Early June 2026
We were supposed to land on São Miguel at 6 a.m. on a Saturday in early June 2026. We landed on Monday night, after a refuel stop on an island full of cows, two days in Lisbon we never planned, and a rebooked flight I was too scared to text my mom about. Then we had five and a half days to see an island we fell completely in love with: a homestay that used to be a refuge, a hot-spring hotel, the worst round of golf of my life, a tide pool that’s half ocean and half volcano, and a houseboat. This is the whole story. (If you just want the practical stuff, here’s where we stayed and our São Miguel guide.)
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The flight that ended up in Lisbon
We finished our workday on Friday, packed, and took the AirTrain to JFK. Our SATA flight was delayed, and the only lounge we could get into was the Turkish Airlines one, which has no booze but excellent food. Jake had about twenty meatballs. Two hours late, plus another hour sitting on the plane, we finally took off around midnight. Jake slept the whole way, as usual. I didn’t sleep at all and read a very strange book for book club. Little did we know, we were about to learn what SATA really stands for: Stay At The Airport.
It’s only a four- to five-hour flight. The pilot announced our descent, we went down, and then I felt the plane climb back up. I’d been on a windy landing recently, so I didn’t panic yet. We circled. Then the pilot came on: too much fog to land, and we needed fuel, so we were going to a neighboring island.
That island was tiny. You could see cows from the runway, there was exactly one little runway, and the control tower was about level with my window. Refueling took about an hour. Then we went back up to try again, with a warning: if we couldn’t land this time, we were going to Lisbon, two more hours away. We circled for half an hour. We went to Lisbon.
A whole day in the Lisbon airport
Landing in Lisbon was a mess. Jake didn’t get through the automatic passport gates, I went through without him, and it turned out we may not have needed to exit at all. Our bags were checked, which meant we couldn’t leave without them. It was now 10 or 11 in the morning, and we were supposed to have been on São Miguel since 6.
We went back and forth through security two or three times. They rebooked us on a 4 p.m. flight that kept getting pushed. The one upside: the lounge in Lisbon was actually really nice. At 7 p.m. they finally announced that no flights would be going to the Azores that night. We gave up, I booked a hotel near the airport in a strange area that wasn’t really Lisbon, and we had martinis on its surprisingly cute rooftop. By bedtime we had a text: new flight, Monday evening. It was Saturday.
One more thing about the rental car on the other end, since it cost us: because we didn’t pick it up on the day we booked, the company wouldn’t cancel it or move the booking. We had to book a whole new car at the airport for another €500 or so. Check your rental’s no-show policy before you fly anywhere with fog.
Lisbon, by accident
We slept, and woke up feeling better than we had any right to. On Sunday we moved into the city, to the Lisboa Carmo Hotel, down a cobblestone street so narrow I’m still amazed the taxi fit. We got there around 7 a.m., way too early for our room, so we dropped our bags and went exploring on foot. The man at the front desk was the nicest person, and he upgraded us to the top floor with a view over the rooftops to the water. The wallpaper, the furniture, the bird print in the bathroom: everything was so cute and so authentic. I loved that hotel.
We grabbed our swimsuits from the luggage room, walked about ten minutes downhill to the station, and took the train out to Cascais. It’s about 30 minutes, I read my book, and the beach is right there when you step off. First stop was Pop Sandwich, a tiny shop I remembered from my last visit, run by one older man who makes a set number of sandwiches a day. Full baguette, about $3.50, and the best sandwich you’ll ever eat. I got two. Jake got very little of either.
The beach closest to Pop Sandwich was full, so we went to Emma Beach Club instead. About €30 for two chairs and an umbrella for the day, with drink service. Jake ordered a pitcher of red sangria, I read, I slept, and we got some sun, still jet-lagged. On the way back to the train we stopped at Joaninha Wine in the old-town lanes for a glass at the tables out front, olives, and a chat with the owner. Then tourist knickknacks, a packed train (I sat on the floor and napped, I don’t care), and our first gelato of the trip at Time Out Market before the hike back up to the hotel.
