The Harbor at Porto das Lajes, Flores
07/03/02
It is now 1500, and we are on our way to Horta, having just pulled up the anchor in Porto das Lajes at 1430. We had a delightful, although brief stay at Flores, having arrived at 1730
yesterday afternoon. When we turned the corner around the huge concrete jetty that forms the harbor, there were 19 other sailboats anchored there. We saw a ketch hailing from Falmouth, England. Eric inquired of the gentleman on the boat about the customs procedures. He replied on hearing Eric’s British accent and seeing our home port, “You talk pretty funny for a New Yorker”.
As it turns out, the customs procedure is quite informal here. We decided to all go in together on the rigid dinghy, and we met another fellow who was also a member of the CCA, Max Fletcher, who upon seeing Eric’s CCA hat, warmed up to us immediately. He was sailing with his wife and son, and had just come up from Bermuda on their sailboat, Juanona (dinghy is named Juanita). We explained that we were here to pick up diesel fuel, and he told us the gas station was way up the hill, then offered us the use of his two jerry cans so we wouldn’t need to make multiple trips. He also pointed us to the local Restaurante/Pizzaria.
We took a walk up the hill to check everything out. The entire island of Flores is like the top of a mountain, and thus the land comes up from the sea at a very steep angle, so the road we took from the harbor into town was quite steep and winding. As I hadn’t set foot on land for almost three weeks (more than 2800 miles traveled from Block Island), my gait was a bit unsteady, and negotiating such a steep incline did not help matters. I was rewarded with a spectacular view of the harbor and the ocean from high on the hill. We were able to find an ATM (it appears the bank had been built since the cruising guide was published), and I retrieved 200 Euros with no problem. We continued to walk up the hill (which went on forever), passing small stucco houses with gardens, the police station, school, lighthouse (which looked brand new), and a park.
Everything was very clean and new looking. There are also brilliant blue, yellow, and red flowers growing everywhere. The island’s name is from Portuguese for “flower”, and the Hydrangea, a light blue ball of flowers, adorns the island’s official seal (along with a cow). There is also locally made cheese, which is supposed to be quite good. We bought some at the market to have for lunch tomorrow. After continuing to walk up the hill with no gas station in sight, we were about to give up, and David asked a woman in her yard for directions. She spoke English, and directed us up to the next block and right. We followed her directions and came upon a brand new gas station with modern pumps and air pump. It said it was open at 0830, but it was closed at the time we got there. It was quite a hike from the harbor, and we did not look forward to carrying 20 gallons of diesel fuel down that long steep hill (at least it wasn’t up). Eric said once we get the fuel and see a car, he will use the trick of clutching his chest and collapsing so they will stop and give us a lift.
From there we went to the Restaurante Biera-Mar for dinner and a couple of beers. We were seated on the patio next to the people from the Falmouth boat. They had sailed up from Grenada where they had spent the winter, which is a regular migration for them. Eric and I split a medium sausage pizza, and David picked something off the menu, which turned out to be a steak with a fried egg on top, served with French fries, rice and salad. The pizza was quite good, and I ate ravenously.
After dinner, we went back to the boat and had a drink in the cockpit, listening to a Beach Boys tape on the stereo. We had set our clocks two hours ahead, as the Azores are now set to GMT, and it did not get dark until after 2200. The harbor was bordered by rocky cliffs on the west, which was apparently home to a large number of bats, which continued to make eerie noises through the night.
We awoke shortly after 0700 the next morning, and prepared for the diesel run. I had to fetch the two jerry cans from the bottom of the sail locker, which required emptying out the contents into the forward head and the cabin. Once we had the fuel cans loaded, we all loaded up the dinghy and stopped by Juanona to get two more cans. Juanona would probably be on their way to Horta by the time we were done with them, so we promised to give them back when we came into Horta the next day. We tied up the dinghy and lugged the empty cans up the endless hill to the gas station, only to find it was not open. Apparently we did not notice that the gas station was so new that it wasn’t even open for business yet! We were puzzled. A truck happened by, and we asked the driver where we could find the real gas station. He pointed us around another corner where we found some gas pumps on the sidewalk. The attendant was standing next to them. We walked up with out empty jugs and asked for diesel fuel. “No Diesel”, he replied matter-of-factly. We were stunned. This was a big problem. “When do you think you will have some?”, Eric asked. The attendant shook his head and said, “Later today, maybe 1000”. We were not sure we could rely on this prediction, so we decided to try to get a taxi to go to Santa Cruz, the capital city, and try to get diesel there. We had been planning to try to make a trip there anyway. We asked the shop keeper at the market next door (which sells everything from groceries to furniture) to call us a taxi, and I browsed the market while we were waiting.
