed back to the ship, on a slightly less bumpy ride. Once back to our room, I discovered that I left my thermos cup at our lunch stop, so I boarded a tender, along with some of the musicians who were finishing their contracts, and headed back to town to collect my cup. With my cup retrieved, I did a bit more wandering and then headed back to the ship in some lovely, calm seas with blue sky and sunshine abounding.
April 26
Still in the Azores, we entered the port of Ponta Delgada on the island of Sao Miguel. This island is also the result of volcanos, the most recent being in 1957 when nearly half of the island's population had to be relocated. We seem to be following a trail of volcanoes in our travels of late. Ponta Delgada is the largest city in the Azores and it's capitol.
Pic library phone booth
Truly a civilized city, just outside of Sao Sébastien church, in the courtyard, is a phone booth sized library. Totally civilized.
After a few moments of reflection in the church, we moved onto more areas of the city. At Nossa Senhora de Esperanza, a former convent and hospital, we watched workers on scaffolding replacing burned out bulbs on the exterior lighting designs. All about the square it was evident that some kind of celebration is coming up. We learned (thanks again, Google) that the 5th Sunday after Easter is Festa do Senhor Santo Cristo dos Milagres, the Miracle of Christ, celebration. During that day of celebration, a stature of Christ is paraded around the town before being returned to the old convent. All of the cleaning, bulb changing and large canopies being put up makes it obvious that this is a significant holiday.
Naturally, an island named Sao Miguel has to have a statue of St. Michael in front of the city hall, overlooking a reflecting pool.
The people of the Azores are warm and welcoming. With a year round gentle climate, I was surprised that there isn't a larger population. Pineapple and lilikoi are grown commercially. Dairy cows and small farms dot the countryside. The cost of living is high because, like Hawaii, many of the day to day staples are barged in. Therein lies the reason there aren't more people.
The more I see, the more I don't know. My mind seems to be a sponge on our various travels, but the retention simply isn't what it once was. So I write. It's been a habit of nearly 50 years. As John and I purge our lives of unnecessary stuff, when I run across on old journal I am, so far, unable to toss it into the recycle bin. The writing keeps me sane. It helps me maintain a balance. It is my vent for thoughts, emotions, feelings, observations and insights that I would otherwise not remember. For whatever reason I write, I shall probably keep it up until I can no longer see the words. Please accept my apologies for the rambling entries, as they are mostly frivolous travel monologues. I have to chuckle. After all, it's my choice to write...and it's your choice to read.
Until later, a hui hou.
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