The Wonders of the Azores

Traveling to the Azores in the shoulder season is definitely a bit of a gamble. Out here in the middle of the Atlantic, you're truly at the mercy of the sea. Storms move in fast and the forecast changes so quickly that it barely feels worth checking. We're nearly a thousand miles off the coast of Portugal, the furthest west that Europe goes, and it feels every bit as remote as it sounds. But there's also a magic in coming here this time of year. The crowds are gone, the trails are empty, these islands feel like you're experiencing them in their truest form. This wasn't the trip I was expecting, but maybe that's exactly why it was worth taking. Flores is one of the smallest islands in the Azores. With an area of only 55 square miles and only a few thousand residents, it almost feels entirely removed from the world. The terrain rises sharply from the sea into jagged cliffs and steep ridges, dotted with pristine valleys that are home to countless waterfalls. Basalt rock forms the backbone of this island, giving the coastline a dark, rugged edge that contrasts with the vibrant green slopes above. The weather for this week isn't looking great, and the day I landed from the States was somehow the calm before the storm. A thin window of clear skies may be my only chance to explore the windward side of the island. I was running on almost no sleep, drifting in and out of a jet-lagged haze. But the excitement of being somewhere so unfamiliar kept pushing me onwards. After weaving through a few quiet villages and across the barren center of the island, I finally reached Punta do Albornoz, the northernmost point of the island. The lighthouse stood alone against the horizon, and just as I stepped out of the car, the sun broke through the clouds. Soft, golden light flickered across the Atlantic. Waves thundered into the cliffs below, and the whole coastline glowed. I found myself wishing that sunset would linger just a little bit longer. I'm only meant to have two days of exploring here on Flores, and with this storm building on the horizon, I'm getting a little bit nervous. Still, I'm hoping that tomorrow might offer some opportunities to experience this beautiful place. I awoke the next morning to find that the worst of the storm had passed. Overnight, the rain had poured down at times, but thankfully, that too had subsided. The wind, however, was relentless, gusting across the island as if it had no intention of letting up any time soon. After a night of pounding rain, the waterfalls on the island had come alive. I drove a few minutes to a beautiful waterfall, whose name I can't pronounce, just outside of Faja Grande. The volume of water on the cliffs today was simply incredible. With the ocean swell still high from the storm and fog weaving through the coastal ridges, the scene felt almost unreal. There's a magic to a place like this. I made my way beneath the roaring falls, my camera gear reluctantly along for the ride. I knew that I wouldn't be dry for the rest of the day, but at that moment, it didn't matter. It was perfect. That afternoon, with daylight quickly fading, I set out to Flores' most famous hike. The hike itself is short, maybe 15 minutes through a lush, almost tropical rainforest. And then suddenly, you arrive at a small pond overlooking a collection of massive waterfalls tumbling down the remnants of an ancient volcanic crater. With the recent rain, the waterfalls were absolutely roaring, and the gusting winds added another layer of drama. At times, the spray from the smaller falls was blowing upwards, defying gravity. The power of the Atlantic was on full display, and it felt impossibly beautiful. It's hard to shake the feeling of standing here, surrounded by such impeccable beauty, and realizing you have the place all to yourself. The skies are clear today, but I'm not going anywhere. I was only supposed to spend two days on Flores before heading to San Miguel, but every flight since I arrived has been canceled, including the one that I was supposed to take today. And I'll be honest, I've never been great at letting go of control. I like having a plan, and knowing what comes next. When things don't go according to that plan, it's easy for me to get flustered, to feel like I'm failing somehow. And that's usually when I start focusing on all the things that aren't happening, instead of noticing what is. But today, I'm deciding to try something different. Instead of fighting the situation, or wishing it were otherwise, I'm choosing to accept the cards have been dealt. To focus on what I can do, on the opportunity to spend a bonus day here on Flores, and on going with the unexpected flow of life. Luckily for me, one of the biggest headaches of being stranded was remedied pretty quickly. The home I'd been staying in at Aldea de Cuada let me extend for another night, and I really hadn't had time to explore this place yet. Aldea de Cuada is a historic 17th century farming village on the west side of Flores. It was abandoned for some time, but in recent years it's been restored, preserving its traditional stone houses, narrow pathways, and agricultural history. I'm staying in a rustic stone house that somehow balances vintage