(Part 2 continued from the prior entry)
The restaurant wasn't what I pictured what it would be. I expected an old-fashioned mom-and-pop type of establishment but it was more like a modern day cafeteria. The afternoon sun shone through the glass walls and the minimalist furniture was reminiscent of a popular Swedish chain's aesthetic. The signs boasted of the usage of local products and I looked forward to the salad recommended by P. As luck would have it, they had none left and I opted for a different salad. They gave me a number and I sat at a white Formica table and waited.
The waiter brought my Coke in a glass bottle - it always seems that bottled carbonated beverages are better than their fountain counterparts. The local cheese, as I had come to expect, was amazing and I tore off a piece of bread to eat with it. I was absentmindedly toying with the bottle's condensation and making a pattern with my fingerprints when I heard someone call my name.
I looked up and T was standing in front of me. "You left a sock and....this...in the van," she said as she proffered my belongings to me. I smiled as I took the sock and what I realized was the hijab I had worn during the canyoning tour; it wasn't a surprise to me that she wasn't entirely sure what to call the garment. I thanked her and apologized profusely for the inconvenience. She brushed it off and said that P had turned back to drop her off with my stuff and then gone to drop E and D at their hostel and would return. "I'm going to eat lunch here and P will come back to join me," she said. I urged her to sit down with me - she initially hesitated, citing that she didn't want to intrude. I reassured her that my invitation was sincere and that it would be my pleasure and she sat down. Her hazel eyes crinkled kindly in the corners when she smiled.
I asked her questions about herself and her family and what living on the island was like. She told me about how she was born and raised on the island but went to school in Lisbon. I was surprised to learn that she was trained as a speech-language pathologist and in addition to running the canyoning business with P, she also worked with children as an SLP. In fact, she had appointments later that afternoon to attend with her clients (which would be a marked difference from the morning's activities). She told me about how she would spend the school year on the mainland but return to the island in the summers and work as a tour guide to make money for school. She loved outdoor sports, from surfing to canyoning to rock climbing, and would do as much as she could. As a teenager and in her twenties, she would visit her relatives on different islands and surf and hike there. She had a faraway look in her eyes and smiled as she related these memories; I could tell that in her mind's eye she was a teenager surfing on Flores or Pico Island again. She was able to balance her formal training as an SLP with her passion for the outdoors through their canyoning business. I can't say that I have met many other health care professionals with similar side jobs.
She told me about her family. Closely knit, her parents and siblings lived within a ten minute radius of herself, P and their two children - a four year old daughter and an eighteen month old son. She showed me pictures; her daughter was very cute while wearing a wetsuit when she had come along on one of the canyoning tours, and there was a photo of P holding their laughing son. Her expression clouded a bit when she mentioned that the last year had been very difficult for them. "My daughter was diagnosed with a very rare neurological disease last year...most people haven't heard of it." I asked her the name, and she was very surprised that I was familiar with the syndrome although I'd never heard of a three year old contracting it. She seemed relieved that I'd heard of it; I imagine it would be difficult for her to have to explain it to the majority of people she encountered. I listened attentively as she told me about her daughter's experience - from the vague pains in her legs to her progressive muscle weakness. She recounted how they ended up transferring her to Lisbon; the mainland hospital was much better suited to treating such a specialized case than the small island facility. As I listened, I remarked to myself how different it was to hear a case from a patient's family's perspective rather than as a clinician. It gave me better understanding about how much of a struggle it is for family, especially parents of such a young child, to see their relative endure such difficulties and grapple with the unknown.
The story had a happy ending, though. T thanked God that her daughter has done incredibly well with barely perceptible residual deficits. She was a happy, healthy four year old now, and they were going to follow up in Lisbon in a few months to make sure everything was normal. She stated that it was so difficult for her and her family - her son had been just six months old at that time, and it was a harrowing experience for her, P and the rest of their family.
"How did you meet P?", I asked her as I took a bite of my salad (not P's favourite, but still very good nonetheless. It was refreshing to eat leafy greens after several days of subsisting mostly on pastries, cheese and maracuja Fanta). She smiled, "He's one of five children, and I'm one of five as well. I first met him when I was a teenager - his older brother sold my father a horse." I laughed out loud - it's funny how a horse deal led to a family and two kids. "When I was in school and working here during one summer, he was working for the same company I was doing tours for." Horses and outdoor tourism - fate will find its way.