The taxi came, and we threw the jerry jugs in the trunk, then got in for a winding, hilly ride to Santa Cruz. We passed through many small villages along the way. The scenery was breathtaking. Everywhere there was lush vegetation interspersed with crags of lava rock. The view of the ocean from high on the hills was awe-inspiring also. There was nothing but brilliant blue water as far as the eye can see.
Once we got to Santa Cruz, we stopped at a Mobil station next to the airport, which was a single airstrip adjacent to town. We were talking to the taxi driver, who had lived in New England for some time. He was wearing a watch with the New England Patriots football team logo on it. He said there are about 4,000 people living on the island, and that a lot of Germans seem to be moving there. We asked him to take us into town, and he took us down to the harbor, which was extremely treacherous. Eric had been to this harbor in 1986, and swore he would never go there again. He almost lost the boat, having to turn around in very tight quarters with a big swell running and the boat’s bow bouncing three feet from the huge rocks that line the harbor. Once we saw the harbor, we stopped at the bakery to get some bread (so Eric wouldn’t have to bake bread again for a while) and also at the food market to get ham, cheese, apples, and other little things. David and I bought little bath sponges to aid with our showers.
Eric and David in the Rigid Dinghy
The taxi driver waited for us, then took us back to Lajes and dropped us off at the dinghy dock. The whole ride cost 10 Euros (about $10). We couldn’t take the diesel and all three of us back to the dinghy, so they left me ashore, and David and Eric went to FIONA to load the fuel. Eric has devised an electric pump and filter setup, which allows him to pump the fuel from the jerry jug into the fuel tank without lifting the jug. I walked around the dock, which was a huge, industrial concrete structure which loomed 15-20 feet above the water, and checked out the other boats in the harbor. There were a few boats from France, including a tiny, rickety boat that was no bigger than our first boat, a Grampian 23’. That boat was occupied by a man and a black cat, which made me nostalgic for our cats. There was a boat from Brazil (named Voo Livre), one from South Africa, and a few from England.
After Eric and David returned, I stopped to call Sue from the public telephone. I got her voice mail and left a message, then I joined Eric and David at Restaurante Biera-Mar for lunch. The woman who runs the kitchen came out. She was very friendly and spoke perfect English. She rattled off the specials; spare ribs, a whole roasted baby pig (for two), and some kind of fish. David and I opted for the spare ribs, and Eric only wanted a ham sandwich. The spare ribs were excellent, served with rice, French fries, and salad. We were also advised that the local customs agent was dining there too, and we would need to clear with him after we ate. Eric was then directed to an office above the restaurant where he met the officials and dispensed with the formalities. It went very smoothly, and he was charged a 3 Euro “light fee” to help support the light house operation.
Lunch at the Biera-Mar
We went back to FIONA and prepared to shove off, lifting the dinghy back on deck with the staysail halyard, putting the seagull back in its home in the engine room, etc. David was designated to man the anchor windlass, and my job was to climb into the sail locker, open the door into the anchor chain locker, and as the chain dropped down, move it around so that it does not fall in a pyramid, forming a “castle”, which could collapse on itself and prevent the chain from unwinding freely. Once we got underway, I began the tedious task of reloading the sail locker.
After leaving the harbor we seemed to have a good wind, so we raised the main and were able to unwind the jib, with a little coaxing by hand turning the drum. After about half an hour the wind died altogether again, as what wind we had was apparently due to a land effect, where the different temperatures over land and sea cause a consistent breeze which putters out a few miles from shore. We have thus started the engine again, and at this rate expect to arrive in Horta at noon’ish tomorrow. All the “yachties” we talked to in Flores are also on their way to Horta, so we expect to see a very festive crowd when we arrive. We are certain there will be enough Americans there for a proper Fourth of July celebration.
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