não vão daqui a pensar mal disto

Lisbon in the singular. A small chunck of Portugal streaching out to the west. A County without parishes.
In here everyone knows each other, if not by name, at least from sight. Few are the ones that don’t say hello every time they cross path with you, even if they don’t yet know your name.
They make you feel welcome.
Those that are no in a hurry, walk, those that are, drive. The Caldron is their presentation card, but it’s their welcoming manner and hospitality that will endure in your memory.
You can eat in two places, a meat sandwich in the Fireman’s bar or a fish soup and grilled fish at the local restaurant. The hassle of the first set against the tranquility of the second. Both a delight in their own way.
At the end of the day it’s the sound of the ocean, the dancing of the waves and their dialog with the volcanic rock that will enchant you.
As a goodbye Mr. Manuel says – Don’t go away thinking ill of here.

Impossible.

Island of Corvo, Azores, Portugal.