P walked in and joined our table. I apologized for the inconvenience and he brushed it off and laughingly apologized the restaurant didn't have the salad he suggested. Where T was heading to SLP sessions, his afternoon would be dedicated to cleaning the wetsuits and preparing for the tours in the upcoming days. I was naive to how much effort went on behind the scenes; as simply an attendee everything seemed much simpler. T and P asked how much time I had on the island and they decorated my map with handwritten recommendations. When I asked about the name of the fish restaurant they recommended in a small village tucked into a cove, they laughed and told me that it didn't matter considering it was the only restaurant there. They made me wish I was spending more time on Sao Miguel - I wouldn't be able to exhaust their recommendations in the time I had left, but I certainly had a better idea of what to do.
T had to set off for her appointments and was taking their vehicle. P turned to me brightly and said, "You wanted to see the pineapple plantations, right? I can point you in the right direction - it's on my walk home." I said my goodbyes to T and we set off from the restaurant. I was looking forward to seeing the pineapples. I blinked in the warm afternoon sun. My eyelids felt a bit heavy and I was drowsy and full of cheese - I was content.
P and I chatted as we walked. He told me about the very good quality of life on the island and extolled the virtues of being able to do what you love. We discussed the booming tourism industry and growing popularity of the Azores and he said how he witnessed changes in the last few years. He lamented the lack of sustainability in the islands. "We can be completely self sufficient, but we're not. Why are we importing so many things when we can grow them ourselves? I'm seeing so many industries fade out. When I was a child, we would go to Sete Cidades and there were vendors there selling these porcelain whistles. You'd put some water in them and the whistle makes a noise like a bird chirping. They were 3 or 4 euro each and I remember I'd always ask my father to buy me one. They were manufactured here on the island - we used to have porcelain factories. I took my kids there last summer and they have the whistles, and they're only 1 euro now. But they're made in China and imported here. And now the porcelain factories are closed. What's the point of buying a whistle there? There's nothing Azorean about it."
We talked, unexpectedly, about globalization and consumerism. I mentioned how surprised I was to see a Black Friday sale at a grocery store I'd passed by on my walk around Ponta Delgada the night before. P was appalled, "Why would they be having a Black Friday sale here - it's a small island in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean...Black Friday has nothing to do with us." I talked about how it was the same in Canada. The culture of consumerism has stretched very pervasively across the globe - it didn't matter if it was midnight door crashers at Best Buy in the US or if it was South African kiwis sold in a tiny grocery store on Sao Miguel, it's whatever would get people buying. P was very passionate about his pride in his culture. "Halloween was never a thing here until the past few years, and now it's more common for kids to dress up. My daughter wasn't happy that I refused to buy her a costume to wear to school - but this is not our culture, this isn't part of us. I'm not going to be forced to buy into something I don't believe in just for her to fit in. Or else it will never stop." I marvelled at how a conversation about globalization, Black Friday and consumerism while traipsing to a pineapple plantation wasn't something I had planned for the afternoon. P was easy to talk to, and he spoke freely and with great pride about the island and its culture.
He was not a materialistic person at all. "You'll see people on the island buying these huge cars - why? Maybe if you were driving from Lisbon to Paris, but here? You can drive around the island in a few hours, what do you need a huge car for?? And the same for houses - why do people buy houses just to have the space, and not do anything with it? We don't need a house with six bedrooms if you only have three people living there!"
When we arrived at the pineapple plantation, I realized that he'd brought me all the way there rather than just give me directions. I appreciated his presence as he took me through the different greenhouses and explained the process of growing pineapples. I was surprised to learn that it took 18-24 months to grow one; it seemed inconceivable that something that required that much effort was still relatively inexpensive at a grocery store. There were multiple greenhouses for the different stages of growth. P talked me through them - from the initial bulbs to the plants to the flowering to the end. I commented on the breadth of his knowledge and he replied that he used to do tours that included the plantations.
I trailed after him through the various greenhouses while he recited the life cycle of a pineapple plant. He posed a rhetorical question, "If there's a greenhouse full of plants, how can you get them all to flower at the same time? Otherwise they're all going to produce fruit at different times and it's not easy to harvest..." I shrugged, and he gestured to an inconspicuous metal receptacle on the path. He flipped it over and showed me it was an empty paint can stuffed with dried leaves with were slits crudely carved in the bottom. "They smoke them out - the greenhouse is sealed off, and they light the leaves. The can is turned over so there's only a bit of oxygen so it smoulders and smokes rather than burns through. It stays like that for a few days. The plants think that there's a fire and they're under stress, so they all start to flower at the same time so they can survive." "Sort of like humans," I blurted out, and P shot me a sidelong glance. I opted not to elaborate on my parallel of people rising to the occasion under duress. I asked him how they water the greenhouses and he gestured to the large reservoirs at the front of the plantation and told me about the irrigation system. It was all a very well established process.
