Visiting Fajãs on São Jorge, Azores

São Jorge Island is full of them. Fajãs – small plains of land around the coastline that were formed by debris from either rock falls, landslides or volcanic eruptions. For piles of debris, they sure are pretty.

The first one we visited is perhaps the best known, Fajã do Ouvidor. The road down was seriously steep. When His Lordship, an Austrian, says it’s steep, believe me it is steep. But it was well worth the adventure of driving down. What an incredible place. This is truly living life on the edge.

This place is even craggier than the ‘Craggy Island’ of the old Irish TV series ‘Father Ted’!

Near the lighthouse, we came across a natural swimming pool in the lava rocks, filled by waves. Access is only possible by climbing down a cliff, but some thoughtful soul had supplied a rope. Now isn’t that a great idea! Two sports for the price of one: swimming and abseiling.

If we thought that the road down to Fajã do Ouvidor was steep and narrow, well, it was a motorway in comparison with the one down to Fajã das Almas. I suppose travelling up and down this road must be a bit of a pain for local residents, but for me the entertainment value was second to none. You should have heard Her Ladyship on the way down! ‘We’ll never get around that hairpin bend. Look, it’s getting even narrower. What if we meet another car? Stop! Stop now!’  She actually made Himself get out to check how wide the road was.

When the Wingless Wonders peeked down below, they saw that the road ended several hundred metres before the fajã. It was only then that I noticed that there wasn’t a single vehicle of any kind in the village. Now I know I think I know what the aforementioned Father Ted means when he says ‘They’re after taking the roads in.’ On parts of this ‘craggy island’, they haven’t even put them out yet!

We had the same rigmarole from Her Ladyship as we crawled down the hill to Faja da Ribereira da Areia. ‘Watch out for the rocks! There are rocks on the road! Oh my god, the road is gone completely there. Watch out for the boulders! There are boulders on the road!’

She was right, to be fair. There were boulders on the road, boulders about the size of a small car. Come to think of it, we were in a small car. A Citroën C1, to be exact. You don’t get much smaller than that. If one of those boulders had fallen on us, nobody would even have noticed that we were underneath. Gulp!

Perhaps getting out and walking wasn’t the worst idea after all. So I was pleased when the Oldies announced that, after their fantastic hike to Pico da Esperança they were game to go on another walk. This time they planned to tackle the stretch along the coast between Fajã dos Cubres and the Fajã da Caldeira do Santo Cristo, about an hour and a half each way. Lovely!

By the time we drove down to Fajã dos Cubres from Norte Pequeno, we were all starting to get used to the steep access roads. And the phenomenal views were enough distraction from thoughts of all the different ways we could have met our deaths on the drive down.

This fajã, caused by landslide following the earthquake of 1757, is unusual in that it features a lagoon, one part of it salt water, the other fresh water. I couldn’t decide if it looked better from above or at sea level. Stunning either way!

The walk along the path between the fajãs was a treat. I loved the fence – a crooked fence for a crooked path along a crooked coastline. I half expected to meet a crooked man walking along the way. Crookedly. In fact, the only traffic was the occasional not-so-crooked biped and otherwise quadrupeds, in the shape of cows, and quadbikes.

This path is the only access to Fajã da Caldeira do Santo Cristo and in the fajã itself, the only vehicular traffic allowed is quadbikes owned by residents. I soon realised that everything is brought in to the village by quadbike, even building materials. Which explained the endless shuttling back and forth with two or three bags of cement strapped onto the bikes each time. Strangely enough, this fajã has a car park. At the bottom of a cliff, of course. I just wonder what people are supposed to park there.

Like Fajã dos Cubres, Fajã da Caldeira do Santo Cristo also has a lagoon. In this case, it is entirely walled in and is filled with water coming from underground reserves. This is apparently the only place in the Azores where cockles grow, and the handful of permanent residents are only allowed to harvest them at certain times of the year because they are protected. The cockles, not the residents. Although, with the number of residents having dwindled drastically over the years thanks to earthquakes and emigration, you’d think they’d be protected too.

In the village, we came across a bar that was closed. Well, at least closed for business. There wasn’t a soul in sight, but all the doors and windows had been left wide open. Security is obviously not an issue in this part of the world. Then again, with the only escape routes being either the sea or that long crooked path, a burglar would have a hard time making a quick getaway from here!

Nosy as the Oldies are, they stepped into the bar to have a look around and were intrigued by the hundreds of drawings and notes penned by visitors that were pinned to the rafters. My favourite was the one that simply said ‘My feet hurt.’

After we finally made it back to the guesthouse that evening, the Oldies were also saying that their feet hurt. But, like myself, I think they’d have happily stayed on São Jorge for another few days. Or even weeks. I know they were as sorry as I was to have to say goodbye to this wonderful craggy island.

The next morning, we sat in in São Jorge airport waiting for our flight to Terceira, enjoying our last views of Ponto do Pico in the distance, nestled, as usual, in its cloudy headgear. Suddenly, there was a rush of excitement amongst the locals and they started whipping out their phones to take photos through the glass. The Oldies glanced up in amusement. The reason for all this excitement? Our plane was landing. 

Then, as the locals were packing away their phones and getting ready for boarding, the Oldies and a couple of other tourists leapt up and started to take photos too. ‘What’s the excitement now?’ I thought. ‘A baggage cart, perhaps?’

But then I saw it. Just as our plane taxied over to the departure gate, the peak of Ponta do Pico finally peeked out from behind the clouds. Yes!

A perfect end to a perfect trip.