There are places whose beauty can be explained through geology, measured through distance, and catalogued through conservation law, yet still remain beyond the reach of ordinary description. The Vila Franca Islet, rising just offshore from São Miguel, belongs to that rare geography. It is at once the remnant of an ancient volcano, a natural sanctuary, a childhood memory, a summer refuge, and one of the most extraordinary places in the Azores to enter the sea. Reached by a brief boat journey from Vila Franca do Campo, it offers visitors an experience that sounds almost mythical until it is lived: swimming within the crater of a volcano, surrounded by dark rock, crystalline water, seabirds, and the immense Atlantic beyond.
At the harbor of Vila Franca do Campo, the old images of long waiting lines have largely disappeared. Passengers now wait seated for the small vessel that crosses to the islet, and tickets are purchased with relative ease. Residents of the Azores pay six euros, while non-residents pay fifteen, following an increase in the visitor fare. The higher price does not appear to have diminished the islet’s appeal. Foreign travelers still make up much of the crowd preparing to board, drawn by the promise of a landscape unlike almost anything else they will encounter in Europe.
The Cruzeiro do Ilhéu arrives carrying visitors returning around lunchtime, and within minutes the next group boards for the ten-minute crossing. Moisés Bolarinho has served as master of the vessel for six years and knows the route in all its moods. In calm conditions, the journey is simple and brief; when the sea becomes more demanding, it requires patience, caution, and a slower hand. He believes there are fewer tourists this year and suspects the disappearance of Ryanair service has affected overall demand. Yet once the boat approaches the volcanic walls of the islet, statistical concerns momentarily give way to wonder.
Inside, the sheltered crater is already alive with dozens of visitors. Some lie across the black rocks beneath the sun, while others follow the narrow paths, observing the vegetation and the changing forms of the volcanic landscape. Many are already in the water, which at low tide reveals more of the crater’s intimate geography. The place feels at once open and enclosed: protected by rock, yet constantly connected to the wider ocean through the narrow channel that allows the Atlantic to enter.
For local residents, the islet carries a meaning that extends far beyond tourism. It is part of the emotional landscape of São Miguel, a place returned to across generations and a reminder of the extraordinary natural wealth that exists close to home. Tânia Silva comes whenever circumstances allow because, as she says, the islet is a natural reserve and therefore a kind of luxury—not a luxury created through wealth or exclusivity, but one offered freely by nature. She loves the sea, the calm, and the fact that everything around her remains natural. Her seven-year-old daughter, Constança, sees the place through the boundless curiosity of childhood: space to swim, wide views, trails to explore, unknown animals to discover, and fish moving beneath the surface.
Others remember an earlier islet, quieter and less regulated, when access depended on private arrangements rather than a scheduled boat. Ana Medeiros recalls visiting almost every year and remembers the time when the parents of a friend celebrating an August birthday would arrange for a fisherman to carry the children across in the morning and collect them at the end of the day. There were few people then, and the islet felt almost entirely theirs. Her daughter, Pilar Damião, continues to visit annually but prefers June or September, when the crowds diminish and the tranquility returns. For her, the place is inseparable from childhood itself. She remembers coming every week when she was younger, and the clear water and volcanic stillness remain part of a personal geography that time has not erased.
Marcelino Cabral remembers arriving by wooden kayak, sometimes every day. To him, the islet once felt more natural and less oriented toward tourism. Looking around today, he notices more visitors than residents and senses the transformation of a place that has gradually become an international attraction. His wife, Helena Santos, raises another concern: the cost for local families. Twenty-four euros for a family of four, before food or any other expense, can weigh heavily on a household budget. Their observation reflects one of the central tensions surrounding protected natural attractions everywhere: how to welcome visitors, fund conservation, and regulate access without slowly distancing local communities from places that belong to their own history.
