Flores: The Island of Water
By Carlota Caldeira
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After three flights (and hilariously managing to get lost in the tiniest of airports), I finally landed on the wet island of Flores, the westernmost point in Europe. Trying to shake off a lingering anxiety, which had been piling on with months of non-stop work, I stretched my legs while glancing at the grey cloak of rain-filled clouds hanging above. The Azores are known for their unpredictable weather and rewards those with patience. So while I was desperately in need of the warm sun, I made an effort not to worry. Fingers crossed.
With a satisfied grin one gets at the start of a new adventure, I took the keys of my small, unsuitable for anything-other-than-city-driving rental car and set off to discover the island. I don't often get excited. Yet as I drove up and down the hills, twisting and turning through the island's roads, the car's engine already struggling, the thrill of discovery took hold of me. It had been over a year since the pandemic first took us hostage in our own homes. And though my mind still kept drifting towards work, I was thankful to be out exploring the emerald green valleys and flower-covered peaks of this rugged land.
You might wonder why an island in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, isolated from most of the world until just over 50 years ago, would be my choice for a break. Especially after social isolation. It turns out that Flores would be a haven amid a chaotic, turbulent world, a place where the pandemic felt like a blurry, nightmarish fever dream.
As I drove around the island, the veil of clouds began to fade. I turned the car down another hill, and Flores suddenly revealed its most spectacular scenery: a colossal green cliff carved by endless interlacing rows of water. It was jaw-dropping. Though I had seen countless pictures, there's absolutely nothing like looking at that scenery with your own eyes. This was Nature with a capital "N", a vision of paradise.
Awe-struck, I stopped the car and clumsily made my way into the forest through a slippery trail. The day was coming to an end when I reached the lagoon at the bottom of that towering waterfall-streaked wall. At the height of the Summer season, it had been nearly impossible to find accommodation, yet I found myself alone at the most recognized spot on the island. I sat down by the tranquil lagoon and drank in that moment, a calmness washing over me, that anxiousness finally fading. There I was, on one of the most remote places in Europe, with 1,895.71 km of ocean outstretching between me and home. Humankind and our troubles felt small against the majestic backdrop of those lush volcanic cliffs.
In the Azores, Nature rules. The winds and the tides bring an ever-flowing, unpredictable cycle of sun and rain, which, for better or worse, would free me from any over-planning or over-thinking. Stripped from the
illusions of control, one had no choice but to embrace uncertainty and take things slow, one step at a time.
And so, as the sun went down, I stood up and unhurriedly made my way back to the car. Flores had a lot more to discover. No matter what happened next, that moment alone had already made the journey worth it.
