Monthly Archives: July 2014

I’ve created a monster: PART TWO if I can get this blob uploaded…!

The day before Gail and Ricardo left we took the ferry to Pico to toddle around that island, visit a whaling museum, and any other sights we could find (don’t worry, there weren’t a lot of hydrangeas there).

The ferry terminal, like other newly, constructed infrastructure around here, is yet another stunning example of architecture. And, as you can imagine, I did check out the restrooms, which are modern and immaculate. Ahh, heaven.

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I took quite a few shots, including my husband studiously ignoring me

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Gail, Ricardo and I had some breakfast (Max had eaten his usual marina bar cafe ham and cheese Azorean sandwich earlier).

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Gail was smart and didn’t point to the sandwich, which Ricardo and I did. Turned out it was four pieces of white bread, one lettuce leaf sprawled across one teaspoon of what we now know must be the tuna paste we see on menus, and two other teaspoons of the beige tuna paste allocated amongst the other three slices. Oh well, the soggy bread was tasty.

Not only did we get breakfast, but I also discovered another Gail term, scrapkins (maybe I should call them Gailerisms like I did with my mom’s special words). Like napkins they are used for wiping one’s mouth and hands after eating but, unlike a lot of other table napkins, they’re only large enough for a thumb and a finger or one dab of the lips–you choose. If I had thought to bring my pencil, you could see what I’m talking about.

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FYI: If you look closely you may also see some of a dissected, tuna-paste culinary treat to the right of the scrapkins.

Soon we were ready to board, and off we go

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Yes, more snapping of camera while on the ferry as we depart Horta

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including a local fishing boat heading to Faial

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and, a shot of two passengers who turned the lens on me

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and one of my favorites

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Within 30 minutes we were inside the port of Madalena’s seawall on Pico where a giant’s jigsaw puzzle pieces surrounded the candy cane-striped lighthouse

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Fishing boats, some with drying laundry and some with bamboo poles that are used for tuna fishing, gently bobbed like tub toys.

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Max located a rental car and soon we were on another one of our ten-minute detours, i.e., we don’t know where we’re going and we’ll ask once we get tired of turning around.

We did start out, though, behind a truckload of fish

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reminiscent of another car ride by Max in 2002 when he was behind a truckload of severed cow limbs, which put him off meat for a wee bit.

Heading east toward the Museu dos Baleeiros (Whalers’ Museum) at Lajes do Pico, located on the southern coast, we noticed all these square plots walled by what looked like porous chunks of charcoal but was lava populated with green viney plants

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They looked like weeds but on closer inspection we discovered they were the local vineyards carefully cultivated.

We arrived at Museu dos Baleeiros and I promptly had to take a photo of a cutesy sign (not a big fan of cutesy)

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and a tiled wave on the sidewalk (which I liked)

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Unfortunately, the museum neglected to say until you arrived AT the door that instead of being open 10a-4p they were open 10a-12:30p then again 2p-4p. Ahhh… when will we learn? But, no fears, we found lunch (amazing how food and drink always makes one feel better).

We all ordered something other than the hamburger with the ever-present fries, which are served everywhere here.

 

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Three ordered omelets and one ordered steak. Oh, they come with fries.

Once again, Gail and I pushed ours towards Max and Ricardo but even THEY had exhausted their intake of this national food.

Talk about a wonderful place to introduce a different type of french fry. Forget about boat supplies. Try potatoes.

We began talking about those stringy, curlycue fries dusted with a chili-like spice; and, I recalled our family’s fried potato recipe: (1) peeling potatoes as if you’re going to boil and mash them, (2) fill a baking pan with about 4 inches of crisco oil or, better yet, lard, (3) place prepared peeled potatoes in it, (4) cook the heck out of the potatoes until they’re basically a frizzled, crispy crunchy ball of fried potato with a dime-size bit of meat cowering inside. Now do you know why I’m a fan of stretchy pants?

But, they would need marketing names so Max and Gail, both of whom are good at this, came up with Spud Scud and Potato Bomb. We’re still stuck, though, on what to call those curly fries, so we welcome any suggestions as long as you don’t start a french fry truck business as the four of us may attempt it after we perfect the recipes. We’ll just require extra large seats to accommodate any additional girth thanks to taste-testing. And, my stretchy pants.

Another local food seems to be humongous carrots. (These photos don’t really do the typical Azorean carrot justice. We’ve eaten the largest ones but at least you get an idea of girth)

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For hors d’ouerves I figured we might as well have a vegetable with all the cheese we’re enjoying, so I’ve begun peeling these orange monoliths to add a healthy alternative.

