PART ONE / SAO MIGUEL
Our Grand Azorean Adventure.
We set off to the Azores to discover some family roots with our entire troupe in tow. With nine travelers ranging from 6 to 76 what could possibly go wrong? Turns out….plenty.
After two years in hibernation, the waning days of the pandemic finally granted us the opportunity to embark on a long-awaited journey to the Azores.
Our purpose for this special trip was deeply rooted in family history and connection, as we sought to fulfill my mother's heartfelt wish to see where her relatives once called home.
We were bound for the lush greenery and volcanic wonders of São Miguel and the charming streets and patchwork fields of Terceira.
Fingers were crossed.
But before we could set off. There was swabbing to be done. And a whole lot more to come.
After settling in to our Airbnb, a few of us made a run to local grocery store for some supplies. One of my favorite things to do when I arrive in a new city is to head to the market. It’s hard to appreciate the affordability of Portugal until you are actually there. Delicious loaves of bread were .69€. Fantastic wines could be found for less that 5€. And the butter, oh the butter. I believe there is no better in the world.
Over the next severals days we traversed São Miguel's lush landscapes, mist-shrouded peaks, and tiled streets framing the stunning architecture I couldn't help but feel like someone stumbling upon an undiscovered paradise. It felt like palm trees, hot springs, rugged coastline and cows….lots and lots of cows could be seen in every direction. It was magical.
The island's cuisine was also a welcome gift. The 'Cozido das Furnas,' a hearty ensemble of meats and vegetables, cooked in the very bosom of the earth, reminded me of Sunday gatherings as a youth with my Portuguese American family. Not to be out done was the seafood that delighted us on every occassion. The octupus, “POLVO À LAGAREIRO” was my personal favorite. More can be found about that dish here.
Epic island expeditions followed by epic island siestas.
A Day at The Farm (by Amago)
One of the best things we did during our Sao Miguel trip was to book a tour at THE FARM. Owned by Gena and Joao, our visit to small dairy was far and away Marlowe’s favorite day of the vacation. We moved cows from the pasture to the barn, fed them and then learned to milk them (well, most of us did!). Afterwards we snacked on fresh cheese, jams and artisinal raw milk. What a great day.
PART TWO / TERCEIRA
No Two Islands Are Alike.
It’s hard to imagine how imagine how different each island is until you actually spend time there.
The ship rises again. A little more, a little more – it hovers for a moment that feels like eternity – then it crashes back down onto the water. A tremor runs through the hull. The sea spray reaches as high as the sun deck. There’s another wave – this time the MS Bremen just rattles. But the sea is already gathering itself once more…
We’re lucky. A heavy storm is raging across the Antarctic Ocean. The captain of the Bremen, Mark Behrend, explained the situation with the weather two days ago. There’s a major area of low pressure approaching, and we have two options: go east or go west. Just don’t go through it. The waves at the centre are apparently ten to fourteen metres high.
So nobody had any objections when the captain said he was going to skirt westwards round the storm, as the waves in that direction would only be up to six metres high.
And yet, as we’re being buffeted back and forth, up and down, day and night, we realise how relative luck is.
Tilting my head to peer out from beneath my hood, I took in the view of the route ahead. Or lack of it. Low cloud prevented me from seeing much beyond my dog, Bilbo, as he clambered over the wet rocks, his lead pulled taut. Hearing a shout of glee from ahead, I squinted into the bracing wind, and my grimace disguised the excitement that simmered within me. Then I caught sight of the bright blue fabric of a checkpoint tent and my heart leapt. A small crowd of soggy hikers congregated around it, vivid orange safety tags adorning their rucksacks and marking them out as fellow participants of the Fjällräven Classic UK. Moments later, I was part of the gaggle. Welcoming smiles made me momentarily forget the wet weather.
It was the second day of the Fjällräven Classic UK, a 65km hike through the heart of Scotland’s Cairngorm massif. Despite encountering typical Scottish weather, I was delighted to be out in the hills surrounded by like-minded and similarly soggy people. Over 200 hikers from all over the world had come together for the first UK iteration of this global event series – people from all walks of life with a range of hiking experience, from experienced multi-day hikers, to those for whom these three or four days would form an introduction to wild camping. And that’s one of the joys of the Fjällräven Classic: this levelling, shared experience, forming the basis of so many meaningful friendships.
A few days before, we’d arrived at Mar Lodge, the former hunting lodge marking the start and finish point of our adventure. The first order of business was checking in. Ducking under the blue canvas of the check-in tent, I was met by the beaming face of a volunteer who handed me a map of the area and a trekking pass. This pass was to be stamped by officials at the series of manned checkpoints along the route, which also provided opportunities to resupply food and gas, enjoy a hot drink with fellow hikers, and get an update on the weather and conditions ahead. Now was also the time to collect the first few days’ worth of dehydrated meals, a gas canister, and reusable canvas trash bag.