We walked to the next greenhouse, which coincidentally was in the smoking phase. The glass was obscured by thick, gray smoke and as he went to unlock the door he received a warning shout from one of the workers. "Maybe not this one, but we can go in here," he told me as he led me to an adjacent one, "It's almost done the smoking, you can see it." He unlatched the door and I followed him in - the sweet pungent smell of burning plant matter permeated the air and there was a haze of smoke throughout the greenhouse.
The final greenhouse held the pineapples whose fruit were growing and the closest to harvest. I could scarcely believe that the fruits laying at my feet started growing a year and a half to two years ago. "These pineapples are the same age as your son," I told P, who laughed. "I've never thought of it that way," he admitted. Despite trying to select the same size of plant, the resulting fruits varied in size from petite to giant. "Just like people," I said to P - this time he laughed.
We ambled away from the pineapples after I declined trying the famous pineapple liqueur. My head was swimming with the sights and smells of the day thus far. I expected us to part ways, but P surprised me by saying, "Why don't you just come to our house? It's close by. You can meet our kids and our dogs. I'll show you my fruit trees." I had no plans for the late afternoon and I was immensely enjoying the time I'd spent with them, so I eagerly agreed.
We traipsed through a residential area en route to their home. P told me more about their life and his goals. I was intrigued by his philosophy of living within your means and contentment with what you have. He gestured to his clothing and ruefully said, "My wife thinks I need to get new clothes because I've had these for several years. But why? They still fit. They're still working. Why should I get new ones just for the sake of having them?" He talked about his admiration for the Patagonia brand and mused about incorporating their approach of giving back a certain percentage of profits to the local community or environmental causes. "I know that with canyoning, we have the carbon footprint of the fuel, as well as making the wetsuits...there's got to be something we can do about that." He voiced his frustration with living on the island as being at the mercy of a single supplier for many things. "I know a tube of silicone for repairing the boots in Lisbon could cost 5 euro, but here it's 15 and there's not much I can do about that."
I pointed out a graffiti pineapple I'd seen on multiple houses; it didn't look like usual street art. P told me it was done by a Scandinavian artist who had come through. I liked it; I vaguely recalled the symbol of a pineapple as one of welcoming and found it quite appropriate for the Azores. I'd met P hours earlier but felt comfortable in his presence.
We turned down a narrow dirt road edged by stone walls. I paused and gestured to a large plant growing on the other side of the fence and sprawled over the fence and upwards. "Is that a cactus?" I asked P with incredulity, "I've never seen one that large." "Yes, it is. It's funny you mention that...I remember the day this was planted when I was a child. It was small then, it didn't look like it does now as you first see it. I pass this every day but I barely pay attention to it. I didn't realize it was this big until you pointed it out just now." He stared at it reflectively and I wondered how many roadside cactuses I ignore in my own life.
"This property was my parents' - my sister lives next door", he said to me, gesturing to a house set back, "and we live here. Wait here for a moment - I need to put the guard dogs away or they'll attack you." I laughed as he unlocked the fence and slipped through, but stopped short when I realized he was being completely serious. I saw him greeted enthusiastically by two dogs that I was sure could tear my throat out with ease. Once he gestured me in, I made my way down the grassy driveway and greeted him. The dogs watched me unblinkingly from their pen, with the twilight flashing in their eyes. "They're Azorean cattle dogs - they're guard dogs through and through," P told me, "but K is our pet. T uses her in therapy with the kids sometimes." I could see why the rotund golden Lab wasn't locked up. She wagged her tail amicably and stepped on my foot, eager to get petted.
P gestured for me to follow him to the back of the property. There was a chain link fence with a dilapidated greenhouse beyond it. The Lab followed us through as P showed me his different fruits. "My father used to have this greenhouse running and growing pineapples - my brothers and I myself would do a lot of work for him. But as we got older and moved out, he wasn't able to keep it going on his own. I always say that I'm going to get it started again, but like so many other things, there's not enough time."