Gail and I were thinking, too, we could carve them into building blocks and start creating edible edifices,

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or simply do carrot art.

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Carrot-carving could become a hobby aboard Juanona.

Okay, enough of local foods. Back to our Pico island tour…
which, just happened to involve another manhole pic for Ellen when walking back to the car from the cafe

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and more examples of the brightly-trimmed homes of some locals

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Ricardo and Gail needed to catch the 3p ferry, so we took the scenic overland road to drive by the mountain, one Max had hiked with John Arndt in 1978 and then again with Chris, 2002

 

 

 

Along the way we saw municipal workers keeping the lanes clear of, what else, hydrangeas

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Competing with my hydrangea mania is my Pico Mountain obsession. When we arise every morning we look towards Pico to see what the weather’s like. This point of Pico is either totally eclipsed,

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or partly eclipsed,

 

in various cloud configurations

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or almost totally uncovered

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Must admit it’s mesmerizing. And, you, poor folk, know what that means… YES! Photographs of exactly the same thing over and over!

We got some wonderful views of Pico Mountain, Portugal’s highest mountain at roughly 7,000 ft

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but, I’ll limit them to the two above… for now.

After dropping Ricardo and Gail in town to catch the ferry back to Horta, Max and I headed for another whaling museum on the northern shore in Sao Roque do Pico. However, while driving along the coast Max noticed a sign saying ‘vinha’, and the car quickly turned onto a narrow road that became an even narrower lane that became one-way in spite of being a two-way street.

We parked and began looking for any signs pointing to this ‘vinha’ place. All we saw was a large plate glass window in this old building with a sign and arrow directing us to an entrance further down. Still no sign but we entered a small courtyard anyway, saw an open door and proceeded inside. Voila! We had found a gem of a museum explaining how Pico became such a fabulous wine-growing island thanks to its dressing of lava from volcanic explosions.

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We peered through the building’s windows captivated by the striking leafy limbs trailing over black rocky ground as they searched for purchase on these laboriously, man-made walls

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It became clear, once we heard the history, of exactly how these small plots came into being. (NOTE on photo: I’m trying to make sure Max could see the examples while also getting into some light as directed by Max while I’m saying, as most of my friends know when taking a snapshot of me, ‘no thighs’.)

 

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Our guide said the grapes are grown in two types of lava, the flat kind located closer to shore and the biscotti kind, which we were seeing.

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Originally the monasteries and large estates held all the land and, hence, vineyards, and Pico began exporting wine to Europe, the US and Russia; but, in the mid- to late 1800s, a mildew and a pest basically shut down this business, causing a devastating loss of income not only to the owners but to those who worked in the fields as well. Another large exodus, this time to Brazil and California, occurred. Eventually, the vineyards were broken up into much smaller plots and bought by the locals.

Some emigrees later returned home bringing an American grape, which led to growing and producing wine for local consumption.

This excellent wine is now enjoyed by many coming to the Azores (when we asked Silvio on Flores for a good wine he said any from Pico are great. And, they are.). In 2004 Pico became a designated UNESCO World Heritage wine-growing site, and this museum serves to educate visitors on this island’s wine history.

The museum had a wonderful map depicting not only the areas for wine-growing but also ox cart trails (in dotted red) created over many years when tending and harvesting these small plots. Because of the small plots, all harvesting was done by hand, occurring in September.

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After taste-testing two of their three bottles of wine, a smidgen of a syrupy glow (we each only had three tablespoons) accompanied us as we continued to our original designation, the converted whale processing factory now a museum, Museu da Industria Baleeira.

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Inside the museum did have one of the small, open boats the men set off on for shore whaling. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have wanted to be in one of those chasing after a mammal the size of a house. (I’d show a pic but no photography allowed.)

Once we finished touring the factory we exited to bright sun and some kids’ laughter along with the sound of spraying water. Sure enough we looked to our left and there were some young sailors just finishing hosing off their Optis. They kindly posed for some photos

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with one sailor taking a lot of pride in ensuring a sail was prominently displayed

 

 

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Time to head back for our ferry-catching

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and home to Horta and the marina

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It being the last night we thought we’d have something special for Ricardo and Gail: PIZZA! Not typical Azorean fare but one the four of us were keen on. We had spotted some pizza-carrying Azoreans after dinner the night before at a famous watering hole for yachts at Peter’s Cafe. (Both Gail and I can attest, if you order their red wine, it’ll taste as if you’re sucking down a purple grape.)

