Sight for Azore Eyes.

 All our bags were packed, we were ready to go… meaning two carry-ons packed to the gills. We made through our first trial, which was dealing with FAT changing Starbucks to Peet’s, which would be fine except HOW WERE WE SUPPOSED TO HAVE EGG BITES FOR BREAKFAST NOW but life is full of disappointments, and one must roll with the punches. ;)

A quick jaunt to Denver, a little less of a quick jaunt to Newark, a little scare when every single flight in and out of Newark was delayed, and not a not so quick jaunt across the Atlantic and bada bing bada boom… Sao Miguel Island, Azores. If we’re rating airports, this one gets an A+. We were A. Off the plane and B. Through customs and C. In a cab and D. All of the above in less than 7 minutes. 

We went on a full Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride (hang on for your life, everything is fine) because the cab driver was trying to beat his own personal best time. I think he did it, gold medal! We arrived at our hotel to find it to be the cutest little boutique hotel you ever did see, just a seven room situation amidst a pineapple plantation. I’m sure you’re thinking, “Boy, I bet you wanted to learn all about harvesting pineapples for your first hour on the island. That’s probably too much to ask for…” Friend, you’d be wrong. It’s not too much to ask for. Ask and ye shall receive. Not that we asked for that… we probably would have asked for creamer with the coffee. But anyway, we went on a pineapple greenhouse tour with the jolliest hotel manager Edgar, along with the other tourists and fellow pineapple enthusiasts. I don’t remember much about what he said (accent paired with early morning paired with not an overwhelming interest on my part), but I can tell you pineapple harvesting is NOT easy. There you go, it’s like you went on the tour yourself. 

Edgar held on to our luggage for us and we wandered Ponta Delgada to our hearts’ content. We mostly said things like, “Get out of the street!” (to each other, not strangers, to be clear) and “This place reminds me of Croatia… and Kona….” There was lava rock everywhere, random pockets of dark sand beaches, buildings of old ruins (“I bet that place was a convent.” “Nunsense, it looks like a canning factory.”), and a very safe and comfortable feel as we just wandered. 

Jolly Edgar let us know our room was ready around one and we headed back to the pineapples. You know what didn’t head back? My flip flop. Broke down right there in front of the convent cannery and I got to play my favorite game, Don’t Step on the Glass in the Street. 

We got situated in our room (balcony, please and thank you) then headed on our first mission to find new flip flops. This led us to the mall… found flip flops, a couple espressos, and I won 5 euros on an Azorean scratcher which, coincidentally, was sold at the same register as the espressos. Score and score, Azore. 

The day just kept on going with a hot tub in a greenhouse situation (with some new friends from the early morning harvesting tour, of course) to kill some time before our dinner reservation at the hotel at 7:00. I know what you’re thinking… what a bunch of night owls! But no, that was the earliest they serve dinner, that was not our choice. We had a great meal and called it a night. 

Day 2… Helena from the tour picked us up right after our Edgar-made breakfast. Our street-facing window was very handy… I just stuck my head out the window and asked the lady who was pacing outside if she was looking for us. She was. Off we went on a full-day island adventure with a couple other travellers… a group from Indiana (possibly Illinois, now that I’m thinking about it, but I’m also thinking you don’t care, which seems a little rude, but I’ll get over it) and a solo traveler from Italy. We basically did all the things… some viewpoints, marveled at a mountain that we couldn’t see due to no visibility, marveled at the mountain that we suddenly COULD see because the weather changes faster than an Azorean cab ride around here, visited some hot springs, got caught in a rain storm at a waterfall, said ooooh ahhh to the geothermal activity and the in ground pits for cooking, complimented Helena thirty million times about how pretty her island is with all the hydrangeas everywhere, etc etc. 

Lunch was near Furnas, which included a stew of various meat cooked in the underground pits using volcanic activity. Worst explanation ever, I know. But just picture holes in the ground, the smell of sulphur, the sight of steam rising everywhere, and there you have it. 

My favorite town was Nordeste, and I’d like you to take a moment to read that name out loud. Then I’d like Google to tell you how to pronounce it. Prepare to be dazzled. 

I know you didn’t do that task, but we’ll move along. 

