After the beauty of the previous evening, we awoke to a ridiculously gorgeous sunrise, a steaming cup of Mamma’s coffee, and a general sense of “life”.
For all our striving, for all our achievement, it is the simple things in life that fulfil us the most. And by OG, I was fulfilled this morning.
Today’s sojourn would take us to Fogo Island to catch up with A&C.
It was a longish drive from our starting point to the ferry, and whilst it was beautiful scenic wilderness along the way, it was generally just a straight out slog to reach the ferry terminal. No stops, no pauses to admire places where, perhaps, no human has ever left a footprint.
The ferry trip was a shortish one – not remarkable by previous standards, but it was getting towards late afternoon by the time we disembarked.
A&C were staying in a BnB in the north of the island, so we set out along what is pretty much the only main road towards Joe Batt’s arm (not that we had, or to this day, have any idea who Joe Batt was, and why he would deposit an arm here).
The BnB was situated in what can only be described as a tiny fishing village. We located it despite it not readily appearing on Google maps or either of Charlotte’s or Vanastasia’s GPS. As we piled out of our vans, A&C were there to greet us, and as much as they were joyful to greet us, I know that our own joy at being reunited with them was just as keenly felt.
We had a quick tour of the place – a 2 story cottage (in the truest sense) – cute and low ceilinged to the extent that I could not stand upright on the second floor, but had to hunch like Quasimodo.
We offered up our cod to chef with almost religious fervour, telling him how fresh they were and asked him to grace both us and them with his skill. Which he did. This time using a proper kitchen. It sounds ridiculous, but those cod fillets were all the things pretentious, Michelin and other good food guide reviewers rave about. Light, delicate, perfect in both their flakiness and tenderness and seasoned to perfection. Not only were the cod honored, but so were Chef’s teachers, and ultimately his guests.
Not that this was the perfect afternoon – A&C were sharing the cottage with another couple (from Quebec), and if you ever want to hear division within the context of a language, and shared heritage, just get a Quebecian and a Frenchman in the same room. Language, superiority and disdain chasms appear from nowhere.
The situation was not helped by the arrival of the owners, who immediately suspected that the three of us (M,B&PM) were trying to shoe horn ourselves, unpaid, onto a free bed/couch. All from us sitting at the kitchen table, sharing a meal.
Satiated, and only a little bit annoyed, Architect decided that we should head out to one of Fogo’s world renowned architectural wonders.
For the uninitiated, Fogo is the home of a world famous 5 star hotel designed in a, shall we say, different architecture style, along with a number of similarly divergent artist’s retreats scattered across the island.
It is a strange place to make an artistic sanctuary – being located on an island means all materials have to be shipped in, and the weather is predominantly rough, windy, cold and icy during the winter, and only marginally more enjoyable during the summer. Still residencies in the artistic retreats are free (qualification via body or work/announced inspiration type criteria).
The person behind this unusual situation is Zeta Cobb, a local who left the island, made her millions, then returned with an agenda of creating community, industry and opportunity for the locals. Given that years ago the community on Fogo were offered significant $s to relocate to the mainland, but defiantly stayed, perhaps runs through her bloodlines.
Architect had embarked on her journey for the sole purpose of seeing the Saunders designed retreats and hotel. She had visited 3 retreats prior to us arriving, and the next was located not far from the BnB. There was still light left in the day, so we set out to add the next structure to her achievement list.
A short drive later we were walking across rocks and rough land to our destination, when Architect thought she saw a bear in the distance. No one else did, and I suspect she saw an indistinct shape in the shadowy twilight and let her pattern recognising brain fill in banks that were not there, but it delayed our march by a few minutes. Emboldened by the rest of the group’s decision to march in front of her, so that we would be the first victims of an attack, she continued on apprehensively, yet without incident, until we reached the studio.
I’m not a design student, nor do I understand the intricacies and subtleties of architecture, point of view and impression (all of which I am sure played in the original architect’s mind), yet I was struck by the starkness and difference of the building. Whilst it clearly stood apart from the landscape, as a non natural structure, there was something that “fit” about it. Clear lines, odd angles, peculiar styling all suggested a wildness not incongruent with the rocky, windswept land it stood on.
The retreat was empty, secured by a 4 digit analogue lock,and despite us toying with the idea of attempting to crack it, we satisfied ourselves with peeking in the window instead.
As you can see from the photos, dusk was upon us, and we took the time to sit and enjoy one of the world’s most beautiful moments, when the air we breathe sustains us in a different sense by refracting the sun’s light and painting glorious vistas on the horizon.
We eventually picked our way carefully along the narrow path we had entered upon, before heading back to the BnB where we sat casually in the garden, drinking wine, murmurring n low voices so as not to disturb the Quebecians, and generally feeling at peace with the world.
The next day it was on to Fogo’s main attraction, Fogo Island Inn, a ridiculously expensive hotel, perched on the rocks overlooking the Atlantic.
Like all the “grand” hotels, (the Burj for instance) it is possible to partially experience what it would be like to stay there by dining or having an afternoon tea. Unfortunately for A& C (each for different reasons), dinners were fully booked for another week (some foresight or planning might have helped here) so we were restricted to outside views only,
Tbh, and I think both architect and builder agreed, the Inn’s design just felt, well, wrong. Unlike the quirky, intriguing artist’s retreats, this seemed more “placed” in position than existing harmoniously with its setting.
Yes the environment is stark, windy, grey and sharp, but to reflect those in what can only be described as a drab building is disappointing.
Still, the inn is in a difficult place to reach, offers privacy and, I suppose intrigue via desolation, and charges enough (up to 3 k per night) to appeal to the rich and famous.
Not to criticise Zeta’s efforts, but it feels like the “build it and they will come” idea stopped short of building anything other than just “it”. At least Kevin Costner’s field had a charm about it.
I wouldn’t take back a second of my visit here – it is a different landscape and environment, and a viable example of how multi million dollar investment can make even the remotest and inhospitable place attractive, yet I ended up feeling a little unfulfilled.
Maybe that’s just me.