Well, we all eagle-eyed the label on the boxes and then set off in pursuit. It was just down the street a block or two, and with a sharp left, we met the very welcoming owner and chef (many Azoreans speak excellent English, thanks to either trips and stays in the US, school here, and un-dubbed american films). We said we’d be back the next night. Just the menu alone most likely caused our sleep to be filled with dreams of circular food.

Alas, no pics of the night, and one was a really missed photo, and it wasn’t of a pizza but of a pizza picker-upper.

Ricardo and I left to order and wait for the pizza. The US vs Belgium World Cup game was on, so we sat and watched while counting down to dinner time. The TV was above the soda machine and we were about one table-length away from it (unfortunately as it turned out), for lo and behold I had been talking to Ricardo with my head turned to starboard only to then face forward to catch the game. After a gulp accompanied by google eyes I nudged Ricardo and said ‘act naturally but just slowly look forward’.

By then I was starting to giggle and it got worse. Fortunately, both of us managed to not let on what was triggering our growing hysteria. All I can say is the thoughts going through my pizza-deprived head were (a) wow! what a perfect place to put a two-peach-halves tattoo and (b) the moon also rises in mysterious places.

As Ricardo later related to Max and Gail the guy had a vertical line from shirt bottom to pant top of about a foot. Since then I’ve been tugging my pants up when sitting to make sure I also do not moon rise in public.

We ended the night with our now traditional game of Oh Hell. I have been the only one out of the past five nights NOT to win. Meaning I couldn’t pick an animal sticker to place under one’s name on the score card (a regulation, which I instituted). So, some words of caution: if anyone’s planning on teaching Gail and Ricardo a new card game, do not believe them when they say they take awhile to catch on. They were the ones who picked the first two stickers…

 

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Our final, final task of the night was, as Gail aptly coined, ‘flossing and foaming’ (the latter actually came from a term a friend of mine used when I asked her if she minded if I brushed my teeth in front of her; she replied ‘well, as long as you’re not going to foam in front of me’).

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As those who live on boats know, one quickly loses inhibitions found on land. Emptying the pee pot

 

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became a communal chore that none of us found odd, and walking around in outfits normally reserved for next-of-kin or only those whom you know will not point and look in disgust is common.

Thanks, though, to our friend Katie Palmer (whose husband Steve will be our crew to England!) Gail and Ricardo had a semblance of privacy due to a lovely curtain created for the aft berth (Max smartly removed the bi-fold door to allow more room),

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with a decorative edge using our curtain fabric

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(also, thanks to Katie’s as well as Carol Williams’ prowess with a sewing machine) to compliment the main cabin decor

So, that is the tale of the week. Saying goodbye to Ricardo (who was the first of possibly the four of us requiring a Tums for the pizza) and Gail with strong hugs this morning meant the first chapter of our adventure was sadly over.

But, wait, I said I created a monster! That monster is moi and my infliction upon friends of having to wiggle and jiggle to “Happy” aboard Juanona. Now a tradition, this act began with my encouraging Ricardo and Max to do so on our passage…

Beware, Tricia, David (friends from Horta) and Steve, you are next!

And, now, how appropriate for as I close this epistle, with which I have tired your eyes, “Happy” serenades me from the marina bar cafe’s video screen. I guess I’ll just have to dance out of here… :)

What a smart thing to do

Talk about a smart thing to do… Horta’s marina seawall and walks are paved with paintings placed by sailors of visiting yachts. A tradition that’s grown over decades, it’s considered to be bad luck if you don’t create one of these landmarks commemorating your safe arrival in Horta. In Flores, where we first landed in 2002 and in 2014, there also is a growing practice of documenting one’s landing on a friendly shore. And, you get your marina smartly dressed for free.

Like many before us, we, too, have partaken of wall grazing. You know, the type of strolling that results in not looking where you’re going, suddenly stopping to take in a yachtie’s particularly stunning rendering of their boat’s name only to trip up the person behind you. It’s hard not to do for almost every surface is decorated with amazing artwork.

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We did one back in 2002 thanks to Chris’ handiwork,

 

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so, we went looking for our 12-year old sign. The only evidence of our having been here is seeing others around it that have persevered

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However, we did spot some Brazilian friends’ wall sign from that same summer

 

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So, Max got the bug and decided we should do one.
On the second to last day here we purchase paint, brushes and a roll of paper towels for clean-up, most of which I needed.

