Graciosa and vicinity, Azores

The clouds were like tattered gray curtains trying to mask the rising of the sun. In the end they succeeded but for a moment the brilliant orange orb blazed into view, shone its light upon the sea and set the edges of the sky on fire. Blue patches showed through the rents but they too were quickly smothered. It appeared as if precipitation would be the order of the day. How wrong we were with our prediction!

Eyes left the skies to scan the pewter seas that slowly seemed to be flattening. Any exhalation from a whale surely could be seen in these conditions. We searched for hours with little success but then a brilliant plan was put into action. A history lesson was the bait and we ensconced ourselves within the lounge, listening enthralled until someone noticed the eavesdroppers outside. Sperm whales! A cow and calf were snuggled up next to the ship while up to a dozen others were scattered all around. Our poor historian was heard to murmur something to the effect that whales were somewhat malicious in their timing but he too raced out to the bow to enjoy the show. How strange, in those few moments that we had been inside, the world had metamorphosed into one bathed in sunlight under almost cloudless skies.

Afternoon found us on the island of Graciosa where at times it seemed we had taken a step back in time. Windmills with pointed conical caps dotted the hillsides waiting for sails to be raised to press them into action. New wind generators, tall and sleek whirled madly on the hillsides above Baia da Folga. Santa Cruz da Graciosa too was a mix of old and new. Ancient Araucaria or Norfolk pine stood as towering sentinels around the edges of two plaza ponds where in days gone by cattle were brought for water. A child dropped his heavy bag of books to dabble his fingers in a fountain in a thoughtful moment while modern cars whizzed by. Outfitted as if ready to go a wooden whaling boat sat inside a boat-house near the quay, never to leave again.

We left the town and journeyed past walled fields of vines and vegetables. Climbing ever higher we crested a ridge and dropped down into a Caldiera to the Furna do Enxofre, the sulphur cavern. One hundred and eighty two steps it was, down through Raphunzel’s Tower into the bowels of the earth where mud pots gurgled and sulfurous fumes stung our noses. There was a serene beauty to it all. Amber light caught the edges of the hexagonal basaltic columns that formed the ceiling and walls. Lush green ferns decorated the walls where sunlight filtered into the chasm. And yet it seemed so ominous too. The mournful sound of a dove echoed through the emptiness. A tiny boat drifted at the edge of darkness as if waiting to carry one further into the underworld.

Clouds and blue skies. Sea and shore. History and the present. Old and new. Light and dark. Quite a day it was!