Rekindling an Old Flame Atop the Volcanoes of Atlantis

To forge a promise of everlasting love

More than twenty years have passed since I first met her. We fell in love and grew apart, and I thought I had lost her forever.

Yet fate had other plans, and an old flame would rekindle, glowing even brighter as we walked together up the ash-covered slopes of the ancient volcanoes of Atlantis.

I’m aware these opening lines might sound like they’re straight from a Nicholas Sparks novel, but reality trumps fiction, and every aspect of our story is as real as it gets.

Who would have thought that after so many years apart, we would be flying hand in hand to the middle of the Atlantic Ocean?

I certainly wouldn’t; I had lost all hopes of reconnecting with her after years of silence. But somehow, love and destiny conspired to create a ripple that transcended the fabric of time.

The flames of young love burn brightly and then swiftly fade away. But deep within my chest, she never stopped playing at my heartstrings.

I would feel my blood rush every time I caught a glimpse of her long, dark hair in the wind of a winter morning or the luster of her eyes on a sunny afternoon.

Her hand felt warm. Her slender violinist fingers, wrapped around mine, squeezed my hand as the Airbus A320neo roared through the runway of Aeroporto Humberto Delgado in Lisbon.

In less than a minute, we were above the Atlantic—a white swallow flying in an indigo dream. There was nothing more than us, infinite skies, and the deep blue ocean.

Less than three hours later, we make our descent to Horta Airport. Faial, the green emerald of the Azores, awaits us.

Next to the emerald-green volcanic island stands a stone giant, Pico, which I imagine was once the crest of old Atlantis and is now Portugal’s highest mountain.

I remember reading about the lost continent of Atlantis in Plato’s dialogues with Timaeus and Critias.

According to Plato, Atlantis was a rich and powerful civilization that conquered many lands but was eventually destroyed by a cataclysmic event and sank into the sea.

Through the years, I’ve heard many theories about the possible location of Atlantis, but none of them have been conclusively proven.

Many like to believe it was located somewhere in the Mediterranean basin, but for me, it was somewhere in the Atlantic, beyond the Pillars of Hercules (the Strait of Gibraltar).

While flying over the islands of the Azores, in my heart, I knew these were indeed the remnants of old Atlantis.

Landing in the Azores is always an adventure on its own. Horta Airport has one of the longest runways in the archipelago, and still, it’s not even one mile long.

The Airbus A320neo bounces, roars, and suddenly breaks. My hand bears the five stressful love bites, one for each of her fingernails.

“You can open your eyes now, my love.”

It’s my first time in Faial; she has been here before and flew on one of SATA’s Bombardier Dash Q200, nicknamed Bravo and Charlie.

It was my girlfriend who told me how everyone knows when the Q200 is approaching; the sound of its engines is something you can’t forget.

That’s why I chose two direct flights from Lisbon to Horta on the Neo, yet she was clinging to me during the descent.

She loves traveling but hates flying.

We get off the plane, and I look at the small airport terminal, roughly the size of your run-of-the-mill bus station.

It takes us only a couple of minutes to make our way out of the airport. From there, we have three options.

We could take the bus. The journey takes approximately 19 minutes. But there weren’t any buses in sight when we went there.

Door number two is taking a taxi from Horta. Option three: If you prefer to drive, you can rent a car at the airport.

We took door number two and grabbed a taxi for $15, which took us to our destination in about 10 minutes.

We had booked a room in what I consider to be the best B&B in Horta. A walkway from the hustle and bustle of the town center, H18, sat on a hilltop, offering us a privileged view of Pico.

From the moment we arrived, we felt right at home. It was great to have free access to a communal kitchen serving a daily breakfast with fresh local products.

We could also use the kitchen to prepare other meals or store food, and we were entitled to a private box in the fridge.

Allow me to share a small tidbit that illustrates how friendly our host was. We had to change dates at the last minute, which typically results in a fee. However, the host did the opposite—kindly taking care of it.

Not only was our room already booked for those dates, but she also offered us the best room in the B&B with no extra charge.