He located a perfect spot, put on a base coat of white paint, came back to the boat, put pencil to paper and initiated the first draft

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then started practicing the drawing of a lobster by visiting http://www.howtodrawanimals. I must admit I was pretty impressed.

Next step, transcribing the lobster and some letters onto the wall in pencil. Once again his lobster was perfect. My letters, not so hot.

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[and, looking at this picture, I’m wondering when all of a sudden my arms needed hammocks; I already want a chin strap… god, got to love 60+. (Sorry, this is quite a girly thing to write. Next time, guys, I’ll do a warning first, I promise.
Now, on to the more enjoyable info.)]

I asked him, ‘do you think they look okay?’ He said ‘yes’, hesitated, then came ‘do you think the “M” of “Maine” is a little wide.’ I said, ‘Well, no, but you do.’ Again, my artistic husband is smart and did the smart husbandy thing by smartly keeping oh so quiet.

We left, both of us knowing the “M” could definitely use some dieting.

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Next morning bright and early before the sun would laser our eyeballs due to the bright white paint we were using, Max hopped out of bed (well, for those who know our boat, this movement is more like pretzeling out of bed), grabbed the paint, brushes, and the necessary roll of paper towels and headed towards our piece of the concrete rock.

After checking it out (ensuring the surface was not tacky), he returned to the boat saying he could sure use a narrower, smaller brush. I put on my thinking cap and started thinking, thinking, pondering different items we have stowed until a thought bubble rose to the surface of my brain along with an unspoken ‘dang it’. I have the perfect tool: my carefully stowed eyeliner brush.

Well, I kept mum until mentally I had exhausted all of the other possibilities, and then offered up my lovely make-up tool. At least I knew future raccoon eyes would remind me it was for a good cause.

Now back to the wall Max began his masterpiece (and, my serious hat on–I’m not kidding, it is!)

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Then, my turn; and, as I tried ever so paint-stakingly (I know, yuck-yuck pun) to outline the letters (alas, with my good eyeliner brush),

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my smart husband did the smart husbandy thing again (he’s quite wonderful, even if I do say so myself) and let me fust around until finally I, the non-painter, turned to him and said, ‘I think you may be able to do a better job’. And, my smart husband took the brush and smartly finished it off, but only after he assured me my work was fine. Did I say he was smart?

Our friend, Tricia, stopped by on her way to the market and took a photo (if you notice, he’s holding a brush; I’m holding a screwdriver) documenting the progress-to-date

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After two hours of this (most of my time spent looking, thank god) we stepped back and admired the final work

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Since it’s a wonderful activity to do while people of all nationalities are strolling about (we met vacationeers from Germany, Holland, Portugal, Netherlands), we asked a young man to snap a photo of the artist and helper

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Now, when we stroll by on the way to the marina bar cafe and back, we’re always casting our eyes port (to cafe) and starboard (from cafe) to this sign of Juanona. We’ll be remembering both of her sails to these islands along with crew members Chris (2002) and Dick (2014).

And, as I passed by it most recently on my way to take a shower, I did notice my “M” was a wee bit wide. Yet, somehow I knew if my husband thought the same, he would just say how wonderful our painting looked and keep us gently strolling by. Oh, what a smart (and lovely) husbandy thing to do.

I’ve created a monster: PART ONE

That’s what, I fear, I’ve done due to a combination of Max operating the GoPro camera and my insistence on christening certain events (mid-passage, Gail’s arrival, newly met friends aboard…) dancing to “Happy”. So, I’ve created a monster and it’s moi!

But, more of that later if you’re not offended by middle-agers prancing about in very small spaces.

Anyhoo, let me share with you some highlights of our recent time with Gail and Ricardo these past few days. As you may know it all began with her arrival in Horta where Ricardo met her at the airport (If you’ve got eagle eyes and her husband did for he took the photo, she’s third from the left in the back row of deplaning passengers).

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A bit easier to spot with this one:

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A few days later we’re off to explore Faial in a car rental. Fortunately all of us don’t mind taking detours because the first ten minutes showed us the one and only highway around this island doesn’t necessarily mean one doesn’t get lost. And, so we did, rather quickly, I might add, due to my back-seat navigation. I gave it up with happiness to Ricardo who managed to do a much better job.

