The church is still there and today the doors were open when we arrived so I was able to get some photos. The enormous old baptistry font (1664) was stored in a side room, no longer in use. When I saw it the first thing I thought was it is amazing none of my Grandparents drowned .
The original Saint Catherines Church of Biscoitas-Calheta, Sao Jorge was destroyed in a fire and this one was built to replace it in 1639. The family information I have shows multiple generations were baptized or married in this church from 1660 on. After the powerful earthquake in January of 1980, the church along with many buildings in the Azores was severely damaged. Once repairs and remodeling were completed it reopened in 1991. It is a beautiful old building with doorways framed in sculptured Basalt.
Found the church & village!
Today I learned that “Biscoitas” is the name of a neighborhood and Calheta is the name of the village. There is no graveyard at Saint Catherines. Bodies were buried in other locations, primarily in a graveyard in Faja Grande. Unless the family of the deceased were able to pay for a burial there is no marker. Now, That makes finding anyone a bit tricker.
The only taxi driver available today was a charming helpful Grandfather named Antonio. He put me in contact with a lady named: Analia Da Silva Betencourt. She is fluent in English and a local realtor. I suspect that we are distantly related. You see Silva is in my family tree as well as Bettencourt. Actually I figure if your family is on these islands long enough you are probably related to everyone! If I am able to return later this winter she offered to help me find where the family home and property was located. After talking with her briefly on the phone today, I really look forward to meeting her in person.
Tomorrow before my flight leaves I hope to visit the local museum in Velas, which is the village I can see from my bedroom window. So today at least items #1.AND # 2. Can be checked off my research list.
One of the many things I appreciate each time I visit these islands is the slower friendlier pace of life. Yesterday the driver of the .30 cent bus was a perfect example of that difference. As passengers got on and off the bus, he knew most of heir names and in an unhurried way greeted them or told a joke or inquired about their family. My destination was the last stop on his route and pretty soon I was the only person left on the bus.
“Where are you from ?”, He asked me .
“You mean you can tell I am not local?”, I joked.
We chatted until my stop with him making suggestions about things I might enjoy seeing.
In Angra is a triangular oasis of old fashioned social interaction. It is a plaza where old men and women gather each day. On three sides of them traffic is passing. Buses go by and delivery vans. They do not even notice. They sit at tables or on the benches and sip coffee and chat. No one is in a hurry. No one yells or argues.....they sit and talk and listen to each other. I know this has been happening longer than I have been alive. If I ever get the hang of speaking Portuguese again I want to go sit down at one of the tables and find out what they have been discussing for the last 200 years.
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