Cabo Verde: The heart of a volcano
Fogo's volcanic eruptions are a blessing and a curse. Swaths of destruction can be spotted in different parts of the island, but the soil is incredibly rich, and coffee plantations and wineries thrive. Our guide told us that the year immediately following the last eruption was the best grape harvest of the decade. And the Fogo islanders capitalize on the possibilities for tourism. Hikers were crossing the site of the 2014/15 eruptions within a month. On our second full day in Fogo, we followed in their footsteps. Our driver (again arranged through Qualitur) picked us up at 8:30 to drive us into the mountains.
I've been in Africa for more than a month, and I've grown used to the persistence of vendors in markets and at the roadside. This was an entirely different dynamic. I started a conversation with one of the women - I did want some of the pepper, and this might be my only chance to get some - and the others pushed and shoved their way forward, trying to outbid her or take my attention off of her. I managed to understand what she was willing to offer for a particular amount of money, but the situation was growing more chaotic so we opted to get back in the van before the women began a physical dispute.
We crossed a moon-like landscape, first scattered with boulder, then thick volcanic dust, then hardened lava flow, eventually reaching a small village nestled at the edge of Pico de Fogo.
Following the last eruption, which started in December 2014 and continued into January 15, the original village had been completely destroyed. The government had evacuated the residents, so there was no loss of human life, but they lost everything the owned. New homes were constructed for them on other parts of the island, but they were quickly abandoned as people returned to the land and rebuilt their lives from scratch. Our guide explained that these are agricultural workers, deeply connected to the soil and unable to thrive anywhere else.
As we started our trek across the dust and gravel, we started to see evidence of their work. Apple trees had been set into the rock and grape vines were wrapped in straw against the winter cold (there is frost at night at this height). A man was at work on the land, cutting back his grape vines to prepare them for spring growth.
Our path took us on a steady incline, drawing attention to the fact that I haven't fully regained my cardio fitness after a serious illness more than a year ago. The fine gravel added to the challenge, with my feet sliding back a bit with each step forward. But our guide was very patient with our slower pace, encouraging breaks when we needed them.
At the top of the slope, we stopped for water and photos and asked our guide whether he had been part of the evacuation in 2014. He had in fact been here, but he and some other young men opted to stay behind when the families and older folk had been taken to safety. They camped on the hillside above the village, opposite the mountain, sleeping in tents or caves. They had a ringside view when the crater blew open and lava poured over their homes. He said it was the most beautiful and awe inspiring thing he had ever seen.
Following our rest, we continued our trek across a plateau, then up the edge of the crater on a switch-back trail. This was the hardest part of the walk, but I didn't inherit my father's stubbornness for nothing. I was going to make it to the top even if I had to stop and gasp every twelve steps! Meanwhile we could look up at Pico de Fogo and spot the intrepid souls who had climbed the big peak as they made their way back down at speed, with clouds of dust billowing out behind them. I laughed at myself a bit, recalling that I had considered booking that tour. I have months of training ahead of me if I ever want to attempt that!
At last, we made it and the view from the top, down into the crater, was worth it.
I walked out onto a narrow spit of land - stepping on stones that were red with iron, yellow with sulphur, or porous black - to look back across the crater. In the photos, you can just make out the tiny people at the edge.
Hot and tired, it was time to cross the remaining half of the plateau - and we were thankful for the the downward slope. And the winery at the bottom where we'd have lunch.
Not to mention this sight for sore eyes - our driver, waiting to pick us up!
Climbing into the van, we took the winding road toward our starting point and reached the Chã das Caldeiras cooperative winery. After cleaning off the worst of the volcanic dust, watching grey water swirl down the drain, we settled into an outdoor dining area shaded from the sun. We had arranged for a guided wine tasting, but were told it was unlikely as the expert was not on site. At some urging, our driver insisted on our behalf and the expert hit the road from home as we settled in for lunch.
I know I complained about only being offered rice and vegetables. But these were some amazing vegetables. The cook had been worried - people usually want meat, meat and more meat, and she wasn't sure what to make for us. But every single veggie was cooked to perfection, from the sautéed mushrooms to the roasted pumpkin. And we all agreed that they were the best roasted tomatoes we had ever had.
I love wine, but I don't drink a lot of it in one sitting - and I'd enjoyed a glass and a half of white, and a glass of red before the expert arrived. Then we sampled their digestif before setting off on a tour of the winery. We were shown the machines that remove the skins and press the juice, the vats where the wine begins its fermentation process, the French oak barrels and the bottles stacked in the cellar. During the tour he gave us a sampling of a delicious sweet wine that is in production for the next year's release. We were then taken to the showroom that showcases their awards, and offered samples of their rosé and another sweet wine. I was rather easily parted from my money for three bottles of wine to take home. (Of course, I realized later that this would put me over the limit of what I can bring back into Canada. Some will need to be enjoyed in Senegal.)
Somewhat loaded down with bottles and jars of jam that had been offered as gifts, we piled back into the van to return to our lodge. I still hoped to get some pepper, now that I had the right amount of cash in my pocket, so I asked the driver to stop if the sellers were still there.
There were - fewer, but they were no less aggressive. I spotted the woman I had spoken to earlier and caught her eye through the window. I climbed out of the van and worked my way through the swarm to where I had seen here - but she'd done the same and was now by the van door. And there were vendors clamouring for my attention completely surrounding me. Again we caught each others' eyes and I moved forward with singleminded determination. I had started a sale with this woman, and she was going to be the one to get it! I had determined what I was willing to pay and pointed to each item while stating an amount. Another woman shouted to undercut her, but we agreed on a price and she took my money. And gave me insufficient change. I just stood my ground and raised an eyebrow and, realizing that she wasn't going to pull the wool over my eyes she handed me more bills. She had only had two bags of peppers and I wanted four, so I turned to the woman and pointed to her peppers and held out the amount of cash she'd been shouting at me. She grinned, snatched it and handed me the peppers. I probably paid more than I needed to, but I paid what I thought was a fair price and got a Christmas ornament as part of the deal.
Back I climbed into the van and we rolled down the mountain - with the wine increasing its effects on me with each passing moment. When the time came to disembark I was rather clumsy and when I climbed out of the van I dropped my phone. Picked it up. Dropped it again. And began giggling helplessly while my daughter rolled her eyes and took over the goodbyes and gathering of our bags.
It was time for a rest. And then a dinner with lots of water. And no wine!
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