Dots in the ocean

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The island of Fogo is basically a volcano in the middle of the Atlantic. Its beaches are black volcanic sand, striking against the white surf and the blue sea. Portugal once sent convicts here and an eccentric French Duke set up home here in the 1870s, fathering at least 11 children and countless grandchildren..

Most of the island is the volcano's caldera. Sitting at about 1,750 metres it contained two small villages. The ground here is a mixture of volcanic sand, rough volcanic rock and heavy brown boulders. It looks like the moon.

Our first walk takes us past the more recent eruption vents, 1995 and 2015. These both spewed molten lava into the caldera below. The paths of the lava are clearly visible. The 2015 eruption lasted 6 weeks and destroyed most of the buildings in the villages. A church roof pokes out of the lava, now solid rock. 1,200 people were evacuated from here, only 300 returned to start again.

Our basic hotel is built on the 2015 lava flow. The floors are hot, too hot for bare feet, heated by the lava below which is still cooling. We are told that any loud bangs in the night will just be the lava cracking, so not to worry!

At six in the morning we set off to scale Pico Fogo, at 2,829 metres it is Cape Verde's highest mountain. It is a proper cone shaped volcano so, as we climb, the slope gets steeper and steeper. Rock alternates with black gravel on which we slide backwards a little with every step. The sun slowly rises as we climb, casting the volcano's shadow on the land below.

After four tough hours of climbing, we reach the top and look down into the mountain's own little caldera. Sulphur fumes rise from small vents but in 1785 this was hell on earth. The volcano erupted for so long that the island was named Fogo (fire in Portuguese) and it was put on sea charts to aid navigation.

The descent is a little easier. Our route takes us to a sea of black volcanic gravel, down which we sort of run, every step taking us metres down hill. Great fun.

Then off by plane to the neighbouring island of Santiago and to Cidade Velha, a city with a long and checkered history. It has been occupied by Spain, Britain and Portugal and both Sir Francis Drake and Charles Darwin visited for a while. Pirates raided repeatedly and African slaves were traded in the square. But today it is a sleepy village with UNESCO world heritage status.

The cathedral sits on a headland, destroyed by French pirates long ago. We pass it while walking up to the fort, set high on a hill. The ground is parched. More volcanic rubble dotted with acacia bushes. Birds flit around us. Lovely blue kingfishers swoop down to eat giant grasshoppers and tiny lizards. Our walk takes us up to the fort and on to a high village before plunging down into the dry river valley, 150m below.

The hills are parched but the valley is lush green. Sugar cane, huge baobab trees, mango and papaya, all clustered along the dry river bed which slowly leads us back down to the sea. When was there last water in the river? Before even you were born, a young man tells us.

The sea is azure blue and calm. Can we really be on an island in mid Atlantic? Santiago is the largest Cape Verdean island but it is only twice the size on the Isle of Wight. Tomorrow we fly north to Saint Vincent, our third island. Another tiny dot in the ocean.

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