For dinner we went to Nunes Real Marisqueira in Belém, on a tip from Jake’s cousin. Nunes happens to be Jake’s mom’s family name, so it was meant to be. The Uber ride out along the river gave us a view of the big Cristo Rei statue across the water. Delicious, and pricey. Back in town we put on warmer layers and found a little rooftop bar down the street from the hotel, with a rooster on the sign, an upstairs terrace, and a JBL speaker they turned off at a certain hour so the neighbors wouldn’t complain.
Our bonus day in the city
I slept in. Jake got up early and got a barber’s haircut and shave, which he will tell you was one of the highlights of the trip, and he filmed it. Breakfast at the Carmo was eggs and coffee made to order. We left our bags with our favorite desk guy and tipped him, in case we missed him later.
Then we went looking for the famous tram. We walked everywhere: tiny alleys, endless stairs. Lisbon’s cobblestones are not for the weak. I did more than 20,000 steps in flip-flops, and at one point a missing stone swallowed my shoe and I had to dig it out by hand. We found the No. 12 in Alfama and Jake took a million photos of it going back and forth, so we stopped for a drink.
From there we walked up to Miradouro de Santa Luzia, the tiled lookout with the vine pergola I remembered from before, with live music everywhere and a man playing a didgeridoo. He ended up being the highlight of the short Jake made of our trip: Then the Elevador da Bica, the funicular that stops in place with the river behind it. Jake had never seen it. Along the way we shopped: ceramics at another shop called Nunes (that name again), a whale painting from Neila Pascual Ilustraciones that still needs a frame, a print of Nazaré from Livraria Antiquária do Calhariz with an interpreter’s help, and a Portuguese fishing hat from the Stetson store that has become one of Jake’s favorite hats.
At the airport check-in line we saw everyone from our original flight. Some of them had been rebooked for Sunday, sat on the plane, and then not made it again, so they’d had to collect bags and find a hotel all over again. We were so glad we’d taken our Sunday in the city instead.
The new flight was an unmarked charter. I was sitting near three girls we’d spent the whole airport day with, and I was too scared to even text my mom we were getting on it. I hate flying. A little turbulence, and then we landed on São Miguel, in the dark, two days late.
Finally, São Miguel
It was fully dark when we landed. Only one rental desk was open, the line was long, and we got the keys to our little manual buggy around midnight. Then we drove out to Pico do Refúgio, near Rabo de Peixe on the north coast, the one place I had booked in advance. When I’d messaged them about the diversion they moved our stay without any fuss, so we lost a night, not the booking. The door was left open for us, a WhatsApp told us which house was ours, and we went straight to sleep, exhausted and so happy to finally be in the Azores.
Pico do Refúgio
In the morning we brought our passports up to the house and sat down to the farm-to-table breakfast. Eggs any way you like, and the best yogurt we have ever had in our lives. I still think about that yogurt. Our host grew up on the island, lived in Lisbon for years and had recently moved back, and she gave us a whole list of what to do. I had an hour of work to finish, which gave Jake time to fly his drone over the property.
The place is immaculate. It’s a 17th-century farm turned into a handful of country houses, with a pool, a sauna behind it, a grill area, and a breakfast house full of art, couches and big tables looking out over the grounds. It’s also an artist residency: artists come to stay and make work, and some of it stays on the property. I loved it so much it got its own post.
Cows, hydrangeas and Sete Cidades
The first thing that happened when we pulled out onto the back roads was a cow traffic jam. A whole herd crossing, and we never saw the farmer. There are more cows than people in the Azores, and the islands make a huge share of Portugal’s milk. (Someone told us the milk isn’t drinkable. It is. It’s pasteurized or UHT like anywhere, you just won’t find it raw.) We also saw our first hydrangeas. We were a little early for the season, but by the end of the week they were blooming everywhere.
We stopped at a natural ocean swimming area on the way, the Zona Balnear dos Poços near Capelas, a man-adjusted pool of seawater, but it was freezing so we just looked. Then we drove up to Sete Cidades, the crater with the lake at the bottom. We had lunch in the village at São Nicolau, a little family restaurant. My salad was perfect. Jake’s burger was not, but the experience was lovely, and I loved all the tiny houses and flowers on that street.
