One such place I encountered is the Azores, a volcanic archipelago in the heart of the Atlantic Ocean, physically the westernmost point of Europe —specifically the islands of São Jorge and Terceira. Places like these define, once and for all, the true scale of human beings and forcefully reveal our adaptive and creative capabilities. The intense volcanic activity that over time has shaped both the surface and the subterranean layers has given rise to lush, at times untouched, nature: vast calderas, walkable volcanic tubes, crater lakes, and natural hot water pools. These are all attractions for the delightful geotourism routes offered by the nine islands, but they also bear witness to the natural processes our planet has carried out continuously since its formation. They are direct timelines that leave us as mere spectators of our evolution — just one species among many on Earth. What fascinated me most was the ability to build upon instability, all to enjoy a natural spectacle that is both majestic and monstrous. The feeling that beauty can be a constant risk — even to one’s own life — carries an adrenaline rush that may be the same instinct that led early human settlements to choose such sites, fully aware of the natural risk/benefit tradeoff. A kind of evolutionary Stendhal syndrome, perhaps one that renders us helpless or entranced in front of the most terrifying natural wonders, drawn by a psychosomatic attachment that compels us to stare into the Earth’s and sea’s abysses, slide into the underworld’s depths, or climb high to glimpse the world from foggy peaks.
