The Azores are tucked some 850 miles from the shores of Portugal, to whom they belong politically. Which curious phrase applies because for generations Azoreans have insisted that they are their own culture and not just a sub-set of people back on the mainland — whose language they share. I selected this photograph not merely for its interesting buildings, but to show the vibrant green so abundant everywhere. The island chain has volcanic origins of course, whose old craters hold pristine lakes and whose rich and acidic soil is abundant with plant life.
One thing you see everywhere, here, is stone. Slate, to be exact. Building walls and roofs, occasional paving, often intermixed with field rocks to make un-mortared walls between pastures. I love the slightly wild hominess of it. Plentiful chimney pots poke up .
Sigh. Back in the port city of Ponta Delgada our ship awaits to collect wandering folks such as we, to coddle and distract about 1900 of us, and soothe our journey back to reality in Ft Lauderdale. Florida.
In the USA. Back, as we will remind ourselves, where we live.
I love this little video, partly for its visuals and partly for the music score which captures richness that the camera could not. A place to visit while ratcheting up one's senses for the few hours in an uncomfortable jeep.