We were also looking for an industrial hardware store (quell surpris). Our last stop asking for directions, I hopped out of the car with the scribbled store name to ask this young man working in his yard.

That part was fine. What wasn’t so good was he had a dog behind a fence that looked like it could crack concrete with its jaw and proceeded to show me those said jaws. Swallowing and trying not to show fear (more like terror), I cautiously approached, the man kindly came to the fence and with a smile and lovely accented english pointed me/us in the right direction. Unfortunately, the staff weren’t too helpful but now we knew where to direct any other non-Faialian to this shop (we think).

Our second stop was some natural park off to the right. They had landscaped a small picnic area with tables and stools for those much younger than I

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amidst ferns that were trees (Timothy Vail, your expertise, like your wife’s geological knowledge, is sorely needed)

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I should have asked Gail to stand in front of this so you could get an idea of just how big this fern was–at least 5′ tall–or travel with my pencil.

Not quite believing this was REALLY a fern, I stepped closer and, sure enough, there were the tell-tale signs

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The park also had an enclosure with deer, which we thought interesting but also a good thing they weren’t running wild (and, they think bunnies are bad…)

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and, plenty of perfect spots for portraiture

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In addition to the natural landscaped flora and fauna area there was an actual house set up as an example of a traditional rural one.

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Touring the small backyard we found, to us, a unique outbuilding labeled “Poco”. It could either have been a cistern or a Roman bath. The guys liked the first idea, Gail and I were all for the latter.

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It was interesting, but what we all really wished we had snapped a pic of was the sign with its hours for visiting: 11a-noon, closed for lunch, opening again 1-2p.

Unfortunately, there were quite a few groundskeepers but no one to answer any questions about anything other than where to use the loo, which I did. And, let me tell you, it was beautiful!

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I took a video of it for it was truly one of the loveliest public park restrooms I’d ever seen, which I ALMOST posted here much to Max’s fear.

Next stop was a site Max, Chris and I had visited in 2002: the lighthouse on the NW corner of this island. In September 1957 a volcanic eruption, along with associated earthquakes, occurred. Activity finally subsided by October 1958. By then a small village had been buried, a new headland over 300 ft had been added, and approximately 15,000 people had emigrated to the US (hence direct flights from Boston to the Azores).

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[fyi: I don’t know the people in the photo; but, I do know they didn’t fall off in spite of the guy sitting on the edge of the cliff, which, for me a fearer of heights, would be a nightmare and engender a trip to the loo.)

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The new visitor’s center was stunning, especially the concept of having it mostly buried into the remnants of the eruption.

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Inside we partook of some libations to fortify ourselves for the next round of sight-seeing.

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Exiting the center I couldn’t help but take some quick shots of the fine, silky volcanic soil covering everything on this point of land. For some reason I really love the idea of bringing the outside into my home (for once I’m being serious here so bear with me). Because of this I take photos of designs I think would work well for fabric, something I’ll never end up designing but at least like the thought. Okay, serious hat off, goof hat back on…

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While walking to our car, I spotted a manhole cover and my attention was diverted to a pic for Ellen, my manhole cover diva previously referenced in an earlier blog.

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Finally we’re off in search of the caldera (volcanic crater that is one of the reasons Faial is here) and, what else, more food.

It wasn’t with some relief we were leaving the eruption site for our sailor book on Azores has a paragraph headed with a red-lettered ‘Caution’. It suggests avoiding a certain area (with longitude and latitude coordinates supplied) NE of Faial due to “intense underwater seismological activity”, which had been detected in May 2010 (ATLANTIC ISLANDS, AZORES, MADEIRA GROUP, CANARY ISLANDS AND CAPE VERDES, by Anne Hammick, Imray Laurie Norie & Wilson Ltd., 2011, p50).

It also asks anyone to report anything unusual when sailing within that area and provides an address, telephone number and email. And, if you are so stupid, I mean, curious, as to venture within that area, please don’t forget to take photos of your boat being surrounded by spewing lava and pumice torpedoes. That’s if you’re lucky enough that your boat isn’t one of those spewing lava and pumice torpedoes.

So, we begin anew another ‘do you think it’s this road?’ search for the volcano crater sitting in the middle of the island.

We find a cafe along the side and eat our ubiquitous hamburgers and fries, although Gail and I offload the burger from a huge bun and push the fries towards the guys who never seem tired of seeing more of them.

Next, the caldera. But, we do have breaks from looking for road signs because we have Max demonstrating once again his prowess of wall walking

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which he has done before such as in 2003…

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and, more recently in Santa Cruz at Orlando’s case, which you may remember.

