We all long for Eden, and we are constantly glimpsing it: our whole nature at its best and least corrupted, its gentlest and most human, is still soaked with the sense of exile.
― J.R.R. Tolkien
The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien
On the island of São Miguel weather reports should be regarded as speculative fiction. Our professor advised us to bring layers and bathing suits for every outing. The layers because of the weather changes and the swimsuits because there were lots of places to swim on São Miguel and time-permitting she was always eager to stop for a dip.
The layers are a lifestyle I’m used to. The Mojave Desert likes to try to fit all four seasons into a single day. My years living there didn’t give me many opportunities for spontaneous swimming though.
Rather than give you all four seasons, São Miguel gives all four elements. It’s an island, earth surrounded by water, and of course, ocean breezes. Then there’s fire. The Azores are a volcanic archipelago, the “Hawaii of the Atlantic.” The Furnas Valley isn’t a valley in any way that is familiar to this Valley Girl. It’s a volcanic crater, with an entire town in it.
Cool. Cool. That sounds totally safe. Work hard, get into my dream school, go on a field trip into a huge volcanic crater. What’s the worst that could happen? Actually, it was the closest to paradise I’ve ever been.
It turns out that volcanoes work like emotions. The boiling calderas, hot springs and geysers literally blow off steam. I was told to be much more concerned if these signs of volcanic activity were to stop. That’s when pressure builds and things blow up. I’m not sure how accurate that is, considering that my research found that the Furnas eruption of 1630 was preceded by 6 hours of earthquakes. Either way, the day we visited had neither earthquakes nor a suspicious stillness. There was just the right mix of adventure and peace.
Looking out onto Furnas Lake is a beautiful, neo-gothic funerary chapel. The Chapel of Nossa Senhora das Vitórias was built as a mausoleum and chapel for a gentleman-farmer and his wife. José do Canto had put so much love into having this building erected for his deceased wife. I felt a sense of intimacy and awe inside the ornate chapel. It was romantic and reverent and a memory I hold fondly, but even with the professor having secured full access for our group, it felt oddly like trespassing. I’m not sure how I feel about intruding into this couple’s private afterlife.
Outside the chapel, its elegant spire silhouetted against a gray cloudy sky made me want to wrap myself in a shawl and stroll around the lake reading a Brontë novel, or something that would have been read by one of their characters. But then, nearby surrounded by lush ferns and cycads I felt more like I was about to encounter a dinosaur, or a sleestak. For the record, I am, in fact, one-hundred percent down for Jane Eyre & the Dinosaurs.
As a Californian I feel like I’ve always lived close to some version of wine country. And while I’ve yet to go on any kind of wine tasting tour, I’ve heard about them. Tour buses or bicycles taking you from one winery tasting room to the next. In Furnas, we did a walking tasting-tour… of water.
There are spigots sticking out of the rocks throughout Furnas with natural spring water just flowing freely. The different spigots have water with different temperatures, pH balances, minerals and flavors. Two spigots less than a foot apart were distinctly different in flavor, temperature, and in the way they stained the rocks they flowed over. I had no idea that water tasting could be a thing, or that it could be so interesting.
Not all of the water is cool enough to touch, let alone scoop up in the palms of bare hands for tasting. The fumarolas are hot enough that they are used for cooking. Large pots of cozido das furnas, a regional stew, are buried in these geothermal hot springs and served in local restaurants.
I thought the my day had peaked with corn on the cob cooked in a fumarole. It just couldn’t possibly get any better than that. Then we went to Terra Nostra Park. I don’t have any pictures of Terra Nostra Park. This was one of those bring-a-bathing-suit moments, and those aren’t great for my phone. It’s hard to express it accurately.
There’s a hotel that used to be a grand 18th century summer residence, called Yankee Hall. It overlooks a vast pool that is filled with hot spring water. This is where things start to look more like an alien landscape. The iron rich water is murky with rust and a slight tinge of sulphuric yellow. It will stain your swim clothes. It will be worth it.
The pool is large enough that even in a park that sells admission to the masses, with my entire class added in, it never felt crowded. The water is deep enough that my petitely framed professor spent much of our time there being adorably ferried through the water by her much taller husband. I was always able to stand with my head, and sometimes much more of me, above water.
You can stand where the hot water feeds in, letting it pour over your neck, shoulders and as much of your back as your height permits. Many of us painted our faces with the mineral rich earth around the water. Everything in Furnas seems to have some reported health benefit. I don’t know what, if anything, the minerals did for me. The peace I felt though, semi-floating/semi-standing, in this naturally hot water, while a cool rain misted down over us, that feeling could make a person live for eternity.
And all these dreams I saved for a rainy day
They’re finally coming true
I’ll share them all with you
‘Cause now we hold the future in our hand
Oh Almost paradise–Mike Reno
Almost Paradise
Crystal, Clearly 
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