My arse is perched on a patch of basalt on the Mid-Atlantic Ridge, at the very place where the Eurasian, African, and North American lithospheric plates meet. I’m in a rock pool, in board shorts, facing the setting sun as it liquifies into the North Atlantic Ocean.
In the pool, 75 degrees Celsius geothermal water from a sulphurous spring pours out from under the rocks and mixes with the 21-degree ocean water, providing a perfect hot bath temperature. I raise a cold tin of Sagres beer to my salty lips, smile beatifically and think to myself; you lucky, fucking, bugger.
I’m at Ponta da Ferraria, the westernmost point of Sao Miguel, the largest of the nine islands of the Azores. The Azores sit roughly 1,600 clicks west of mainland Portugal,…