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The young, volcanic Pico

We flew a couple of hours across the Atlantic from Lisbon, where all that I could see from my 5E seat (read: not much) was a large expanse of water for the bulk of the journey, when billowy clouds start to make their appearance. I joked to F that it’d just be our luck to get cloudy weather in the Azores when it had been clear up until now, and boy I should have kept my mouth shut. Indeed, we would soon be landing, and the clouds were there to stay and kept us company for the day.



The masterplan: fly in to Horta, Faial, on the first flight and catch a ferry to Madalena, Pico, the same morning at 10.45am. However, our flight departure was delayed so we missed the sailing by 15 minutes and had to wait till 1.15pm. Maybe just as well. We were at the ferry terminal when I noticed that “our” checked luggage was not ours. Darn! A frantic call later – thank goodness for luggage tag – we managed to locate its owner who, in turn, had our luggage. He was also travelling to Pico, so at least we could luggage-swap without having to return to the airport.

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