We had not intended to visit Flores, except as a safe haven or alternatively as a rest stop if we had happened to be passing it having been forced north. Since our route was principally the southern and direct one, it was therefore a bit of an unexpected pleasure to be on the small and most western island of the Azores (and according to their signage, the most western point of Europe).

We were welcomed by Tiago, the young man who runs the small marina (and as in all small island communities, seems to have a dozen other jobs). He was charming and his English was perfect, which made life easy. We were asked to move to another berth to leave the alongside pontoon for the night entrants and the spent sailors who have had a rough old passage (clearly not us!), so we moved inside.

Then we spent some time arranging for Lorraine’s repatriation to Canada. She had decided that she did not want to go to the UK now, and travel logistics were quite complicated. Eventually, we shipped her off in a taxi late afternoon to spend the night in a hotel close to the airport for a flight the following morning.

On Tuesday, we relaxed and reviewed options. We needed a bit of respite, and the weather looked to be a bit ripe until Wednesday night, so we decided to rent a car and have a good look around. The island is small and quite beautiful. Though geologically young, there is much vegetation and little of the barren stony landscapes which we have seen elsewhere on volcanic islands. Jim, Ali and I toured around in the afternoon to scope the place out, and have a look at some of the fantastic lagoons up in the hills where the calderas have filled with water.

The east side of the island is lush, a bit smoother and more afforested, and the west side has magnificent cliffs, waterfalls and seascapes.  Villages have been built of the abundant stone, and almost every house we saw was well kept and recently painted. Terraced hills told the story of an agricultural past and present, and most people had a vegetable plot close by.

In some parts, you could imagine yourself in the Western Highlands or the Dales and Cumbria: stone cottages and dry stone dykes abounded, the enclosures were small and curved around large boulders or ridges, streams and rivers gushed around the tilled fields. The difference was the sharp sunlight, though the wind had something of the north about it!

The population is small, around 4,000 souls we were told, and the only regular way off the island is by plane. It obviously holds the affection of those born here: various people we met or were told about had gone away to see the world and earn some money, but returned to Flores to live, bring up families, or retire.

Some who were posted there (eg the maritime policeman) did not share the attachment! It is true that there are disadvantages: Jim and I were really keen on the idea of a big juicy steak, after a fortnight of casseroles and curries, and searched the supermarkets and shops for 2 days without success. We eventually found the butchers’ shop, where we were told that the next delivery would not take place till the middle of the coming week – we had to settle for pork steaks instead!  

Yum Yum,

Watergaw