A Peek Into Pico Island with Atlantic Brine

Our dear friends Ana and Filipe of Atlantic Brine invite us on an exploration of the Pico highlands. Bouncing up and down in their 4x4, we stop by hidden mountain lakes and rumble past ancient sinkholes. Up here, the wind shrieks and screams, intent on scraping us off the island. The sun occasionally slices through the ethereal jet-stream of silver haze, marking a distant patch of mountain green before disappearing as suddenly as it appeared.

Utterly unconcerned by the dramatics, wild horses and cows graze on fog shrouded plateaus and observe with inscrutable eyes as we pass. We make a final pitstop at the port of São Caetano where we launch ourselves off the pier wall, cannonballing into the cool of the Atlantic. Facing back towards shore, the jungle disappears up into a canopy of low hanging clouds.

Dinner is in their garden. Their house sits at the southern base of the mountain where it plummets from peak to water in one fell swoop. Though a seasoned photographer, Filipe is also one damned good chef and had gone diving that morning to spearfish our dinner. So he gets a fire going in his converted water trough pit, and arms himself with grills and skillets. Meanwhile, we slice four different kinds of cheese and open five different island wines. Blasted by oceanic winds and born of volcanic soils, they taste wonderfully salty.

As the night rolls in and we dine on local offerings cooked over an open flame, we savour the simple pleasures of trading stories and bursts of bright laughter with old friends. It's a particular kind of comfort that could never be bought but must be earned.