Some destinations are famous long before you arrive—plastered across postcards and Instagram feeds. And then there are places like the Azores, a Portuguese archipelago floating in the mid-Atlantic, that feel like a secret whispered between travelers who crave raw nature, volcanic drama, and the quiet beauty of islands untouched by hurry. My journey to São Miguel, the largest of the nine islands, felt less like tourism and more like stepping into a living, breathing landscape.
The first thing I noticed as the plane descended was the color—a deep, almost luminous green that blanketed the island from coast to crater. São Miguel is sometimes called the “Green Island,” and it takes only one glance to understand why. Rolling pastures, moss-covered forests, and volcanic peaks sculpt the land into something otherworldly. Even the air smells alive, rich with ocean mist and wild hydrangeas lining the roads like blue-and-purple guardians.
My base was the city of Ponta Delgada, a charming blend of historic architecture and seaside calm. Its cobblestone streets, black-and-white basalt buildings, and lively plazas offered the perfect starting point. Early morning walks along the marina became a ritual—the sound of fishing boats returning with their catch, the smell of strong espresso drifting from tiny cafés, and the soft hum of Atlantic waves lapping the shore.
But São Miguel reveals its true magic the moment you venture beyond the city. With a small rental car and an open itinerary, I headed toward one of the island’s crown jewels: Sete Cidades, a collapsed volcanic crater now housing twin lakes—one blue, one green—separated by a slender bridge. The drive took me through rolling hills dotted with dairy cows and fields that stretched endlessly under a bright sky. When I finally reached the viewpoint at Vista do Rei, it felt like I’d stepped into a painting. The blue lake glimmered under the sun; the green lake shimmered like polished jade. Mist drifted across their surfaces, giving the entire landscape a surreal, dreamlike quality.
I hiked down to the village tucked between the lakes, following trails lined with hydrangeas taller than I was. The scent of earth and flowers mixed with fresh rain lingering on leaves. In the tiny lakeside café, I ordered cozido, a traditional Azorean stew slow-cooked underground using volcanic heat. The flavors were rich and smoky, infused with the island’s geological fire—an edible reminder of the earth’s living pulse beneath my feet.
Next, I traveled to Furnas, a valley where geothermal springs bubble beside lush gardens. Here, nature doesn’t whisper—it hisses, steams, and bubbles with personality. Walking through Furnas felt like wandering into the heart of the planet. Hot springs gurgled under wooden walkways, vents released clouds of white steam, and the ground radiated warm energy.
One of the highlights was the Terra Nostra Garden, a botanical sanctuary with exotic plants from every corner of the world. At its center sits a massive thermal pool the color of burnt orange, rich in iron and minerals. Stepping into it was like sinking into warm velvet. The water hugged every muscle, and time seemed to melt away with the rising steam. For a moment, the modern world felt impossibly far.
Of course, no visit to São Miguel is complete without experiencing its dramatic coastline. I drove along cliff-hugging roads to the island’s eastern edges, where viewpoints like Ponta da Madrugada offered jaw-dropping panoramas of the Atlantic. At sunrise, the sky turned shades of rose and amber, reflecting softly on the waves. The cliffs glowed, the ocean roared below, and gulls circled above like pale brushstrokes in a giant sky-canvas.
One afternoon, I joined a whale-watching trip—one of the Azores’ proudest offerings. The islands sit along the migratory paths of sperm whales, orcas, and dolphins. Within minutes of leaving the harbor, a pod of dolphins danced alongside our boat, leaping gracefully as if inviting us to play. Later, the massive tail of a sperm whale rose from the water before slipping silently into the deep. It was humbling and mesmerizing all at once.
My final evening on the island was spent at Praia dos Moinhos, a black-sand beach framed by cliffs and rolling waves. As the sun dipped below the horizon, the air grew cool, and the Atlantic breeze whispered stories of distant shores.
The Azores are not a place you visit. They’re a place you feel—deeply, quietly, and long after you’ve returned home. Out here in the Atlantic, surrounded by green volcanoes and endless sea, you rediscover the meaning of wonder.
