Nine Islands, Three Plates

Polly came in low over a coastline of black volcanic rock, where green fields ran right up to the cliff edge and mist slid slowly across rounded hills further inland. This was São Miguel, the largest of the nine islands that make up the Azores, sitting alone in the middle of the North Atlantic. Salt air mixed with the smell of wet earth and cut grass, and somewhere below a rooster called out from a farm she could not yet see.

Polly kom lavt ind over en kyst af sort vulkansk klippe, hvor grønne marker løb helt ud til klintekanten, og tågen langsomt gled hen over runde bakker længere inde i landet. Dette var São Miguel, den største af de ni øer, der udgør Azorerne, alene midt ude i det nordlige Atlanterhav. Den salte luft blandede sig med duften af våd jord og nyslået græs, og et sted nedenunder galede en hane fra en gård, hun endnu ikke kunne se.

The whole island exists because of a seam far below the ocean floor, a place where three of the great plates that carry the continents grind slowly against each other. North America pulls one way, Europe another, and Africa presses in from the south, and where the three edges meet, heat and pressure find their way up through cracks in the crust. Every island in this chain was built the same way, one eruption at a time, out of nothing but fire and cooling rock.

Hele øen findes på grund af en revne dybt under havbunden, et sted hvor tre af de store plader, der bærer kontinenterne, langsomt maler mod hinanden. Nordamerika trækker den ene vej, Europa den anden, og Afrika presser på fra syd, og dér hvor de tre kanter mødes, finder varme og tryk vej op gennem sprækker i jordskorpen. Hver eneste ø i denne kæde er bygget på samme måde, ét udbrud ad gangen, af intet andet end ild og afkølet sten.

Almost every field on São Miguel is edged by a hedge of hydrangeas, blue and violet and sometimes a soft pink, planted so thickly they look painted onto the landscape. Farmers brought the plants from Asia in the nineteenth century simply to mark the borders between pastures, never expecting them to become the island's signature. The volcanic soil, rich in minerals, turns their petals a deeper blue than the same flower grows almost anywhere else in the world.

Næsten hver mark på São Miguel er kantet af en hæk af hortensiaer, blå og violette og somme tider sart lyserøde, plantet så tæt at de ser ud som malet ind i landskabet. Landmændene hentede planterne i Asien i det nittende århundrede, blot for at markere skellene mellem markerne, uden nogensinde at forestille sig, at de skulle blive øens kendemærke. Den vulkanske jord, rig på mineraler, giver kronbladene en dybere blå farve, end den samme blomst får næsten noget andet sted i verden.

Further inland, the green hills rose and folded around wide, quiet basins that Polly could not see into from the coast. Steam rose faintly from somewhere among them, thin white threads against the grey sky, and she turned her flight toward the high ground to see what was making it.

Længere inde i landet hævede de grønne bakker sig og foldede sig om brede, stille kedler, som Polly ikke kunne se ned i fra kysten. Der steg svag damp op et sted derinde, tynde hvide tråde mod den grå himmel, og hun drejede flugten mod højlandet for at se, hvad der lavede den.