We saw beautiful green hills, as we approached Faial, which was the island of destination. What a splendid color green is after seeing nothing but blue ocean and blue sky for 19 days. White houses with orange tile rooves were every where on the hillsides. We sailed for another 2 hours around giant rock formations being hammered by waves as the island dropped off sharply into the ocean before finally spotting the city of Horta for the first time. We dropped sails and motored into the protected harbor and up to the customs dock where we were quickly approved for entry into the Azores. I had never appreciated how solid the ground was until stepping ashore for the first time after all of those days at sea. I had not had my feet on any surface that hadn't moved for almost 3 weeks, and now I was on truly something as solid as a rock. How strange it felt. I couldn't wait to start walking through the town.
We tied up to our assigned spot on the sea wall and marvelled at the paintings that covered the cement walls of the harbor. It is the custom there to paint your boats name on the walls. Some of these paintings were beautiful and worthy of a place in a gallery. Others were more primitive. The paintings probably covered a mile of sea wall and deck.
We desired showers more than anything and didn't waste much time heading for the marina's facilities. Great quantities of wonderful hot water sprayed from the shower head. I had forgotten how wonderful a shower could feel. We washed some clothes also as we sat in the small pub that was part of the marina. After this we walked into town and went to Peter's pub which is known to yachters from all over the world. The street had an old world look to it which Nick, Pat, and Steve took for granted as they are all from England. It was all new and very foreign to me and I took it all in. The crew couldn't wait to get to the beer. There had been no alcohol consumed on the boat. The only bottle of alcohol that had been opened on the boat had been used to kill a tuna which we had caught. I was taught that a thrashing fish can be killed quickly by pouring straight alcohol on it's gills. This saves having a thrashing fish break equipment and from spraying blood all over the cockpit of the boat. Peter's bar was quite small. I assumed that it would be much bigger than it was. Cigarette smoke coated sailboat pennants hung from every
inch of ceiling and wall. Wait staff hustled from one table to another speaking pieces of many languages. Some how everyone made themselves understood. We looked at the dinner menu and settled on roasted,"meat" on a stick. "What kind of meat is it?" I asked Nick. "You probably don't want to know." he answered. I t was delicious and we decided that it was probably goat.
We were in bed by 10:00 that night and for the first time in many days slept on a surface that wan't moving. I arose the next morning, quietly dressed and slipped off the boat and walked into town. It was drizzling lightly and I wore my foul weather jacket. I needed coffee and found it to be everywhere. Each cafe and pub had an espresso machine just inside the door. The natives drink prodigious amounts of coffee, and I understood why immediatly. It had a rich hearty flavor far superior to the coffee that we drink in the USA. I wandered up and down the streets and watched as the shop keepers washed their windows and swept the sidewalks in front of their establishments. The narrow, one way streets were black cobblestones made from chunks of lava with white stone inlaid down the center to provide a centerline. caffeine fueled motorists flew by at my elbow. The sidewalks also were comprised of smaller pieces of black lava. White stone had been inlaid to form intricate patterns. After drinking several cups of rocket fuel (espresso) I headed back to the boat to see if the rest of the crew had hit the deck yet. Steve was the only other person awake and I escorted him to the coffee shop where I consumed additional coffee and a light breakfast. The orange juice at one cafe was freshly squeezed as we watched. The oranges were as large as medium sized grapefruit and the juice was very sweet as well as low in acid. It was wonderful.
We had planned on touring the island, but the rain and fog were so bad that there wasn't any sense in doing that so we wandered around town in our foul weather gear for most of the day. Sunday morning I carried my gear up the street to the hotel where I would be staying until the following Tuesday when my plane would leave for Boston and then head on home to Richmond. Nick, Steve, and Patrick left about noon on Sunday for the final leg of their trip to Falmouth, England. As I watched they slipped out of the harbor and slowly disappeared from view. I was alone in a foreign country 2600 miles from home and didn't speak the language other than a few simple phrases. I was exhausted for some reason and went to the hotel where I showered and then slept for 2 hours. I arose about 3:00 P.M. and walked into town. A pig was being roasted on a spit in front of Peter's pub. It was the 2nd of 2 pigs roasted that day. Sandwiches were free and the meat was delicious. Radio controlled toy sailboats jockeyed for position in the harbor as their owners laughed and joked and tried to out manuver each other.
Everywhere people were walking. The only businesses allowed to be open on Sunday were the cafes and pubs so that freed everyone to be with their families. Sweethearts walked arm in arm and even old couples held hands as they stolled along the water front.
Monday was spent on the island of Pico, which looked to be about 15 miles away. The ferry left the pier,in Horta at 1:00P.M. The boat ride was 3 Euros each way and was certainly cheap enough. Pico was very laid back and I saw everything in town in about 45 minutes and then had to wait until 5:00P.M. for the ride back.
I arose Tuesday morning at 6:30. It was foggy and raining. My prearranged taxi arrived on time and took me to the airport which was fogged in. "No flight today!" one of the baggage checkers said half kiddingly. He was right. The flight was officially cancelled after another hour of sitting around the lobby. We were told to come back to the airport at 4:30P.M.. I shared a taxi back into town with a couple who spoke fluent english. They had lived in Boston for many years. The taxi driver told me that she would pick me up in front of Peter's at 3:00 that afternoon which she did. We had to go to the far side of the island to pick up another couple who would share the ride. This gave me a chance to see the island which was breathtakingly beautiful. There probably isn't more than 50 feet of straight flat road anywhere on the island. The taxi driver flew around curves and over hills. I was worried at first but then decided that she knew what she was doing, and concentrated on the view. Wild flowers were everywhere. Faial is known as the blue island because of the Hydrangeas which hung from every wall and every hill side. Flowers, Bird song, and spectacular ocean views enthralled me. I snapped my head from side to side as we flew around curves popped over hills and ran through valleys. I tried to memorize the beauty that surrounded me.
We picked up the other couple and headed to the other side of the island where the airport was located. Fog became prevelant as we descended toward the airport. I felt that there was no chance to fly today, but the planes had arrived sometime during the day and we departed through rain and fog and flew on to Sao Miguel where the large airport is located. This flight also was on time and we flew into Boston on an Airbus. I arrived in Boston at 8:30 P.M. and had to spend the night in the terminal. My flight to Philly didn't leave until 5:30A.M. I rolled my gear into a corner and slept on the floor. I felt like a homeless man! I arrived in Richmond at 9:30A.M. where I was met by Pat, my daughter Nancy, and my 11 month old grandson Will. I got to our house at 1:00 P.M. I had been awake for the almost 35 hours. I went to bed and slept for 15 hours.
It was a great trip. I believe that travel is probably the most mind expanding experience that one can have. I really enjoyed Nick, Pat, and Steve and feel that we got along wonderfully. I experienced a new country, and as I said earlier. I am glad that I made the long passage, but am pretty sure that I don't want to do it again.
The Ol' Curmudgeon
