Azores

I watched a food program on the Azores the other night, and watching it brought back good memories of the many times I had been to the Azores flying for ATA. The Azores, a 300 mile long series of islands formed by mountain tops sticking out of the ocean, with Pico, at over 7000 feet, the highest, are technically part of Portugal, but they are a long way from Portugal, well out in the North Atlantic, and have a history and culture somewhat different from the mainland. Because the islands were settled over a period of several hundred years, and because the distances between them are considerable, each island developed somewhat separately with its own traditions and culture. (The locals say they can still tell which island someone is from by the way they talk.) The islands have also become popular vacation spots for the Portuguese, both European Portuguese and Portuguese-Americans, many of whom have summer homes on the islands.

ATA (then American Trans Air) used to have a weekly run every summer out of BOS to both Ponta Delgado on the island of San Miguel, and to Lajes on the island of Terceira—the Boston-New Bedford area is home to many Portuguese-Americans, many originally from the Azores, having migrated there to work in the fishing industries. (I am amazed at what an impact the relatively small country of Portugal has had all over the world—if there is saltwater with fish in it, you will find a Portuguese community. Hawaii, for instance, has a large Portuguese component to its culture.) These flights were extremely popular with the Portuguese-American community for two reasons: one, they were a lot cheaper, being charters, than the scheduled airlines were; two, they were direct flights to the Azores—the only other way to get to the Azores from the US was to go to Europe first, normally Lisbon (Lisboa in Portuguese), and then fly back, a two day affair. So they always went completely full, and since everyone was usually going for a fairly long stay, and since everyone had family there for whom they were taking gifts from America, they were also some of the heaviest loads we ever flew.

Since the Azores were formed from volcanic peaks sticking out of the ocean, as a rule there aren’t many good places for airports. The airport at Ponta Delgado, for instance, was hacked out of the side of the mountain. It is also fairly short (for an L-1011, anyway), and had steep drop-offs at both ends. It was more like an aircraft carrier than an airport, and after a long night of flying, and having just broken out under a heavy overcast after shooting a non-precision, non-radar approach to see that little strip of runway clinging to the side of the mountain, the landings that resulted were also often closer to aircraft carrier landings than they were to air carrier landings. But it was all great fun, and the kind of thing that pilots love to do.

The exception to this rule is Lajes airport, on the big island of Terceira. Terceira is like the island of Maui (Hawaii), in that both were formed when two volcanoes were joined by the outflow from one of them, forming large, relatively flats areas in between. This created a perfect spot, in both cases, for airports.

Lajes is long enough to be an emergency landing site for the space shuttle, and wide enough to handle a B-52 (300 feet wide, versus the more common 150 feet). It was also the first place the pilot of an Air Transat Airbus 330 (August, 2001) headed when he lost power to both engines after a fuel leak over the North Atlantic, taking advantage of its huge runway to execute a safe, power off landing. Lajes has been used as a refueling stop since WWII, and has been a permanent, shared air base for the Portuguese and US Air Force ever since. And that was the other reason for my many trips to the Azores, military charters, Lajes being a regular stop on the US military world wide transportation circuit.

Unlike many shared facilities in the world, where the US military presence is often tolerated but not welcomed, the relationship between the Portuguese and US military at Lajes was very harmonious. (I put this in the past tense because I haven’t been to Lajes for several years now, and I assume this is all still true, but I’m looking back here.) For instance, the two air forces shared a common officers club with a pretty good golf course. You could get an American hamburger or Portuguese grilled squid in a tomato, garlic sauce in the clubhouse, and you could pay for it with either dollars or escudos (now euros). There were no hassles getting on or off the base, and air traffic control was equally professional and courteous regardless of whose air force was handling it.

The only real challenge to Lajes were the winter winds, and since the military operates year round, they couldn’t be avoided. Terceira is in the middle of the ocean, and the winds coming across the North Atlantic can be ferocious in the winter. Compounding this was the physical location of the airport, in the flat part of the island but snuggled up against a long ridge formed by the smaller of the two volcanoes, which caused the wind to curl up and over it and create a strong crosswind in the middle of the runway, while the larger volcano caused the prevailing winds to swirl in the opposite direction. The result was often three entirely different winds over the length of the runway, a headwind at touchdown, a crosswind midway, and a tailwind towards the end. Except sometimes they swapped, and the headwind became a tailwind and the crosswind would switch to the other side—you never really knew, but with three windsocks, one at each end and one in the middle—you at least had some clues. Fortunately, the L-1011 was probably the best aircraft ever made for handling these kinds of conditions, and while you often had a hand full of airplane and couldn’t take anything for granted, you also knew you had an aircraft that could handle virtually anything and would do whatever you asked it to do. It was a challenge but it was also great fun. (I wrote a post in 2008 titled “Track Up” about a particularly nasty approach into Oakland airport. The difference there was that I was then flying a B-757, and while the 757 is a terrific airplane, better than the 1011 certainly in terms of reliability, automation, and efficiency, it is no 1011 when it comes to gusty, crosswind landings. But I was new to the 757 at that point and I didn’t know that yet and expected more from it.)