The next morning, we had our last breakfast with Edgar and headed to the airport to catch our flight to Terceira. It’s a short 40 minuter, so I wasn’t even in a full REM cycle before we landed. It was blue skies all around… but you know who wasn’t around? Francisco, the cab driver we set up to pick us up. We found him eventually, even though we weren’t certain it was him. It went like this…

Shandon: Are you Francisco?

Francisco nods. 

Shandon: Thomas sent you?

Francisco nods and takes our luggage. 

Shandon and Laura shrug and think he seems pleasant enough. 

END SCENE, roll credits. 

In the cab, I was trying desperately to get Francisco to understand we needed to stop at a pharmacy while Shandon was connecting with Thomas, the Airbnb owner who sent us Francisco.  

THAT scene went like this…

Laura: Podemos parar em uma farmacia?

Francisco nods. Laura shrugs. 

Shandon on phone: Hi Thomas!

Thomas: Hello! Did you find Francisco?

Shandon: Maybe. We’re not sure. 

Thomas: Does he have a mustache?

Shandon: Yes. 

Thomas: That’s him. 

Francisco nods. Shandon shrugs. 

End Scene 2, roll credits. 

After a quick stop at the pharmacy to play a game of charades (you just hold your own throat and look sad and then fake cough until someone in the pharmacy but not the pharmacist translates for you and it’s all good), we found Francisco both speaks a LITTLE English and truly cares about following the law of the road. He gestured to a seatbelt-wearing Shandon to unbuckle. “In back, no need.  Forget about it.” 

In Biscoitos, Thomas was waiting on the side of the road to take us to the Airbnb, which he renovated from some ruins… down a steep hill, round a corner, through some foliage, bam. Ruins with an ocean view. One of the notes to the place gave a heads up about these little gnat things that are around. But do not worry, they would only circulate in the middle of the room then leave at dusk. They also know better than to land on any surface. Lies, right? WRONG. These friendly fellas mind their own business, staying right in the center of the room. If you’ve ever forgotten and walked through the center of the room then apologized profusely to a gnat for being in its space, you and I have something in common. 

Things went a LITTLE south at first. It’s fine, it’s fine, everything is fine. You know what everything is NOT at 3 pm in the small area of Biscoitos? Open for business. We couldn’t find an open restaurant, a market, a human, or a cab. We eventually made it to the Biscoitos swimming hole area… made of lava rock with people parking their towels wherever… we ended up there not on purpose but because we thought they might have food. Not until 7 pm, folks. Lemon ice cream, yes. We weren’t hungry or grouchy or frustrated, promise. We made it to a market, a taxi driver from a business card at the register got us back home, and we called it a day. 

Except the fun continued! At about ten pm, into the dark abyss, I said (in a totally pleasant and not at all cranky voice), “What in the world are you listening to?” Shandon thought the sound was coming from MY phone. We both thought the other was listening to some sort of gremlin jabberwocky horror situation. This led to us peering out into the dark night. Shandon said she saw a bird that had to be making that sound, I believed her because it was certainly better than any alternative, and we fell asleep to the sound of crashing waves and gremlin. 

The next day we were to meet Francisco at the top of the road to take us to Angra. No Francisco. When we called, he said he was “close” and hung up. When we called again, he said he was “close” and hung up. We were contemplating if he meant his services were “closed”. It was very confusing but he showed up, he made up for lost time on the road to Angra, we broke the laws of the road by definitely buckling up, and we made it to our tour pick up spot, which was at a hotel at the Angra marina. 

Picture it, Terceira, 2024. We had driver Gui, Pat and Malcolm from London up front, and us in the back. Off we went on another island adventure… this time, blue skies all day except for when it wasn’t for a few minutes. This place keeps you on your toes. We saw all the viewpoints, chased all the craters, learned all about some battles in some bay, had the best lunch at what I’m pretty sure was Gui’s cousin’s restaurant, visited a cave, etc. We passed through countryside where the community was coming together for two important purposes: have a barbecue and also choose the bull to participate in that night’s bull run. Don’t worry, we would not have to just wonder which bulls were chosen… we lived it. But that’s a story for another paragraph. 