After lunch we did a ridge hike with lakes on both sides, the Boca do Inferno trail. It was easy, not much climbing, and so beautiful. Back at the car two hikers asked if we had any water. They’d set out on a longer hike than they’d planned. We gave them our water and a ride back to their car, and they asked if we’d seen the abandoned hotel yet. It was on Jake’s list. It was also five minutes down the road.
The Monte Palace
The Monte Palace opened in 1989 above the Sete Cidades lake as the Azores’ first five-star hotel and closed about 18 months later. It was guarded for years, then the security stopped, and now it’s graffitied, gutted and a tourist stop with incredible views. It was bought in 2017 and is still sitting empty. Jake loved it. I kind of hated it. We ran into a family from our flight there, which was our first sign that we’d keep seeing everyone all week.
As we were walking in, a man started yelling “Hey, hey!” and we assumed we were in trouble for where we’d parked. He was pointing at our car. Jake had left one of his cameras on the roof. Good karma from the hikers, I think.
Alabote at sunset
We went back for a swim in the pool, where I took far too many photos of the plants. Then dinner at Alabote in Ribeira Grande, a fish restaurant right on the water, on our host’s recommendation. We got a table outside right at sunset and ordered the three-fish option. There was music, the sky did its thing, there’s easy public parking down the street, and by the end of dinner we had spotted a for-sale sign and decided we needed to move there immediately.
Hot springs and a waterfall fight
We checked out of Pico do Refúgio far too soon and drove back to Ribeira Grande, because there was a famous photo in our room of a seawater pool on the edge of the ocean and Jake wanted to see it in person: the Piscinas Municipais, down by the Miradouro do Castelo. It was closed for maintenance and completely empty. The coastline was still stunning. Then a grocery store run (I always want water and snacks in the car, and this was going to be a driving trip) and a wander down the town’s cute little main street.
That afternoon we tried to teach me to drive stick in an empty parking lot by the sea. It was a total fail. Clutch, release, gas, all at once, with a teacher who is not known for his patience. I’ll learn from someone calmer. There was a horse in the long grass by the lot, staked out the way a lot of Azorean horses are, with the ocean behind it, and Jake got some of my favorite footage of the trip.
Octant Furnas
Then we drove up into the mountains to Furnas, where all the hot springs are, for our splurge night at Octant Furnas. It was the other place I’d booked in advance, through Amex Travel’s Fine Hotels + Resorts, using my travel credit. That got us noon check-in, a credit for food and drinks, late checkout, and a welcome tote with two very good straw hats.
We put on our swimsuits and the robes and went straight to the thermal pools. The water comes from the hot springs, so it’s brown and a little murky and very warm. There’s an indoor pool, an outdoor pool, separate little dipping pools, and some seriously strong jets. From the outdoor pool you can see steam rising off the springs a short walk away. We ordered drinks, lay on the loungers, and I took a nap. It deserves its own post, so it got one.
Once we’d tried every pool, we went to look at the actual springs, which are too hot to touch, and where locals cook food in the ground. (We should have done one of those cooking experiences.) A quick drink at a little bar, and then the waterfall.
The waterfall
The Cascata da Ribeira Quente sits between two road tunnels. You park in a clearing and walk through the first tunnel, which is dark and narrow, with cars coming through fast. We were a little scared. On the other side there’s a short scramble in, fine in flip-flops, to a huge waterfall.
I went as close as felt sensible, where the rocks start getting wet and slippery. Jake, of course, went all the way up and out across a log. An Italian couple standing next to me said, “He’s crazy,” and I said, “Yes.” I was standing in the woods 500 meters from the highway with two strangers, thinking that if he slipped I didn’t even know how to call for help in Europe. (It’s 112, everywhere in the EU. Save it in your phone.)
He came down, I was furious, and the first thing he said was “let me see the photo.” He didn’t like it. He wanted to go again. Absolutely not. We drove back in total silence.
Back in the room there was champagne and a chocolate brownie waiting, because I’d mentioned we were celebrating: we were around one year out from our wedding. Jake went out to fly his drone over the hotel at golden hour, and eventually I went out to join him, took some photos of him with his little drone, and we were fine.