This room includes a king-size bed and offers the most breathtaking views of Pico on one side and Guia Hill on the other.

Every morning, we’d wake up to one of the most amazing sunrises I’ve ever witnessed.

I remember we arrived quite late in the afternoon, so that first day we didn’t have time to do any sightseeing, but we still managed to take an evening stroll to get our bearings around town.

The next morning, I woke up with my mind set on exploring the remnants of old Atlantis.

Around 8 a.m., our breakfast awaited us in the kitchen, and we had our first taste of the marvelous assortment of Azorean cheese, milk, bread, homemade jam, fresh orange juice, and local pastries.

Oh my, we felt invigorated.

After we had our first Nespresso coffee of the day, it was time to walk down the hill to the seaside.

A ten-minute walk gets us closer to the blue waters of the Atlantic Ocean.

Strolling around those ancient streets, it felt like I was a step closer to Plato’s lost continent.

And I was there, hand in hand with an old flame that was now the burning light in the furnace of our love.

The world had never felt so in tune, and Horta was our oyster.

We took our time as we walked over to Peter’s, visiting some of the historical sites and grabbing as many mementos from our time there as we could.

The city’s ancient architecture is impressively well-preserved.

The serene streets of Horta evoke figments of Portugal from centuries past.

Later that day, back in our room, I found myself taking notes about our shared experience.

Those are the same notes that now help me trace the backstory of this piece.

I look out the window, and I can’t wait to go back out and visit the other side of the island.

The plan for the following day is to visit the Capelinhos Volcano, and I remember how excited we were and how I couldn't wait for it, as I knew there was a story waiting to be told.

The next day, we rented a car so we could travel to the other side of the island, to the place where a massive eruption occurred back in 1957.

In my “lost continent” allegory, the fall of Atlantis and its demise is linked to the network of volcanoes shaping the Atlantic archipelago.

But afterwards there occurred violent earthquakes and floods; and in a single day and night of misfortune (25d) all your warlike men in a body sank into the earth, and the island of Atlantis in like manner disappeared in the depths of the sea — Plato

The Capelo peninsula in Faial, where the volcano stands, holds a story linked to ancient lava spills caused by tectonic clashes.

In the late 1950s, the underwater volcano erupted with such ferocity that entire villages were rendered uninhabitable, forever altering the landscape and resonating globally.

Cruising the narrow roads of Faial is a breathtaking panorama of lush greenery.

It’s as if we’ve been transported to the heart of a tropical rainforest, surrounded by an endless sea of vibrant green at every turn.

But suddenly everything changes as we arrive at the Capelo Peninsula (once an islet).

We park our car on a charred strip of land close to the sea.

The black gravel is a memento of the brute force of the eruption; the landscape tells a story of destruction turned into beauty.

The eruption, beginning at sea near the Capelinhos Islet, initiated with earth tremors, then escalated with violent lava bursts.

The aftermath was cruel to the land and its people.

Thousands were evacuated, homes were covered in ash, and the eruption lasted 13 months, reshaping the island’s coast.

Years later, we stand on the balcony of the iconic lighthouse.

The waves relentlessly crashing below seem faint, as the memory gets lost in the foam of days.

They are but a memory of the roaring force of the boiling ocean of the past.

We hike the moonlike slope so we can have a better glance at the new peninsula.

The trail, though short, is steep.

A nice workout with breathtaking views after a thirty-minute car drive.

Wielding a vivid palette of volcanic hues against the Atlantic backdrop is a sight to behold from atop the landscape.

While Capelinhos volcano now rests in a gentle slumber, nature’s raw power is still vividly etched upon the earth.

Yet, amid the remnants of ol’ Atlantis, nature’s beauty emerges—tiny flowers on lava rocks.

It feels like the perfect moment, the right place where everything aligns.

I gently take her hand at the very spot where the earth’s flames once danced in a fiery circle with enough power to reshape or engulf the land.

On this volcano top, I forge an everlasting covenant.

As I kneel beside her, a ring of gold and gems cradled in my hand, I ask with all my heart,

“Will you be my forever love?”