Day #6 - Exploring Terceira

The storm caught up with us. It has rained the whole day, pouring like cats and dogs, and we have struggled to do what we can with our van.

Ribs and Kaki went hiking Monte Brasil, and we met them for breakfast. Afterwards, off to drive around the island, we stopped at Porto Judeu to check out Boca Negra restaurant. We started chatting with the old folks there, and quickly were having drinks (mid morning, offered by Manuel Burcão, from Faial) and telling stories, as it rained outside. We ended up staying there and eating different Alcatra (one of fish, other of meat), and some Pico red wine (the white is much better).

With a full belly, we passed Praia da Vitória under pouring rain, and went straight to the caves of Algar do Carvão. I have never such sights, as it is the only standing open crater in Europe, that you can walk around and visit. Another reminder of man's small footprint in this world. We also checked the Gruta do Natal, which came out a bit of a disappointment.

As I write these lines, it is still raining like there is no tomorrow, and Mareco and Bizarro are cooking pão lêvedo with butter in the boat's oven. Tomorrow we will try to break out port and fend the storm to reach Velas in S. Jorge.

Day #5 - Tá Chorari

We slept in. It had been some very though days, and we all rested until we naturally woke up. I dragged myself to the Port's café, a very nice one, and had myself a ham toast and an orange juice.

We went scouting the city, which is one of the most beautiful of the Central Group, with a sort of colonial style to it. Also we tried the Dona Amélia pastries, which are very good (thanks for the tip Marília!).

We started having G&Ts at Tasca das Tias, and got ourselves a van, to tour the island. Booked a table at Beira Mar and went for an extravagant meal to explore all the island's delicacies:

• Start with Cracas (barnacles);
• Grilled Lapas;
• Cavaco (local small lobster);
• Mix of grilled fish
• Pico white wine

A feast to remember.

Day #4 - Of a man's limits and exhaustion

We climbed down Pico during the early morning, and got back to the boat at about 11:00. We needed to leave soon, as a storm was brewing to the west, and if it would get to us, we would be stuck in the island. 

After a quick tour of the Whaler's Museum and its toilets, we hastily set sail for the longest stretch of our trip - a 12 hour leg from Lajes to Angra, in Terceira Island. And yes, none of us had any proper sleep since day #2 when we left Horta...

We launched using the motor, to beat the front wind that tried to keep us away. We passed some dolphins, and a sea turtle. Kaki decided not to feed the fish this time, and we kept going forward, passing the eastern tip of Pico and turning northeast on our sail, sailing past S. Jorge. As night caught with us, we were leaving behind the tip of S. Jorge, and sailing head on to the wind and bigger waves.

What followed was one of the best shows of manliness and control I've taken part, as under Mareco we all struggled to stay awake and sail the ship against waves that reached 3 metres and 25 knot winds. At some point, we just dropped the sails and went by motor, as the wind was against us, and Bizarro, me, Geirinhas and Kaki went along the night, singing all the Portuguese songs we could remember, backed up by my collection of mp3 and my new Bluetooth speaker. I also learned a lot of nonsense coming from Jorge Jesus, the previous coach from Benfica, who had recently turned his cloak and go to Sporting. "Tá a chorarí" has since that night become the mantra of our trip.

A tiny shell, cutting the waves in the darkness.

As the wind and waves got stronger, Mareco took over and had to hoist the jib sail to have a bit more power, as we were getting stalled.

I got back to help around 01:00. Mareco was relentless at the helm, and Ribs was helping him keep the sails and steering. I took over Ribs and kept going until we reach Horta.

I have met few mariners, and now, João Mareco has earned my respect and, albeit being a short one, he tops the list. As we safely entered port, around 02:15, the duty guard told us we could have a hot shower, and informed us that an Orange Alert had just been launched all over the archipelago for storms on the next days. We were stuck in Terceira, but we had made it.

Day #3 - When you climb to the top, it is time to go down

Our guide, José, picks us up at 01h, pitch black and the party is getting dying down. We have a 40km drive halfway up the mountain, to the Casa da Montanha.

Pico is the highest mountain of Portugal, with 2351m and is the result of three eruptions, the last one about 2000 years ago. Our mission, to see the sunrise from the peak.

We get to the registration with our guide, and there are two women joining us for the climb, the mother (Pam) and daughter (Alex), who are Americans. They clearly do not seem ready to do the climb (around 7km in total, up and down a very steep slope), and when God spread beauty and goodness in the world, they came out short, really short.

Bizarro set us up with chocolates he bought yesterday, we got also a bottle of water and a sleeping bag, as well as 2 walking sticks, and we went off into the night.

It was pitch black (the full moon was mostly covered with clouds) and there were showers. The night was cold, and as we made way up the mountain, our American companions would let out the occasional "oh my gosh, there is mud! Be careful" and similar useful warnings.

One hour into the climb, José clearly declares that at the pace the girls are going, we will not get to the peak on time. They insist they want to do it together (such is the beauty of familial love) and we agree to ditch the guide and go ahead the six of us, solo, up the mountain to track the 45 markers that lead to the top of the mountain.

We had three though hours, with myself and Mareco leading the climb, with tricky slopes and slippery rocks, but in the end, we reached the bloody 45th. It was 06:00, and we lied down in our sleeping bags, and tried to stave off the cold and sleep a while.

I woke up at 07h, feeling very cold and wet. It had rained a very fine rain and the clouds stood below us, as the first light started to flood the top of the mountain. I woke up the guys, and as the sun managed to break through the clouds, bathing us in warm and silent light, with no wind to howl at us, we enjoyed the ecstasy in that graceful moment, as witnesses of some earthly mystery that cares not for men or memory.