The nearest town to the Lajes airport was a little place right on the water called Pria. Pria is a very typical little Azorean fishing village with great restaurants and cafes and it was all pretty cheap, too. One summer evening, handing off the aircraft we brought in to the crew taking it out, the outgoing captain said they had found a really great place to eat and we had to check it out, it was just down the beach from the hotel, wasn’t marked real well, but it looked like a big beach house of some sort and was the only one along that stretch, and we just had to try it.

Crew often pass along tips like this because they are always looking for places friendly to American crews and accommodating of our preferences (like separate checks, and not having to wait until 9 o’clock to eat, and menus we can understand), and someone always gives them a nickname like The Broken Chair or The Red Door and everyone knows where they are and what to expect there. I thought I knew every place to eat in Pria, but this sounded like it was worth checking out, and it didn’t even have a nickname yet.

So after checking in and cleaning up we—my copilot and my flight engineer and I—headed down the beach to look for this place. We found a place that had to be it, but to say it wasn’t marked well was an understatement—it wasn’t marked at all. It looked like a private house, with no signs or menus posted or anything that indicated it was a restaurant. It was still early in the evening (but late for us, and we were hungry), so we climbed up the stairs to a veranda and peaked inside and we could see what looked like it could be a restaurant, with a small bar and lots of tables and a door that could have gone to a kitchen, but we still weren’t sure. Then someone appeared inside and saw us peaking in, and came over and opened the door. We said we had heard that this was a good restaurant and wondered if we could get some dinner. He said something vague like, “Come on in, have a seat at the bar,” and disappeared. So we sat there for awhile and eventually someone else came out and asked us what we wanted to drink, and I think we had some beers, and slowly a few more people did come in, older couples mainly, and pretty soon we could smell good food smells, so that seemed promising, but we still hadn’t seen a menu or a waiter.

By now we were getting really hungry, and a little puzzled as to what exactly was going on, so I asked if we could see some menus. Whoever he was at the bar said, “Oh, there are no menus.” I said, “How are we going to know what to order?” and he said something to the effect of “Everyone just gets pretty much the same thing, but if you want I can take you to the kitchen and show you what we have.”

So I said, “Great,” and off we went, the three us, following this guy around in the kitchen and there were big pots of all kinds of good looking and good smelling things all around and I keep asking what each was and he keeps saying, “Oh, you don’t need to know the names, it’s not important,” and I’d say, “But I want to remember what it is so I know what to order,” and he says, “”Oh, don’t worry about that,” and finally we just gave up and figured what will be will be and hoped for the best, which at that point we were so hungry a spoon to lick would have been fine.

So we sat down at a big table, room for probably eight, and someone else comes over and says, “You will want to drink wine with dinner, and here in the summer we always drink Vino Verde, so do you want to order some Vino Verde?” I had never heard of Vino Verde but I knew it meant Green Wine and that didn’t sound so good, but it didn’t seem like it was really a question or a choice, and I looked at the other two guys and they just shrugged, so I said, “Sure, Vino Verde.” (It is actually a very light, slightly sparkling, slightly sweet wine that is perfect in warm weather with spicy food. And it does have a green tinge to it.)

Then, I don’t really remember in exactly what order, other people arrived and some sat down with us at our table, and slowly food started to arrive in big bowls, food I recognized from our kitchen tour, and more Vino Verde arrived and at this point, still having not seen a menu or a price list or any attempt to keep track of who ordered what, we just gave in and started eating and drinking and not worrying about how it was all going to work out. The men at our table, mostly older and very distinguished looking with very good English, seemed to know a lot about aviation and American Trans Air, and we had a great time talking and enjoying the food, which just kept arriving until I realized that we had something from every pot in the kitchen. Towards the end of the meal a very elegant man arrived at our table, dressed with a silk scarf and an expensive looking sweater with a jacket draped over his shoulders and offered us an after dinner drink. We still didn’t know what any of this was going to cost, and had had plenty of Vino Verde anyway, so we thanked him and declined, but he insisted, sat down and we all talked for awhile, still not knowing who anyone was.

Eventually, getting late, we thanked everyone for their company and said we needed to pay and get on our way, and no one seemed to pay much attention to any of that, and finally I said to one of the men who had been at the table since the beginning, and who seemed to be kind of a leader, that this was a wonderful restaurant, but very unusual, and he said, “Well, it isn’t exactly a restaurant. Do you know where you are?” And I said, “Well, I thought it was a restaurant, but I guess not. So where are we?” He said, “We are all generals in the Portuguese Air Force. I am the Chief of Staff. The man who offered you the after dinner drinks is a priest and also the Head Chaplain for the Portuguese Air Force. We all have summer homes here on the island and this is our private club.”

Needless to say we very embarrassed and apologetic, but he said, “No, no problem at all—we see each other enough and it is good to talk to other pilots and it’s our club and we can welcome whomever we want. We hope you enjoyed your evening.”

We never did see a bill but we did leave some money that we hoped went to the staff. I think we played golf the next day. I don’t really remember. We never did give it a nickname.