Azores Day: 8

Today was a day of adventure. Two activities, one thrilling experience, and the best meal of the trip. In that order.

We started the morning with ATV riding through the Sete Cidades area. At the meeting point we were fitted with helmets and asked about our experience level. I volunteered that I had recent experience, and only later realized that what I was thinking of was snowmobiling, not ATVing — and that the last time I actually rode an ATV, I ran over a woman's fruit stand. Three times. Anyway.

I drove first with Fern behind me and we made our way through the towns up toward the Sete Cidades mountain region. We stopped at a moss-covered aqueduct first, blanketed in fog and looking extremely Lord of the Rings, which was a fantastic start. From there we rode along the rim of the crater to various viewpoints, did some off-roading which felt genuinely wild because I was sincerely concerned I was going to send Fern flying, and took in scenery we never could have reached by car. I asked about switching drivers early on because I wanted Fern to have the full experience of both off-road and paved sections, but our guide said no, stay on, I'll let you know when — while also not seeming entirely convinced Fern could handle it. When we eventually reached the town it was Fern's turn, and the guide very earnestly reminded her multiple times that to stop, she needed to release the gas and press the brakes. Like, yes. We know. We made it back to the meeting point in one piece and Fern did get some driving in, even if the off-road portion was mostly mine. We both enjoyed it very much.

A recurring theme of this trip: guides underestimating us. Whether it's because we're young, female, American, or simply don't look as outdoorsy as we apparently are, we genuinely cannot tell.

We had a couple of hours before our next activity so we stopped at a highway picnic spot, made sandwiches — we have fully mastered the picnic at this point — and then swung by Porto Formoso Tea Plantation, one of only two active industrial tea factories in Europe and a beautiful, family-run estate on São Miguel. The landscaping was even prettier than Gorreana. We did not try any tea. We had places to be.

We met our two canyoning guides at the parking lot, where they immediately made a big deal about how our car would never make it to the starting point and we should ride in their van. We told them we had driven all over the island all week without issue and took the car. It really wasn't as steep as they made it sound. (See: underestimating us, above.)

We had called multiple times beforehand to confirm this canyoning experience was different from the one we'd done the previous week, and were assured each time that it was completely different. Reader, it was the same route — plus two additional waterfalls. That said, starting with the 30-minute walk rather than ending with it was honestly a nicer structure, and having just two guides instead of four made it feel more relaxed. We flew through the section we'd already done, fell into an easy rhythm, and chatted with the guides the whole way down.

Then we reached the big waterfall. Seventy-five feet. We were warned not to look up while rappelling down, or we would get waterboarded. Fern went first, was immediately surprised by the sheer force of the water, lost her grip briefly, realized the fastest route was the best route, let go completely, and apparently kicked the guide in the face on the way down. She waited for me at the bottom.

I started down. It was going well. And then I hit the waterfall directly.

The water was pounding. I slipped. My helmet got knocked off my head. My brain, having spent considerable time on a neurology unit watching people come in with head injuries, immediately began a very vivid and specific threat assessment. I was trying to get the helmet back on, looked up in the process, and got completely waterboarded. The guide saw me struggling and started lowering me down himself. I got a grip, rappelled to the base, and the second guide was standing there looking genuinely terrified, asking repeatedly if I was okay.

I was okay. Maybe a little in shock. Mostly focused on getting my helmet back on.

Fern was cackling. Which, to be clear, was the correct response, and she kept cackling as I told her I was fine. When we regrouped with the guides they looked visibly relieved and told me I was "strong minded." We finished the rest of the route without incident, made it back to the cars in good spirits, and spent a comedic amount of time struggling out of our wetsuits in the parking lot. We stopped at a pharmacy on the way back for saline drops for our ears, as one does.

We hit a bakery and got four massive pastries for five euros, which we ate in the car at 7 pm like the feral adventurers we have become, then went back to the hotel for a swim with our swim caps on, got ready, and finally — finally — went for Indian food.

Fern had held out on Indian food for the entire trip to protect our stomachs during activity-heavy days. I had been waiting patiently all week. It was worth every single day of waiting. My chana masala was possibly the best I've ever had, and I don't think Fern entirely believes me but I stand by it. Her butter chicken was excellent too.

We went back to the hotel, packed our bags, and went to bed a little sad that tomorrow is our last full day — but very excited, because we are ending it hiking with donkeys.

PHOTOS COMING SOON