The foreign visitors, however, arrive with unmistakable enthusiasm. Madeleine Wallach, traveling from Ohio and visiting the Azores for the first time after exploring Flores and Corvo, describes the islet as absolutely beautiful. For her, the defining experience is almost impossible to compare with anything elsewhere: “Swimming in the crater of a volcano is unique.” In a single sentence, she captures the elemental appeal of the place. It is not merely another beach, swimming area, or sightseeing stop. It is the experience of entering an ancient geological form and becoming, for a few hours, part of its living waters.
Other travelers express the same astonishment in different ways. Leonel Schmidt admires the beauty but wishes it were possible to swim farther into the caves and observe more fish. Jenny, visiting from Germany, quickly discovers the practical lesson taught by the volcanic terrain: proper footwear is essential for walking across the rough stone. Yet even discomfort cannot diminish what she calls the staggering beauty of nature. Luísa Monfort, from Valencia, finds nothing comparable in Spain and describes the experience with the uncomplicated enthusiasm of someone encountering something genuinely new.
The islet’s beauty is protected by more than admiration. Classified as a regional nature reserve since 1983, it serves as an important sanctuary for seabirds, especially Cory’s shearwaters. A nature warden remains present throughout the day, helping protect the area and ensure that visitors respect the ecological limits of a space whose apparent strength conceals considerable vulnerability. The dark volcanic rock may seem permanent, but erosion, constant human movement, changing sea conditions, and the passage of time continually reshape the islet.
The president of the Vila Franca do Campo Naval Club, the organization responsible for managing access, maintains that visitor numbers have not declined and remain broadly consistent with previous years when swimming was permitted. What has changed most noticeably is the distribution of arrivals. The long and highly visible queues occur less frequently because visitors are now spread more evenly throughout the day. On average, approximately three hundred people visit daily.
Current regulations allow no more than four hundred visitors over the course of a day, with a maximum of two hundred present at the same time. These limits are intended to balance public access with environmental protection and the practical realities of a confined volcanic landscape. They also acknowledge that the success of the islet as a destination cannot be measured simply by how many people are able to enter. Its future depends upon how carefully each visit is managed.
For Paulo Correia, a native of Vila Franca do Campo, that future is a source of growing concern. He believes the islet is deteriorating rapidly and has changed significantly over time. Like all natural formations, it is aging, but in his view it is aging too quickly. His concern carries both environmental and civic weight. For Vila Franca do Campo, the islet is not simply a picturesque feature offshore. It is one of the town’s defining symbols, an essential element of its identity, and a natural inheritance whose full value has perhaps never been entirely understood or responsibly developed.
That anxiety is inseparable from the islet’s increasing popularity. The same beauty that inspires protection also attracts pressure. Every visitor who lies on the rocks, walks the paths, or enters the water leaves some trace, however small. Tourism brings revenue, visibility, and appreciation, but it also demands infrastructure, monitoring, restraint, and a clear understanding that natural places possess limits. The challenge is not to close the islet to the world, but to ensure that the world does not love it into exhaustion.
The Vila Franca Islet is therefore more than a beautiful excursion. It is a lesson in the fragile relationship between wonder and responsibility. It reminds residents of the natural inheritance beside which they have grown, offers travelers one of the most unforgettable experiences in the Atlantic, and asks everyone who enters its crater to recognize that privilege.
To swim there is to enter deep time. The surrounding walls were shaped by volcanic force long before any human boat crossed from the harbor. The seabirds continue older migrations. The tide enters and retreats according to a rhythm indifferent to schedules, ticket prices, and tourism seasons. Yet for a few hours, the visitor is allowed inside that ancient circle—to float in clear water, gaze upward at the volcanic rim, and feel the improbable intimacy of being held within a landscape created by fire and filled by the sea.
It is indeed unique to swim in the crater of a volcano. The greater responsibility is to ensure that future generations may still say the same.
Based on an article in Diário da Lagoa, Sara Sousa Oliveira-director. Photo from Municipality of Vila Franca do Campo.