The ship rises again. A little more, a little more – it hovers for a moment that feels like eternity – then it crashes back down onto the water. A tremor runs through the hull. The sea spray reaches as high as the sun deck. There’s another wave – this time the MS Bremen just rattles. But the sea is already gathering itself once more…
We’re lucky. A heavy storm is raging across the Antarctic Ocean. The captain of the Bremen, Mark Behrend, explained the situation with the weather two days ago. There’s a major area of low pressure approaching, and we have two options: go east or go west. Just don’t go through it. The waves at the centre are apparently ten to fourteen metres high.
So nobody had any objections when the captain said he was going to skirt westwards round the storm, as the waves in that direction would only be up to six metres high.
And yet, as we’re being buffeted back and forth, up and down, day and night, we realise how relative luck is.
Tilting my head to peer out from beneath my hood, I took in the view of the route ahead. Or lack of it. Low cloud prevented me from seeing much beyond my dog, Bilbo, as he clambered over the wet rocks, his lead pulled taut. Hearing a shout of glee from ahead, I squinted into the bracing wind, and my grimace disguised the excitement that simmered within me. Then I caught sight of the bright blue fabric of a checkpoint tent and my heart leapt. A small crowd of soggy hikers congregated around it, vivid orange safety tags adorning their rucksacks and marking them out as fellow participants of the Fjällräven Classic UK. Moments later, I was part of the gaggle. Welcoming smiles made me momentarily forget the wet weather.
It was the second day of the Fjällräven Classic UK, a 65km hike through the heart of Scotland’s Cairngorm massif. Despite encountering typical Scottish weather, I was delighted to be out in the hills surrounded by like-minded and similarly soggy people. Over 200 hikers from all over the world had come together for the first UK iteration of this global event series – people from all walks of life with a range of hiking experience, from experienced multi-day hikers, to those for whom these three or four days would form an introduction to wild camping. And that’s one of the joys of the Fjällräven Classic: this levelling, shared experience, forming the basis of so many meaningful friendships.
A few days before, we’d arrived at Mar Lodge, the former hunting lodge marking the start and finish point of our adventure. The first order of business was checking in. Ducking under the blue canvas of the check-in tent, I was met by the beaming face of a volunteer who handed me a map of the area and a trekking pass. This pass was to be stamped by officials at the series of manned checkpoints along the route, which also provided opportunities to resupply food and gas, enjoy a hot drink with fellow hikers, and get an update on the weather and conditions ahead. Now was also the time to collect the first few days’ worth of dehydrated meals, a gas canister, and reusable canvas trash bag.
The ship rises again. A little more, a little more – it hovers for a moment that feels like eternity – then it crashes back down onto the water. A tremor runs through the hull. The sea spray reaches as high as the sun deck. There’s another wave – this time the MS Bremen just rattles. But the sea is already gathering itself once more…
We’re lucky. A heavy storm is raging across the Antarctic Ocean. The captain of the Bremen, Mark Behrend, explained the situation with the weather two days ago. There’s a major area of low pressure approaching, and we have two options: go east or go west. Just don’t go through it. The waves at the centre are apparently ten to fourteen metres high.
So nobody had any objections when the captain said he was going to skirt westwards round the storm, as the waves in that direction would only be up to six metres high.
And yet, as we’re being buffeted back and forth, up and down, day and night, we realise how relative luck is.
Tilting my head to peer out from beneath my hood, I took in the view of the route ahead. Or lack of it. Low cloud prevented me from seeing much beyond my dog, Bilbo, as he clambered over the wet rocks, his lead pulled taut. Hearing a shout of glee from ahead, I squinted into the bracing wind, and my grimace disguised the excitement that simmered within me. Then I caught sight of the bright blue fabric of a checkpoint tent and my heart leapt. A small crowd of soggy hikers congregated around it, vivid orange safety tags adorning their rucksacks and marking them out as fellow participants of the Fjällräven Classic UK. Moments later, I was part of the gaggle. Welcoming smiles made me momentarily forget the wet weather.
It was the second day of the Fjällräven Classic UK, a 65km hike through the heart of Scotland’s Cairngorm massif. Despite encountering typical Scottish weather, I was delighted to be out in the hills surrounded by like-minded and similarly soggy people. Over 200 hikers from all over the world had come together for the first UK iteration of this global event series – people from all walks of life with a range of hiking experience, from experienced multi-day hikers, to those for whom these three or four days would form an introduction to wild camping. And that’s one of the joys of the Fjällräven Classic: this levelling, shared experience, forming the basis of so many meaningful friendships.
A few days before, we’d arrived at Mar Lodge, the former hunting lodge marking the start and finish point of our adventure. The first order of business was checking in. Ducking under the blue canvas of the check-in tent, I was met by the beaming face of a volunteer who handed me a map of the area and a trekking pass. This pass was to be stamped by officials at the series of manned checkpoints along the route, which also provided opportunities to resupply food and gas, enjoy a hot drink with fellow hikers, and get an update on the weather and conditions ahead. Now was also the time to collect the first few days’ worth of dehydrated meals, a gas canister, and reusable canvas trash bag.
PART THREE / SAO MIGUEL
Ugh. Back To The Beginning.
Traveling during Covid proves to be more than we bargained for.
