We boarded our buses for an island tour, and David Stephens, one of our naturalists, took a shine to this trash bin. I took the picture through a water-streaked window.
From a high point we had a view of the town and harbor during a brief pause in the rain.
The rain had eliminated the option of a more strenuous hike over old volcanic fields on the northern side of the island. Instead, we would travel to the site of the 1957-1958 Capelinhos eruption, where there is now a museum, which meant driving to the westernmost point of the island.
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The guide on our bus was of Faial, and not a full-time guide. (Faial derives much less of its income from tourism than the largest island, São Miguel.) I don't know what his day job was, but he favored names and dates -- Sir Walter Raleigh captured and burned Horta in 1597 -- and not so much the natural history of the island. When we arrived at the Capelinhos volcanic site, the rain was blowing horizontally off the sea. Our guide did not make clear to the entire bus that there was a museum here, and many assumed the stop was merely an opportunity to view the volcano or the lighthouse in the rain, which they naturally declined.
Joan and I zipped our rain jackets and bashed on. At first there appeared to be snow or hail mixed in the rain, but it was too warm for that to be true; I later realized that the stiff sea breeze was sucking up small bits of sea foam and blending it with the rain. After perhaps 100 yards/meters we arrived at the entrance to the underground museum, built within the first two stories of the old lighthouse, which were buried in volcanic ash. It was a revelation.
We didn't have enough time to give each exhibit the time it deserved, nor were all the sections open this day (Monday). However, we were able to view a short 3D movie on plate tectonics and vulcanism, and an excellent holographic documentary that compressed the history of the eruption into one or two minutes.
For an American footnote on this volcano, I'll note that, with the ash having devastated agriculture on Faial, over 4000 of the island's inhabitants emigrated to the United States under special immigration exemptions promoted by Senator John Kennedy.
We returned to Horta, where, despite the best efforts of the Lindblad staff, the local guides had inadvertently arranged for at least three of our four buses to arrive at the small whaling museum simultaneously.
The museum was commensurate with the scope of the whaling activity in the Azores, which was a part-time activity engaged in by men who were otherwise farmers, shopkeepers, or dockworkers. A total of about 20,000 whales were killed in the entire history of Azorean whaling, compared to millions in the industrial whaling of the late 19th and 20th centuries. (Whaling stopped in the Azores in 1984 or 1985, when the markets vanished due to US and EU regulations.)
It is difficult to begrudge the Azoreans the whaling that occurred. Life was hard on the islands, and it was a source of income. Further, it was much more of a "fair fight," with men sailing and then rowing up to whales in open boats and throwing harpoons by hand, not iron steamships firing explosive harpoons from guns. Here is a picture of some whaling artifacts from the era.
We returned to Horta, where, despite the best efforts of the Lindblad staff, the local guides had inadvertently arranged for at least three of our four buses to arrive at the small whaling museum simultaneously.
It is difficult to begrudge the Azoreans the whaling that occurred. Life was hard on the islands, and it was a source of income. Further, it was much more of a "fair fight," with men sailing and then rowing up to whales in open boats and throwing harpoons by hand, not iron steamships firing explosive harpoons from guns. Here is a picture of some whaling artifacts from the era.
Lindblad offered us a final activity, a free drink at Peter's Café Sport, the most famous bar in the North Atlantic. Joan and I were tired, and dinnertime was close, so we gave it a pass.
The weather prevented any organized excursions after dinner. Also, due to the unusual direction of the high winds, the port at our next destination, the island of Flores, was closed. The port at the neighboring island, Pico, is too small for the Explorer, and using the zodiacs was out of the question. Other options had been eliminated by a Portugese naval exercise and by a docked asphalt barge. Now, with plans A, B, C, D, and E all eliminated, the flexibility and resourcefulness of the Lindblad staff shone.
For tomorrow morning, there would be two choices. First, to stroll around Horta, and perhaps stop in Peter's Cafe Sport. Second, to embark on an expedition to the close-by island of Pico: to get there, arrangements have been made for the ferry to São Jorge to stop at Pico first for us. To return before lunch, a ferry has been chartered for just our group. The Pico group would visit a whaling museum in the village of Lajes do Pico, and a winery.
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We started with an early breakfast and, for me, 25mg of meclizine due to an unfortunate tendency to seasickness and the obvious roughness of the seas. Here is our ferry.
The fellow in front was our pan-Azorean guide, who had been with us from the beginning of our Azorean visit at São Miguel. He was wonderful, a warm, enthusiastic man, and I wish he could have been on all our buses. And Joan and I think his name was Evaristo. (note to self: take some notes!)
I have no pictures of our crossing to Pico, and for good reason. The boat was gyrating through rough seas and crosswinds. I was concentrating on not becoming sick by sitting very still on the lower deck of the ferry, in fresh air, with my rain jacket keeping the spray off and the meclizine keeping my stomach settled. The ride lasted only 45 minutes, but I was relieved that it took no longer; the only times I have encountered rougher seas, I took two meclizine and lay down flat!
I also succeeded in keeping most of the spray off my glasses. Glasses wearers hate spots, and salt water leaves opaque blobs, not translucent ones.
Our bus brought us to the harbor in Lajes.
The whaling museum was a pleasant surprise, new and much larger on the inside than it looked on the outside. Joan and I could have spent much more time working methodically through its exhibits and artifacts than was allotted, forcing us to make choices about what to study and what to breeze by.
After we had been inside for a few minutes the attendant rushed in to tell us emphatically of a "No Pictures!" policy. I put my camera back in its case, but had already taken pictures of one of the highlights of the museum, a whaling boat built in the traditional manner. Every little part has a particular function.
Before leaving Lajes I noticed this sign. With whale killing unprofitable, tourism (and whale watching) is a nascent industry.
On our way back we stopped at the winery, a cooperative run by the island. They have a web site, which is in Portugese, but has some photos that are good regardless of language.
The gale-force Atlantic winds that frequently scour the Azores make growing grapes a challenge. At Pico they are not trained to grow high, but shelter behind low stone walls and spread along the ground.
Inside, modern stainless steel vats are used.
Only a low-volume bottling line is needed. I don't know how many cases a year they produce.
We happily accepted tastings of two of their several wines, what they called 'less dry' and 'more dry.' The 'less dry' would definitely be a dessert wine, while the 'more dry' might be more of an apéritif. These beverages had an amber, rather than purple, color.
Our return to Horta was bouncy but gentler than going over. Joan even journeyed to the upper deck for the crossing while I repeated my statue imitation on the open portion of the lower deck. We had lunch on the calmly berthed Explorer, which afterwards began sailing towards the northeast. We would now have three days at sea without landfall.
The weather prevented any organized excursions after dinner. Also, due to the unusual direction of the high winds, the port at our next destination, the island of Flores, was closed. The port at the neighboring island, Pico, is too small for the Explorer, and using the zodiacs was out of the question. Other options had been eliminated by a Portugese naval exercise and by a docked asphalt barge. Now, with plans A, B, C, D, and E all eliminated, the flexibility and resourcefulness of the Lindblad staff shone.
For tomorrow morning, there would be two choices. First, to stroll around Horta, and perhaps stop in Peter's Cafe Sport. Second, to embark on an expedition to the close-by island of Pico: to get there, arrangements have been made for the ferry to São Jorge to stop at Pico first for us. To return before lunch, a ferry has been chartered for just our group. The Pico group would visit a whaling museum in the village of Lajes do Pico, and a winery.
View Larger Map
We started with an early breakfast and, for me, 25mg of meclizine due to an unfortunate tendency to seasickness and the obvious roughness of the seas. Here is our ferry.
I have no pictures of our crossing to Pico, and for good reason. The boat was gyrating through rough seas and crosswinds. I was concentrating on not becoming sick by sitting very still on the lower deck of the ferry, in fresh air, with my rain jacket keeping the spray off and the meclizine keeping my stomach settled. The ride lasted only 45 minutes, but I was relieved that it took no longer; the only times I have encountered rougher seas, I took two meclizine and lay down flat!
I also succeeded in keeping most of the spray off my glasses. Glasses wearers hate spots, and salt water leaves opaque blobs, not translucent ones.
Our bus brought us to the harbor in Lajes.
After we had been inside for a few minutes the attendant rushed in to tell us emphatically of a "No Pictures!" policy. I put my camera back in its case, but had already taken pictures of one of the highlights of the museum, a whaling boat built in the traditional manner. Every little part has a particular function.
Before leaving Lajes I noticed this sign. With whale killing unprofitable, tourism (and whale watching) is a nascent industry.
Our return to Horta was bouncy but gentler than going over. Joan even journeyed to the upper deck for the crossing while I repeated my statue imitation on the open portion of the lower deck. We had lunch on the calmly berthed Explorer, which afterwards began sailing towards the northeast. We would now have three days at sea without landfall.
Bern,
ReplyDeleteThanks for your blog. I grew up in Horta, Faial. Thanks for the lovely photos and bringing back fond memories of the islands. My father's family are from Pico, and as I child I had made that Faial and Pico crossing several times on much smaller boats.
Adelina Azevedo