Dinner was at the hotel restaurant, A Terra. We started with a pizza and then had the Cozido à TERRA, the Furnas stew of meats and vegetables cooked underground in the hot springs. So much food. I went straight to sleep. Jake walked back to the bar from earlier for one more and came home shortly after, our little social butterfly.
Tea, golf, and the kindness of strangers
Breakfast at Octant was included and it was a feast: a juice bar, an omelet station, every kind of meat and pastry. We didn’t pack, because the plan was golf and that late checkout. We drove over to Furnas Golf Course in our matching pink golf shirts, very American of us, and found an outing had just teed off. Three-hour wait. The man at the desk was not warm about it.
So we went to the Gorreana tea plantation instead, and I’m glad we did. Rows and rows of tea terraced down the hill toward the ocean. Walking into the fields felt like being back in Sapa, in Vietnam. The old factory still has its machinery, the gift shop is cute, and Jake got great drone footage. The top-down view of the tea fields in his drone reel is so good. Later that week we found out that one of the girls from our flight had driven past on the highway and texted her friends, “I think I just saw Jake and Colby at the tea plantation in matching pink golf shirts.” That’s how small this island is.
We went back to Octant for one more swim and a burger by the pool in our robes, called the golf course (open now), and finally checked out around 2 p.m.
The worst round of my life
Golf was expensive. Renting clubs, plus balls and tees, came to about €400 for the two of us. We each bought one sleeve of balls. On the first hole I hit my drive into the forest, took a breakfast ball, and lost that one too. Two balls gone, one hole in. Jake pointed out I had one left and did not offer any of his. Usually after an outing you can find a stray ball or two on the course. Not here. We found exactly one all day. I blame the rental clubs.
I did eventually stop losing balls, and it turned into a really fun 18 holes. The course is gorgeous. Watching our videos back, the birdsong is unreal. We didn’t even drink, we were so focused.
On the 17th hole a group by the clubhouse started betting on our shots and clapping when we hit a good one. Afterwards they waved us over for a drink. Two true Azoreans, an Azorean who’d lived in South Africa and his German wife, an Argentinian, a Dutchman, and Miguel from mainland Portugal. They asked where we were staying. We said we hadn’t booked anything yet. It was 6 p.m. They were horrified and started brainstorming hotels for us.
We ended up booking the DoubleTree by Hilton in Lagoa, toward the airport on the south coast, because it was easy and we wanted to explore that side next. It’s about 45 minutes from Furnas. As we pulled into the parking lot, the hotel called me: I had left my credit card at the golf clubhouse (maybe a little too much wine), and two of our new golf friends were driving it over. The Dutch and Argentinian couple live five minutes away and stay at that DoubleTree for work all the time. We got a drink with them on the rooftop to say thank you. They’re members at both of the island’s courses, and apparently a yearly membership costs about what we’d just paid for one round, so next time we’re joining.
We had dinner at the rooftop bar and slept hard. Golf in the heat takes it out of you.
The road to Nordeste
We woke up early and walked from the DoubleTree down to the water. Lagoa is residential, not touristy, and I liked it. There’s a great sardine mural by the sea, and a few stray dogs kept us company. Back at the hotel, the free breakfast was one of the best of the trip, served in a ground-floor restaurant that locals come to on its own.
This time I decided to sort out our next bed in advance. Caloura Hotel Resort was on our way along the south coast, so we just walked in and looked around. It sits right on the water, with a private gate down to a set of tide pools, balconies, and spotless rooms. We were sold, and kept driving.
The road to Nordeste, on the far east end of the island, goes back through Furnas, and we needed laundry. Furnas Laundry is self-service, cash only, open 7 a.m. to 10 p.m., and the cleanest laundromat I have ever been in. While the washer ran, we finally walked around the town of Furnas properly. The houses are so cute. People on the island told us the mountain people up there have a slightly different culture of their own. We walked down to Lagoa das Furnas, the lake, while the dryer ran, then folded, grabbed a grocery-store lunch with a surprisingly amazing baguette, and got back on the road.