The ship rises again. A little more, a little more – it hovers for a moment that feels like eternity – then it crashes back down onto the water. A tremor runs through the hull. The sea spray reaches as high as the sun deck. There’s another wave – this time the MS Bremen just rattles. But the sea is already gathering itself once more…
We’re lucky. A heavy storm is raging across the Antarctic Ocean. The captain of the Bremen, Mark Behrend, explained the situation with the weather two days ago. There’s a major area of low pressure approaching, and we have two options: go east or go west. Just don’t go through it. The waves at the centre are apparently ten to fourteen metres high.
So nobody had any objections when the captain said he was going to skirt westwards round the storm, as the waves in that direction would only be up to six metres high.
And yet, as we’re being buffeted back and forth, up and down, day and night, we realise how relative luck is.
Tilting my head to peer out from beneath my hood, I took in the view of the route ahead. Or lack of it. Low cloud prevented me from seeing much beyond my dog, Bilbo, as he clambered over the wet rocks, his lead pulled taut. Hearing a shout of glee from ahead, I squinted into the bracing wind, and my grimace disguised the excitement that simmered within me. Then I caught sight of the bright blue fabric of a checkpoint tent and my heart leapt. A small crowd of soggy hikers congregated around it, vivid orange safety tags adorning their rucksacks and marking them out as fellow participants of the Fjällräven Classic UK. Moments later, I was part of the gaggle. Welcoming smiles made me momentarily forget the wet weather.
It was the second day of the Fjällräven Classic UK, a 65km hike through the heart of Scotland’s Cairngorm massif. Despite encountering typical Scottish weather, I was delighted to be out in the hills surrounded by like-minded and similarly soggy people. Over 200 hikers from all over the world had come together for the first UK iteration of this global event series – people from all walks of life with a range of hiking experience, from experienced multi-day hikers, to those for whom these three or four days would form an introduction to wild camping. And that’s one of the joys of the Fjällräven Classic: this levelling, shared experience, forming the basis of so many meaningful friendships.
A few days before, we’d arrived at Mar Lodge, the former hunting lodge marking the start and finish point of our adventure. The first order of business was checking in. Ducking under the blue canvas of the check-in tent, I was met by the beaming face of a volunteer who handed me a map of the area and a trekking pass. This pass was to be stamped by officials at the series of manned checkpoints along the route, which also provided opportunities to resupply food and gas, enjoy a hot drink with fellow hikers, and get an update on the weather and conditions ahead. Now was also the time to collect the first few days’ worth of dehydrated meals, a gas canister, and reusable canvas trash bag.
The ship rises again. A little more, a little more – it hovers for a moment that feels like eternity – then it crashes back down onto the water. A tremor runs through the hull. The sea spray reaches as high as the sun deck. There’s another wave – this time the MS Bremen just rattles. But the sea is already gathering itself once more…
We’re lucky. A heavy storm is raging across the Antarctic Ocean. The captain of the Bremen, Mark Behrend, explained the situation with the weather two days ago. There’s a major area of low pressure approaching, and we have two options: go east or go west. Just don’t go through it. The waves at the centre are apparently ten to fourteen metres high.
So nobody had any objections when the captain said he was going to skirt westwards round the storm, as the waves in that direction would only be up to six metres high.
And yet, as we’re being buffeted back and forth, up and down, day and night, we realise how relative luck is.
Tilting my head to peer out from beneath my hood, I took in the view of the route ahead. Or lack of it. Low cloud prevented me from seeing much beyond my dog, Bilbo, as he clambered over the wet rocks, his lead pulled taut. Hearing a shout of glee from ahead, I squinted into the bracing wind, and my grimace disguised the excitement that simmered within me. Then I caught sight of the bright blue fabric of a checkpoint tent and my heart leapt. A small crowd of soggy hikers congregated around it, vivid orange safety tags adorning their rucksacks and marking them out as fellow participants of the Fjällräven Classic UK. Moments later, I was part of the gaggle. Welcoming smiles made me momentarily forget the wet weather.
It was the second day of the Fjällräven Classic UK, a 65km hike through the heart of Scotland’s Cairngorm massif. Despite encountering typical Scottish weather, I was delighted to be out in the hills surrounded by like-minded and similarly soggy people. Over 200 hikers from all over the world had come together for the first UK iteration of this global event series – people from all walks of life with a range of hiking experience, from experienced multi-day hikers, to those for whom these three or four days would form an introduction to wild camping. And that’s one of the joys of the Fjällräven Classic: this levelling, shared experience, forming the basis of so many meaningful friendships.
A few days before, we’d arrived at Mar Lodge, the former hunting lodge marking the start and finish point of our adventure. The first order of business was checking in. Ducking under the blue canvas of the check-in tent, I was met by the beaming face of a volunteer who handed me a map of the area and a trekking pass. This pass was to be stamped by officials at the series of manned checkpoints along the route, which also provided opportunities to resupply food and gas, enjoy a hot drink with fellow hikers, and get an update on the weather and conditions ahead. Now was also the time to collect the first few days’ worth of dehydrated meals, a gas canister, and reusable canvas trash bag.
UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN. TCHAU.
Take a closer look at the Azores.
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt.