Terceira has been a stopping off point for not just the booty ships of the middle ages, but also for the flyers of the UK and US airforces ever since the aeroplanes have flown over the Atlantic. The tales of these trips were described by my friend and weather mentor Paul Couluris who we sadly lost earlier this year. He described the happy times he had, making the landing at Lajes Airbase for refueling here on Terceira. I have been waiting for this opportunity to visit the place.

I offered a salute to Paul on our trip up the mountain to see this beautiful island…

Go inside a volcano was the promise by the tour bus guide. Sure enough, after we had rented a small car sufficient to transport 5 of us up the mountain, we headed for Gruta do Algar do Carvao. From the outside, a modest stone building, inside a small shop, then a descent into a tunnel, that suddenly opens out into a vertical cave shaft. Sunlight glinted from the opening perhaps 100 feet above us, and lights illuminated the stairs descending below us to a dark lake over 150 feet below. The walls were covered in green moss, and water dripped continuously from every surface. This is apparently the only open volcanic shaft in the world (normally they are full of lava), caused by a second eruption thousands of years ago that blew out an air bubble in the lava. The results is a splendid shaft, and lake bottom with the surfaces showing not only where molten lava flowed down the walls, but now covered by stalactites made of hard mineral silica.

The favorite game, trying to catch the drops of water coming down from the darkness in your mouth. Not a big drink, but luscious freshly filtered water, drop by drop

Later in the evening, we were guided to see the popular local event of running the bulls. Not a tourist attraction, the running of the bulls was a local event taking place on a short section of 3 roads that converged on a roundabout. All the home owners, were having barbeques or veritable feasts, with family and friends in attendance. Every half an hour, after the crack of a firework, they moved to the barricaded walls and gates adjoining the road to watch the spectacle of a bull, tethered and controlled by 2 teams of behatted and uniformed handlers on a long rope be taunted by the local ‘lads’. The brave ones, baited the bull with capes, or simply ran in front of the snorting beast, attempting to induce it to running in circles chasing them. The bull was guided up the streets with crowd in tow, before being crated at the top of a short hill, perhaps a quarter mile from the starting point.

The only visitors were the rally participants, and while this would not be allowed on the streets of New York or London, it was evident this tradition is still vibrantly supported in this corner of the world. The running takes place in each locality, a different place every evening for 3 months. The locals told us the bulls were run every 7 or 8 days and were cared for well. This was not a commercial show put on for tourists, but there are risks it could, as the cheap airlines reach in to these remote locations.

Is there still room in the modern world for these old traditions?

A personal question…