Pam and Alex arrived a bit later, still on time to check the orb ascending on the horizon, and offer us some interesting platitudes on climbing and resilience. Good for you girls!

At this point I should say, that Pico has on top of it a small mound, very steep, that needs to be climbed by hand and feet. It's called Piquinho (little peak) and some of us decided to climb that last 70m elevation with our guide.

Piquinho is inside a caldera, which looks like a picture from the British Highlands, all stones, grass and moss. We climbed the last milestone and as we got to the very top, we could see steam pouring from some cracks - the volcano is still active. And in some crevices, beautiful and tiny white and purple flours were blossoming...

Day #2 - To Pico!

As João is acting Skipper, and I get to be First Mate, we're sharing a cabin. Kaki and Bizarro take care of the cooking, Ribs and Geirinhas back us up.
I wake up before the alarm, at 07:00. It was the first time I slept on board, and it is strangely comfortble, with the gentle swinging of the boat in the dock lulling you to sleep.
We pop out for breakfast as the first light is breaking the horizon. Bizarro sets the table, we have a cup of "old lady's coffee" and rush to the marina offices at 08h to check-out.
In the marina there is a big ship, which used to race the Volvo Ocean Race, and now is arrested by the Police - it was caught in harbour with nine tonnes of cocain on board.

We set sail to Lajes do Pico, south coast. Kaki fed the fish again, and we sighted some dolphins on the way, and got some nice photos. Sunny day and good weather make for a nice trip, almost all done on sail alone. We aim at reaching Lajes at high tide, since the entrance to the harbour is a bit tricky (a lot of rocks).

Lajes is on the last day of festivities, and we get to have a late lunch, with corn bread and a great octopus, topped with local blackberry liquor. Also there is a religious procession, with local bands playing along as they open the way for the religious cortége. Religion is still a big thing in Pico island.

We end up strolling the small fishing village, and get some dinner, as the night falls and everyone start partying with local music and a lot of drinking takes place. We went for an early sleep as we will need to wake up at 01h to climb the Pico Mountain...

Appendix A - The ties that bind

I met Kaki when I was 4 years old (21st September 1988), we went to kindergarden together. He has been friends with Bizarro from way back, and I ended up knowing Bizarro when I spent vacations at Kaki's father's place in St. Rita. Ribs was Kaki's boss back in London, and ended up spending a few nights at my place in Lisbon for a visit. I've started surfing with GC in 2009, where I met Geirinhas, and I ended up hiring him to be my colleague at work. Also through GC I met João at a party, and it was him who encouraged me to start sailing.
These are the ties that bind us togheter. May they last for years to come.

Day #1 - Faial

06:45 - Lisbon Airport, five of us join up, and leave for Faial Island. We will meet Ryan (Ribs) there, flying in from the USA.

Our Commander, Mareco, forgot his wallet on the plane, and after a few minutes of panic, he got it back - talk about getting started with a scare.

We were greeted by Nicolau from AzoresSail, who gave us a lift to Horta, and as we waited for the boat to be ready, went in Peter's for G&T's and some local cheese and ham.

It was a glorious sunny day, but forecasts were grim - too much wind, so we just took the opportunity to grab hold of or boat, Insula, and give it a try for two hours, going near Madalena (Pico Island), and back into the harbour. Kaki has found his new hobby: feeding fish mouth-to-mouth.

Now, Insula is a great ship: 3 cabins, a nice room and upper deck. It’s a 12m ship, that can easily do +6 knots with its sails up, and equipped with a upgraded 40hp engine, to outmanoeuvre the treacherous Azorean currents.

After our sailing practice, we went for dinner at a local restaurant and toured the port, going early to bed, as we wanted to leave at first light - albeit there was a party in a ship in front of us. 

I cannot avoid the thought that our group comes from such different places and backgrounds, whose stories cross each other in various contexts, and, in the end, this six guys just converged to a small volcanic archipelago in the middle of the Atlantic to spend some time together, revive old memories and create new ones.

Sailing the Azores - Day #0

One year ago, I was sitting with Kaki in Santa Rita beach, and discussing one of my favourite weltschmertzs: how we, sons and daughters of the best educated, most prosperous, war-free generations, have come to live so uninteresting, vulgar and monotonous lives.

Sure, the stories of our parents, grandparents and ancestors always have a golden halo around them, told in the distance, with foggy eyes (there is a word for this in Portuguese, its called saudade).

So in that week of sun-bathing, octopus-rice-and-fillets eating and boca-doce drinking, I told Kaki: "We need to do something different for our leisure time - we should go sailing the Azores!"

A bold Portuguese man as Kaki is (one could call him reckless), he joined my adventure right there. We were only missing a crew and a skipper... and a boat!

Fast forward one year, as we talked excitedly in our dull daily lives with our friends, and one by one, the crew came around! Boys-only-club, that was a requirement - my good friend Pedro Geirinhas (who will from now on be known as Geirinhas, or G) was in right from the start (clearly not knowing what a week trapped in a boat with Kaki would be), and then João Mareco (the Captain, Skipper, Admiral and Commodore of our trip) who really made the whole thing happen, as he was the only guy who really knew how to sail.

Then came Ryan Schemmel, the Yankee, who I hosted in Lisbon due to a request coming from London, and (Pedro) Bizarro, who casually said "yes" either when we were drinking beers in London or having dinner in Luxembourg.

As I write these words down, driven by the need to have something more set into bits and bytes (stone is so old school) than just endless photos to populate Facebook, I pledge myself to capturing the essence (as it is perceived by this observer's scope) of this nautical trip - it's participants, it's encounters, it's ephemerides.

I know not what we will encounter, but I somehow feel that when we come back to our mundane lives, nine days from now, we will carry with us much more that what we have today.