We passed that godforsaken waterfall again on the way. Then a beach with the most dramatic cliffs, so windy I don’t know how anyone was in the water. Jake got coffee from a little truck. A note on timing: we were a little early. Locals told us it had only just warmed up and they’d only just started wearing shorts. Later in June or July would be warmer.
The drive into Nordeste is wild, hairpin after hairpin. (Screenshot of the GPS squiggle coming in the photos.) It’s the least developed part of the island, and also, that day, the only sunny part. The weather on São Miguel changes completely depending on which side you’re on. We stopped at the Miradouro da Ponta da Madrugada, a lookout covered in hydrangeas in full bloom, then drove down to the Farol do Arnel lighthouse.
The lighthouse reunion
The road down to Farol do Arnel is extremely steep, and the signs suggest you walk it. Jake likes a challenge, so we drove. We were standing at the bottom talking when two heads whipped around: Izzy and Morgan, the girls from our Lisbon airport day. We hadn’t swapped numbers, and both of us had been hoping to run into each other. That’s when we heard about the pink golf shirt sighting.
They took photos of us at the lighthouse, and we spent the rest of the day together. Lunch at Restaurante Tronqueira in Nordeste, then we followed each other back to Alabote in Ribeira Grande, because they were staying nearby and we loved it so much we wanted to go again. We made plans to meet at the hot-spring tide pool the next day, said goodnight, and drove to Caloura.
Half ocean, half volcano
At Caloura I made Jake come see the tide pools he’d skipped the day before, and I could have stayed an hour. Breakfast is in a room with panoramic windows over the sea, and there was so much whale activity that morning that everyone had binoculars out. Then we packed the car one more time.
Ponta da Ferraria is on the far west coast, and the morning was so foggy you couldn’t see anything. Our friends were already in the water. It’s a natural rock pool open to the Atlantic, where a hot spring runs straight into the sea. Near the spring the water is warm, then a wave comes in and it’s freezing, then it’s warm again. The current is strong, there are ropes to hold onto, and it was an absolute blast. I’m putting together a post that’s just the videos, because you have to see it.
Afterwards there was a fun little food truck. The third girl from the plane (the one who’d seen our golf shirts) joined us, with a friend she’d made who’s a local and owns a bar. He gave us his recommendations for our last night, which we were spending on a houseboat in Ponta Delgada.
The houseboat
We checked in with The Homeboat Company at the Ponta Delgada marina. Of course it was raining. Check-in is a little unusual since there’s no front desk, but the marina itself is lovely. We were frozen from the tide pool and soaked from the rain, so we showered, changed into the warmest things we’d brought (which for me was a denim shirt), and went to the marina restaurant. Having our own sailboat, I can tell you marina restaurants are always a good time. Then a drink, some shopping, and back to the boat just as the sun came out, so we lay in the hammock on the upper deck for a while.
Dinner was at Pedro Homem Bistrô, our new friend’s pick, which does cocktails made with Azorean fruit. Then we went to his bar, Petrichor, a little craft cocktail bar in town. A perfect last night.
The last day, and the suitcase
Breakfast is delivered to the houseboat. It was fine, I was still full from dinner, and I fed our extras to the fish and a little duck friend. The sun came out properly for our last day and it was actually hot.
We drove to Vila Franca do Campo to see the Ermida de Nossa Senhora da Paz, the little white chapel at the top of a zigzag stairway built into the hillside. Then we found a lookout where Jake flew his drone out over the Ilhéu de Vila Franca, the islet just offshore with a perfectly round lagoon inside it. That clip opens our drone reel. I took selfies.
Our last stop was the Take Off bar, right next to the Ponta Delgada airport, for one last drink with our friends from the plane. Then we returned the car and checked in.
In the airport parking lot I was cramming everything into my suitcase and the zipper started to split. The woman at check-in kindly let me carry it on, so I didn’t have to buy a new bag at a very small airport. Jake strapped his expandable belt around it. By the time we landed in New York and rolled it to baggage claim to meet his checked bag, it was completely falling apart, and poor Jake carried the whole thing home on the subway. But we made it.