We arrived at the almost-top of the caldera after zigzagging up a road watching for descending vehicles, of which there was only one.

The caldera was huge and the wind effect was amazing: stand three feet away from the opening and you could hear yourself talk; stand on the cusp and it was ‘eh? what did you say?’

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On the way down and back to the marina and boat we stopped for photo pops of hydrangea-lined roads (didn’t need pencil as car served for perspective)

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hydrangea-walled fields

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more hydrangea-lined streets (with Pico in background)

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and, did I tell you we saw hydrangea?

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(sorry, couldn’t resist…)

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Okay, that’s it. I truly promise although I will still be taking photos of these as I truly can’t resist (obviously).

Another highlight during this past week was eating at this restaurant our friends Katie Wilkinson and Peter Stoops, both frequent visitors to these islands, suggested. It’s Canto da Doca, which serves its meals on hot stones on which you place your order and cook-to-order. It was EXCELLENT, and, as a review said, you can never complain to the chef…

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and, as is usual, the best part was butting into our neighboring table to converse, resulting in introducing ourselves to Edurado and Carla,

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both of whom quickly became an addition to our time in Horta. Don’t tell me you’re surprised.

We invited them to stop by the next day as neither had been below on a sailboat (had to tidy up a bit).

They arrived bringing even more wine (only the difference being Eduardo actually knew what kind to get), and it was, yes, another opportunity to dance to “Happy”. The night ended with invites to Portugal where they both live.

(am trying to find the pics I took and the GoPro video of, what else, dancing to “Happy”)

But, one of the best topics of conversation, at least for Gail and me, was the REASON they were in the Azores… it was yet another time Eduardo had surprised Carla (her birthday is coming up) with a trip where she only knew what clothes to pack. My friend Carol Williams had that happen to her for her anniversary just last month. Hmmm…. Max and Ricardo, are you picking up any hints? Of course, for me, I AM on one of those trips.

And, I am promised a land room with a TUB so blob blogger sailor girl can take a TUBBY. Cause for celebration! And, best yet, I have witnesses of this, Ricardo and Gail :)

[End of PART ONE with PART TWO soon to appear…]

Oh what a lovely view

Some might believe I’m talking about a spectacular view standing amidst exotic scenery, anything but a boat part. Yet, for my husband and crew member Ricardo (name changed from Dick once we hit the Azores) that’s exactly what those thingy-magigees on the mast are: a lovely view.

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I must admit they have spent a lot of time figuring out the best way to make a very serious repair to our mainsail mechanism thanks to Peter Stoops who had faced the exact same problem on the same passage 11 years ago.

He said I know what you need-a banding tool. Peter then contacted Tom Woodruff, owner of said banding tool, who kindly lent it and gave it to Peter who gave it to Doug Woodbury who gave it to wife Judy who handed it off to Gail (sherpa) who traveled to Horta who then reverently presented it to Max and Ricardo. Thusly, our boom shall never apart from our mast shall be (hopefully).

How this all transpired was Max noticed some bolts loosening around our mast roughly two days out from Flores (June 17). Now, I’m not too much of a sailor but even I, blob blogger sailor girl, realized that can’t be too good. Sure enough in a closer inspection Max said uh-oh.

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Actually he uttered something much more elegant and descriptive. Translated: the boom is becoming unattached from the mast. He and Dick (soon-to-be Ricardo) quickly relieved the pressure. We now had a broken wing on Juanona.

Doing research Max discovered this same sinful condition had occurred to fellow sailors, and a discussion of just what the heck to do was begun via the dial-up modem feature of the satellite phone.

A solution was found, a plan put into place, and Max and fellow sailors proceeded to coordinate a repair from Maine to Azores while continuing our passage to Flores under motor and sometimes jib sail.

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When we arrived in Horta from Faja Grande Max sought out someone to do drill the fittings on the existing gooseneck plate and boom vang plate (I’m ever so slowly learning the correct terminology) to fit the larger bolts being sherpa’ed over.

The boom now was placed ever-so-gently on deck in anticipation of being re-connected.

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With the arrival of Gail and the sacred tool and bolts (specially cut by a boatyard owner friend of hers) the actual repairs were put in place over several days

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resulting in a boom that won’t go boom in the night (sorry, pad pun, I know).

And, even I, blob blogger sailor girl, have to say, it is quite a lovely view.