Gui took us back to the Biscoitos swimming holes and said, “We’ll be here about twenty minutes since you guys aren’t prepared for swimming.” To which Pat (the mom of the van) said, “We’re not?” We actually WERE prepared, Gui, thank you very much. Obrigado, etc. The four of us found a particular empty swimming hole, thinking, “Oh very nice, no other people.” A lifeguard showed up out of nowhere saying we had to get out. Plot twist: it was not an empty swimming hole. It was an occupied swimming hole. OF A PORTUGUESE MAN OF WAR. Anyway, I love this place… they just had us go one little pool over and all was well. When that little guy was gone, we got the all clear to swim wherever we wanted. 

Speaking of creatures… Gui was oh-so-casually discussing the flora, fauna, and fledglings of the area when he happened to mention some birds that sound a little funky that are in the area. IT WAS THE GREMLIN. Around here, they call them Cory’s Shearwater… well, technically they probably call them something in Portuguese, but here we are. To confirm it is what we had heard, he played a YouTube and Shandon and I got to relive our nightmare right then and there. Mystery solved. 

Gui eventually dropped us back off in Angra, which is a very cute and lively little town. We wandered around a bit, headed down to the water and back, practiced target shooting with the police in the little square… seriously. That was not your imagination. The police had a station set up where you could check out all their weapons while you were waiting for your cab to take you to a nearby village called Porto Judeu for a bull run. 

We shared a cab with our old friends Pat and Mal to Porto Judeu, where we found a roof to sit on. I don’t know about you, but I prefer all my bull runs to take place where I can sit on a roof. The band showed up in the street, along with the entire village, and we watched the matadors and the bull and all the men of the village who ran toward the bull, then ran away from the bull, then figured they might as well run toward the bull again. It was quality entertainment… but not as quality entertainment as us trying to communicate via WhatsApp with a cab driver on our location. We ended up on some side street, confused as all get out, when a friendly villager offered to talk to the driver. He was there in no time, we dropped Pat and Mal in Angra, made it back to Biscoitos, and said good night to all the Cory’s Shearwater that were just getting started for the night. 

So anyway guys, in the epic battle of human vs. stovetop coffee percolator, we finally got a point! Thank you, thank you. How dare you presume we had to YouTube it to confirm we were on the right track. After a slow morning on the nature preserve, we got picked by Francisco and he took us without incident to our last tour. 

Our van of fun visited a cave, another cave, a cave via lava tubes, a volcano you access via a cave, and then, to change things up, a cave. We were able to go down a chamber into the heart of the volcano, which (apparently) is only possible with two volcanoes in the world. Soooo we’re at 50% of explored volcanoes. Which is an F if we’re grading papers but an A+ in our hearts. There were even hairnets with the helmets, and there was this kindergarten teacher in the group who was pretty pumped about the Azorean dedication to lice prevention. Spoiler: it was Shandon. 

Our tour guide dropped us off in the main square of Angra, which was exactly 156 meters from the restaurant with our reservation. If all you’ve been waiting for is one more example of how these are the friendliest and most helpful people, I got you. When making a reservation the day before, we guessed it would be close to 7:00. The lady said, “If you come early, come early. If it’s after 7:00, come late!” You can probably guess which side we were on… 5:30 dinner. We had a most delicious tuna plate and caught our last cab back from Angra. 

Headed back to Sao Miguel to leave the islands. Headed home but leaving a little piece of my heart here… 

Moor(ea) Fun

We enjoyed a slow morning of coffee sans creamer on our deck overlooking Cook’s Bay, followed by a long walk to breakfast (#1 on TripAdvisor if you’d like to start a list), some casual roadside shopping, and a morning back at the “blue van and some tires” beach. 

We were picked up promptly at 1:15 across the street by Captain Ron and his “safari” adventure truck. We sat in the truck bed with one other tour goer from Finland and held on for our lives as Ron tried to beat his personal best time for going up a mountain. He took us all over the island in record time, with stops including pineapple tasting, jam tasting, Tahitian vanilla plant admiring, Tahitian vanilla ice cream sampling, overlook viewing, etc etc. 

Multiple Choice time! 

Which was overheard on Captain Ron’s Wild Ride?

A. “Why did that chicken cross the road? Wait, I’m serious, that’s not a joke.”

B. “Who do you think would win in a battle between you and Indiana Jones, Ron?”

“What do you mean? I AM Indiana Jones.”

