140 wanderlust.co.ukMarch 2020
mercilessly as I gazed in awe – at
both the primeval landscape and the
resilience of those labourers forced
to hack out plantations from this
stifl ing jungle.
The sentiment recurred that night
as I savoured a trio of traditional
Santomean stews: molho do fôgo
(spicy fi sh), herby calalú and feijoada
(bean stew). Across the restaurant,
a dapper septuagenarian guitarist
plucked the unmistakable melody of
Sodade (Longing), made famous by
Cape Verdean morna queen Cesária
Évora. “Kem mostra bo es kaminj long,
es kaminj pa San Tomé?” he crooned
dolefully: “Who showed you this
faraway path, this path to São Tomé?”
Over the fi rst seven decades of the
20th century, perhaps 80,000 Cape
Verdeans were coerced across to these
islands; today, their descendants
comprise about half of the
8,000-strong population of Príncipe,
where I headed next day on the
35-minute aerial hop from São Tomé.
The fl ight was thrilling; the landing
was nerve-jangling: I feared the little
prop plane’s wings would clip the
canopy cloaking Príncipe’s rugged
hillsideslikeablanketofbroccoli.Its
forestisimpenetrablydense,even
comparedwithlushSãoToméand
betweenthem,theislandshostover
25 endemicbirdspecies–morethan
theGalápagos,inone-eighthofthe
landarea–plusperhaps 150 endemic
plants. Wild is everywhere;
unchecked, nature overtakes all.
The point was reinforced during
a coastal stroll to Ribeira Izé, an
abandoned plantation established in
the early 19th century by iron-willed
Maria Correia, a Príncipe-born
woman determined to defy gender
conventions by ruling her own
domain. The yellowed stone ruins of
her once-impressive church are
clutched in a verdant embrace by
liana tendrils and buttress-rooted
oká (silk cotton) trees, like the
root-strangled temples of Angkor.Peaking Pico
Hungry for more nature immersion,
next day I set out to summit Pico
Papagaio – at 680m, a smidgen taller
than Cão Grande, though mercifully
less vertiginous. While I waited for
my local guide I took a turn around
Santo António, proclaimed the
‘world’s smallest capital’. The Vatican
City might quibble that point, but it’s
certainly diminutive. In fi ve minutes
I’d walked its half-dozen or so streets.
In Casa Morabeza, a community
initiative supported by the social and
conservation-focusedNGOPríncipe
Trust,Ichattedwithlocalsasthey
crouchedovervenerablesewing
machines,creatingappealingbagsand
clotheswithdiscardedplasticsand
textiles.AtthemarketIbrowsedstalls
piledwithvegetablesfamiliarand
less-so–mountainsofbulbousgourds
androotsalongsidecarrotsandbeans- plushomemadehotsaucesand
stupefyingbananavarieties.
Drivingsouthwitheco-guide
Brankinho,tarmacsoonmorphed
intodirtasthetracksnakedintothe
hillspastwoodenshacksandrusty,
vine-tangledtractors.Theentranceto
Príncipe’sshareofObôNationalPark
ismarkedwithacharminglyrustic
signadornedwithaturtle,areminder
oftheisland’scharismaticmarine
‘Our trek through Obô National
Park’s emerald murk started to a
soundtrack of trills and squawks’
⊳
A trail less travelled
(clockwise from right)
The Pico Papagaio hike;
a woman sewing at Casa
Morabeza, a community
initiative run by the NGO
Príncipe Trust; Brankinho
with a jackfruit