character with all the comforts I need, but the real gift is just outside the front door. Five minutes from my bed is one of the most spectacular views I've seen on Flores, and I wouldn't have discovered it if my flight hadn't been canceled. The sun broke through the sheets of rain, spilling golden light across the cliffs. It felt like the world was standing still. I think about all the things I struggle to accept, plans that fall apart, things I can't control. Yet, those are often the moments that teach me the most. By letting go of expectations, I notice more, and slowly I realize that growth doesn't come from perfect plans. It comes from learning to work with whatever life hands you, and finding the beauty in it. I've finally made it to San Miguel, the largest and most populated island in the And after a full day of travel from Flores, I'm ready to make up for lost time. A 6 a.m. wake-up call brings me to the far eastern tip of the island, Ponto de Arnal, where the lighthouse stands watch above the crashing waves. I can't help but feel excited for the next few days exploring the diversity of San Miguel's volcanic landscapes. Compared to Flores, this island is enormous, bustling, and full of life. But beneath the towns and infrastructure lies a geological wonder. San Miguel is the tip of one of the tallest undersea mountains in the world, and its dramatic craters, steep ridgelines, and hot springs are reminders of the raw power that shaped this land. To get a real sense of the island's volcanic power, I headed west to the mass of Sete Cidades crater, one of the largest volcanic calderas in the Azores. Its twin lakes, Lagoa Azul and Lagoa Verde, sit within the caldera, with steep crater walls rising a few hundred meters above them. It's pretty surreal that so much life exists within this volcanic landscape. The forests around the caldera are lush and vibrant. To get a better sense of scale here, I wandered uphill about 20 minutes to Miradoura Grata do Inferno, a beautiful ridgeline with sweeping views of Sete Cidades. It's hard not to imagine how different this place will look a few hundred years from now. The lakes will shift, the forests will creep up new slopes, and the caldera itself will slowly be reshaped by eruptions and erosion. Standing here, you realize just how fleeting a single moment is in the life of this landscape, and yet how vivid it feels while you're in it. So, I've learned something over the years. 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It's another early start for my final day here in the Azores, this time racing sunrise up the slopes of Agua de Pau, a massive strata volcano just 30 minutes from Punta Delgada. At the center of this caldera is Lagoa de Fogo, a massive crater lake formed roughly 15,000 years ago when the volcano collapsed in on itself. From the crater rim, I can see out across the entire island. It's hard to believe such a My fingers were completely frozen from the shifting winds, but it was so worth it sticking around to watch the colors and textures emerge with the rising sun. I don't think I'll ever be a morning person, but this place was definitely worth the early wake-up call. San Miguel has such a variety of landscapes, volcanic craters, rugged coastline, dense rainforest, but one of the places I ended up loving the most was actually shaped by people, the Goriana Tea Plantation. This plantation has been here since the 19th century, one of the oldest in Europe, and from above it's unlike anywhere else that I've ever seen. Endless rows of tea bushes stretch across the rolling hills, patterns and shapes shifting with the contours of the land. In the early morning, the light casts long, subtle shadows that make the whole place feel almost unreal. Walking through the fields felt like stepping into a scene from a fantasy film. I probably wandered back and forth for miles, just following the rows, completely absorbed by the quiet rhythm of this place. I didn't expect that one of the most inspiring places on this trip would be man-made, but here it was, a reminder that beauty isn't only found in wild landscapes. Sometimes it's in the care, patience, and patterns humans leave behind. As I left the tea plantation, I made my way towards the west coast of Sao Miguel, hoping for one last sunset before the flight home. Fortunately, as I arrived at Mosteros Beach, a beautiful black sand beach surrounded by cliffs and sea stacks, the sky opened up and the winds, which had been pretty much my enemy this entire trip, finally calmed down for the first time since my arrival. It was the perfect place to reflect and to close out this journey to the Azores. It wasn't the trip I was planning, but somehow things had a way of working themselves out. It's funny how travel reminds you of things you forget in everyday life, that some of the best moments come from unexpected opportunities, small detours, or simply showing up and paying attention. You can plan all you want, but often it's the unplanned moments that stick with you. This trip was a reminder of that, a lesson in letting go, noticing what's in front of you, and seeing what happens when you just get out the door. Thank you so much for watching, and I'll see you next time.