C. All of the above. 

I know you’re thinking C. It was A. B was a lie, but we did spend a significant amount of time comparing him to Indiana Jones, even though Ron would probably be insulted to be compared to that weakling. Maybe he’s more like Chuck Norris… you know, like “Ron doesn’t wear a watch. He decides the time.”

Anyway… dinner was at TripAdvisor’s #2 hotspot, Manuia Grill. We’d been in the parking lot once before, but that was just to pick gravel out of our palms from a scooter incident and allow the locals to come out of all the buildings nearby to help. This time, though, we were there to eat. Us and these giant sand crabs. Plus us and this random cat that we thought loved us and it was not mutual for 3/4 of us, but turns out Shandon had been feeding it tuna on the sly. And, by “sly”, I mean boldly. 

Thursday morning!

Ron/Indiana/Chuck took us to Belvedere outlook and pointed out a trailhead, so we knew our goal for the day was to summit that mountain. After coffee on our deck and completing the obligatory, “how’d you sleep” “fine, how’d you sleep” “is this cereal stale or is it just me?” “did you put on your sunscreen?” “is this water bottle yours or or mine?” deep conversations, we headed out to Belvedere. 

I’m typical Moorea GPS fashion, we just knew we had to turn left at the market… the market with the banana stand, not the market with the paper towels. We then knew we needed to find a new way when that road took us off roading in our car that is definitely not a 4x4. We eventually found it by going a round about way (left at the market, around the stonefish bay with the shipwreck remnants, past the blue van and tires, past the building that looks like a shark tooth, left at the trees that look a little like banyan trees, if you’re curious how directions work around here). 

The hike to the summit was the JAM. Very jungley (that’s a word, ignore that red line), very peaceful, very handy for yelling “ahh ahh ahh ahh ahhhhh” like Tarzan when there are random tree rope guys that you can swing from and then find out they don’t QUITE hold your weight and maybe you should lay off the baguettes. 

At the top of every hike should be a panoramic view of an island, a panoramic view of a reef, a lagoon view, and a giant swing. Well, Moorea… check check check and check. It was glorious. 

On the way down, I had learned my lesson and there were no more sounds of ahh ahh ahh ahh ahhhhh… unfortunately, there was the sound of a POP, which was the sound of Heather’s ankle vs. a rock and Heather lost. Another Tahitian magic trick… that thing swelled up JUST LIKE THAT! Amazing!! But, as Nyrie’s shirt says, “It’s fine, it’s fine, everything is fine.”

Later, we logged some beach time at a new to us beach, and wrapped up the day (and an ankle) with dinner at the resort across the way watching the sunset with our feet in the sand… five feet. One foot was propped up on a chair with ice.

Friday!

In my opinion, we saved the best day on Moorea for last, but it’s a little bit up for debate because every evening we decide TODAY was the best day, which is a good problem to have. 

Nyrie’s expert driving got us to the other side of the island bright and early to a little bungalow lodge situation on the water with a random child running around and an Alex in a boat. Alex, our snorkel adventure leader, gave us the first piece of great news… the other two people bailed and it turned into a private adventure for just us. 

First stop was an area in the reef known for turtles, rays, and sharks. The trifecta of fun, as it were. Our directions were simple… two ropes out of the back of the boat, just hold on, stay relaxed, stay awake so you don’t miss anything. Also, it’s not a zoo, he can’t guarantee what you’ll see, he doesn’t know the animals personally. As all Pooch Campers know, we are EXPERTS in dragging behind a boat and I felt right at home… it was almost like Shaver Lake circa 1995. Except there was coral. And turtles. And rays. And one lone shark way over there. 

The next stop was a shallow area about shoulder deep that was as clear as pool water with just rays and sharks swimming amok. Again, not a zoo, be cool, don’t go projecting your arms, don’t make a scene, if you pet a ray actually pet the ray with confidence don’t be ridiculous, you’re safe from the stonefish because you’re wearing flippers but don’t stand on rocks just in case because stonefish look like rocks and they will kill you or at least require foot amputation, these are actual sharks, etc. This part was insane. The best part. Probably of my life. 

Next was solo snorkeling in this protected area off the shore all the way to the reef’s edge. Alex stayed in the boat and let us explore on our own. Half of us snorkeled, half of us mostly sunbathed on the boat, and all of us had the time of our lives. 

