Up, up and up we went, passing the tiny little Holy Spirit Chapel on the way to Monte Brasil. We selected a BBQ near some trees. We were the only people using this picnicking area on the island of Terceira. After a short rest and a drink, I collected twiglets for the fire. Dan had the fire going in a jiffy, using the wood which is free to use, then tied up the hammock between two nearby trees.
Earlier that morning, I’d selected fresh fish and vegetables from the market, packing everything into the cool box. We, I mean Dan, carried everything we needed to the top of the mount overlooking Angra on one side, the Atlantic on the other. I carried the hammock.
Dan cooked the most scrumptious sweet potato slices, aubergines and peppers. We ate the grilled vegetables with bread dipped in olive oil. We drank chilled Vinho Verde. I cooked fresh sardines, liberally coated in salt as I’d learned how in Morocco. I picked and nibbled at the fish, licking my lips and sucking my fingers, savouring every mouthful. The second bottle of wine was opened. The heaviness of postprandial somnolence took over. We snuggled up on the hammock for a late afternoon siesta. We swayed gently in the dappled shade. I gazed out at the sea far below listening to the song of the blackbird and the colourful little finches. A small doe nuzzled my bare toes as I dozed. I jerked and the timid creature skedaddled.
It was a long siesta and the fire had almost died, but a few pokes with a stick to remove the dead ash, and the heat intensified. For dessert, I placed a couple of bananas stuffed with chocolate on the grill and waited for the dark ooze of chocolate to bubble through the skins. We sat in the hammock eating hot chocolate bananas. Chocolate dripped and burned our skin. We stayed till the light faded and the birds returned to roost. We listened to the humming of the insects, the sea birds calls and shared our dreams.