Alex’s TripAdvisor reviews had promised spots without a ton of people, and he did not disappoint. He took us to his favorite coral reef area and we played “follow the leader with your snorkel” through the most epic coral reef I’ve ever seen. It’s true, Australia. I don’t mean to offend. 

I’m going to need a minute to discuss the water around here. Only I can’t describe it, so please just imagine it. The bluest, clearest water you’ve ever seen. Now put a filter on it in your mind. There you have it. 

We made it back, we took the long way around the island to see how the other half lives (they don’t, it was pretty much uninhabited), we finally got to taste a chow mein sandwich (which is… wait for it… a baguette filled with, you guessed it, chow mein), Nyrie and Heather went to resort and almost got to participate in the flower crown craft of the day but Heather snitched on themselves and said they weren’t staying there and so no flower crown for Nyrie, we returned the rental car, and we braved the dark dark no sidewalks and no streetlights road down to a pizza place. 

It was the BEST day. 

Saturday

Goodbye to Antoine’s Airbnb, goodbye to Cook’s Bay, peace out roosters, au revoir Moorea. We did get to see the inside of a pharmacy as stopped for an ankle wrap and we got to see Jazliene the taxi driver one more time (not as our driver, but as a fellow fruit stand customer). A quick ferry back to the mainland and we were in Papeete in no time. An even quicker cab ride and we were at our… dun dun dun DUN… over the water bungalow! The resort had it all… beaches, pools, lagoons, etc. We spent all afternoon on our little dock and in the water around our bungalow. Shandon and I slept on deck loungers outside and marveled at the night sky (she marveled and had to tell me about it, my contacts were out) and listened to the waves all night… plus we found out those Moorea roosters can be heard way over in Papeete!

I’m certain it was the exact same one. 

We had a red eye out so we had all day to enjoy the resort life. Heather (as a new Intercontinental VIP member) got us late check-out, so we were able to mosey our way from the beach to the pool to the bungalow all day. Heather and Nyrie caught a Polynesian show, we all got massages at the spa, we all lived our best life. 

We headed to the airport for the fun game of “let’s use up all our change for snacks” - we managed a Sprite, peanut M&Ms, and a sparkling water, if you’re dying to know how the game went. To really drive the point home that a Tahitian vacation is a dream come true, our flight went ahead and left early and got us to San Francisco 45 minutes ahead of schedule. Thank you, thank you very much. Here you go, you may have zero people in line at customs and you may be on your way in record time. 

🇵🇫 

Rooster crows and catamaran bows

 I realize the title doesn’t rhyme. I’m

hoping you read it as if it does. 

Pour yourself a cup of coffee (use creamer if you want to make us jealous) and channel your inner Moana and join us remotely… 

This year’s adventure took us straight into the heart of French Polynesia… a little “Laura Laura in Bora Bora,” if you will. One group text a mile long describing in detail all the things each of us would be packing (including, but not limited to, a complete pharmacy and medical tape), 

one quick little drive to SF, and an extremely uneventful 8 hour flight in the best way possible (imagine no crying babies, no seat kickers, lots of snacks) and we were in Tahiti! I don’t know about you, but turns out being serenaded by the local band upon arrival is a new thing I will now be expecting everywhere. Pull it together, FAT. 

Our Papeete hotel was a quick cab drive away and was perfect for a one night stay. I was particularly fond of the Tahitian ingenuity of magic tricks! They threw a sheet over a piece of cardboard and said TA DA, there’s the fourth bed! It was genius! Nothing a little ibuprofen from the traveling pharmacy couldn’t solve. 

After a quick stop at a Shell station to get someone a new toothbrush because their original was accidentally compromised, we headed for the ferry to Moorea with time to spare! We left the seasick (Heather) down below with the peons (although turns out the snack bar had CHICKEN BROTH FLAVORED CHIPS) and enjoyed a ride on the starboard side getting us to the most beautiful land of all… Moorea. Picture some mountains, some ocean, some roosters, some more roosters, just a few more roosters… and there you have it. 

We hopped in a taxi with an English speaking delight named Jazliene. That’s what I called her. Some of us called her “what’s her face” and some of us called her by her actual name, but I’m not some of us. She got us to to our Airbnb by some miracle, since our directions said things like “if you get to the 37th rooster, you’re almost there”, etc etc. Our gracious Airbnb host, Antoine, was waiting for us… however, he only spoke French so he may have been livid and we’ll never know. What we DO know is he gave us a ride to the grocery store to grab the essentials (you know, like cheese and paper towels), as well as the scooter rental place. Poor Antoine had to be our liaison as we tried to convince them in English we were FULLY CAPABLE of driving two scooters whilst scooter man tried to convince Antoine we most certainly were not, only in Francais. 

We won the battle but lost the war, as it turns out. (All French jokes aside.) We got our scooters, we regretted it, we had some injuries, some scooters crashed, an ankle was significantly bruised, some scooters refused to be pushed up the hill to the Airbnb… long story short, we returned the scooters for a car the next day. 

Before that, though, we ate a lovely lunch beachside, pushed the scooters manually up a most massive hill amidst some feral dogs and an even feraler poultry situation, had a delightful cheese plate at a resort across the street while watching the sunset, did not panic at all over a couple foreign bugs, and called it a night. 

Remember the scooters? They were the worst, right? Well, we left them with our friends at Moorea Fun Bike bright and early (imagine a French man clapping with glee and delight that we survived the night with those death traps), and Jazliene/whatever her name was picked us up and dropped us off down the way with a cheery, “The waterfall is that way, have fun!” The “trail” to the waterfall was basically a dirt road through some private property and included some super fun wildlife! By “super fun wildlife”, I mean pit bulls. And wild German shepherds. And chihuahuas. All the canine fun! By some miracle, we made it to a waterfall and had a lovely time playing a game of “I’m going to go for a swim right here wait was that a python or an eel HEEEEEELP”. It was really the best game ever. Turns out it was an eel. Jazliene told us later, “Heh heh, forgot to tell you about those,” which is code for “I almost let you get killed.” It was an eel, if you’re curious. No snakes on this island, according to Captain Ron (you’ll meet him later, promise). Jazliene picked us up on the side of the road afterward and dropped us back off at Moorea Fun Bike (yeah, the scooter place that nightmares are made of) in order for us to get our car. This is how it went…

Us: There’s no one here.

Nyrie: I’ll WhatsApp him. Hi, we’re here to pick up our car. 

Moorea Fun Bike Guy (in French accent): Ooooh. We don’t have a car for you. 

Nyrie: What? We are supposed to pick up a car today. 

Moorea Fun Bike Guy (still speaking in French accent for some reason): We don’t have a car. Wait for me, please. I’ll be there in five minutes. 

Us… waiting for five minutes… 

Moorea Fun Bike Guy shows up…: Here’s your car!

Are you confused? Us too. 

You know what else is confusing? When you’re trying to find a tour you booked over at some beach and you call the guy and say, “We’re parked by a blue van and there are some tires on the road.” Leo the tour guy said, “That’s a great spot, stay there!” 

Who needs Google Maps? As long as you’ve got a blue van and some tires in the road for reference, it’s all good. The tour itself was for a sunset catamaran cruise. Sounds like a relaxing good time, yes? Not if you ACCIDENTALLY wear your shoes on deck (he hates that). Not if you ACCIDENTALLY yell, “You better hang on, spider monkey!” as you grip the underside of the net after cowabungaing into the water (he also really hates that). Regardless, hanging out on a catamaran net during a three hour tour of open water chasing the sunset was unreal. 

After Leo dropped us off and practically peeled out to get away from us (which is not easy to do in a boat), we headed to the Hilton to see how the other half lives on this island… and to try their over the water crepe restaurant. It’s like trying to get into Fort Sumter. Lady at gate? Didn’t believe that we would attempt it without a reservation… until she called us in and, three cheers for us, there had just been a cancellation! Lady in lobby? Didn’t believe we had a reservation. Four cheers for us, she had to eat rooster when she found out we did. (No one eats crow around here due to the surplus of roosters). The crepe restaurant was great, with the highlight being reef sharks just under our feet, hoping to get bits of crepe. I guess they are French sharks. Le sharks, perhaps!

Back to Cook’s Bay for a night of falling asleep while blissfully listening to the waves and the crowing of very confused roosters who can’t tell time!