He pointed out the various fruits and vegetables growing on the greenhouse and the surrounding land. A vine of grapes, past its harvest, wound its way around the skeletal frame of the greenhouse and I stopped to admire the twilight sky behind it. Large bright green leaves hinted at the pumpkins that growing in that corner. He had different types of guavas - he handed me a few of a type I'd never seen sold in Canada before. A brilliant ruby red, they were tiny and looked like miniature Christmas ornaments in the palm of my hand. I almost tripped over the dog underfoot. Many of his plants were picked clean, as they harvested and ate them immediately. True "farm to table" style.
The vegetation became more overgrown as we made our way further back. P paused in front of a tree whose branches were quite bare. "I'm not sure what the name of this is in English...the fruit is green. It's white inside, and they're very sweet," he trailed off as he searched the higher branches for one of them. I felt a sense of incredulity building and I took out my phone. I did a quick Google search and showed him the screen as he climbed back down. "Is it this? A custard apple? Or cherimoya?" He answered in the affirmative and was surprised that I knew so quickly. I laughed out loud and he gave me a slightly puzzled glance. He wasn't expecting such mirth at a simple revelation. "P, if you can believe it, I was eating one of these in the airport before I left for Lisbon." "Really? You have these in Canada?" He was surprised, and rightly so - they aren't exactly a common fruit.
I relayed the story to him - the week prior to my departure, I'd been killing time at an Asian grocery store before a meeting. Part of my haul of exotic fruits included a few cherimoyas/custard apples/sweetsop (a fruit of many names indeed). When I was frenetically rushing around getting ready to leave for the airport, I noticed there was a cherimoya sitting on the counter. I knew for certain it wouldn't last ten days and considering its expense and my disdain for wasting food, I shoved it into my bag and figured I'd eat it before I landed. I told him about how it was messy to eat it in the airport considering it's not the most user-friendly fruit. He handed me a sizeable one and as I cradled its weight in my hands, I laughed out loud at the serendipity.
Closer to the house, a huge jasmine bush produced a heady perfume on summer evenings. Various herbs and vegetables were planted in pots as well. P was right - so much could be grown on the island. The growing season at home was certainly not as forgiving. P gestured to the house, "we were going to build an expansion based on the mortgage, but we decided not to - we don't need more space. We're managing fine." There was a swing and a playhouse behind the house; the toy stroller parked outside was a prized possession of his daughter. Regardless of country, four year old girls are four year old girls. He showed me the warehouse where he kept the canyoning gear - the wetsuits were layed out neatly arranged by size, and were a little bit eerie in the falling darkness. I wondered how many times each of them had made the same trek I had earlier that day, and who had warn them. I smiled at the tiny ones for children; it certainly was a family-friendly activity. P showed me the new boots they'd ordered for the next season - the Adidas logo was emblazoned on them and I realized I knew very little about all of their offerings. The whole time, the Lab followed us devotedly and would lay at P's feet. He laughed, "she always does this - she'll follow you around and just lay down wherever you are. Even if you pause for half a moment, she'll lay down."
He checked his phone - T and the children were on their way home and would arrive in a few moments, and he told me T would drop me off at my hostel. I realized that evening had snuck up on me - it felt like a minute ago it was early twilight. P welcomed me to their home and I could tell it was a happy one. He apologized for the mess and I wryly retorted that my apartment was much worse despite not having children; their house merely looked lived in. Toys strewn in controlled chaos in the living area; family photos; miscellany on counters. P added the custard apples he'd just picked to their fruit bowl. He urged me to wash the tiny guavas in the sink before eating them; they were the best guavas I've ever had.
As expected, T and their children burst through the door a few minutes later. T greeted me enthusiastically and echoed her husband's earlier sentiments about the state of their home. She encouraged the kids to greet me - the four year old, who looked as healthy as any her age, gave me a perfunctory hug while eyeing me curiously. I noted her school apron was embroidered with her name. She had her mother's curly hair but her father's eyes. The eighteen month old hung back and stared at me. With his sandy hair and light eyes, he was yet another example of the diversity of the Portuguese. The kids were excited to turn on the Lion King and they immediately focused in; again, I was amused that kids are the same in the Azores or the Americas when a TV comes on.
T apologized for not being able to have me for dinner - I protested that I'd already taken up more than enough of her time. She was going to see her sister; her daughter responded in the affirmative when asked if she wanted to come, but when she posed the same question to her son, he remained fixed on the television and smiled while shaking his head no. He had a mischievous grin and I could tell that he was a handful. It was time to go, and I was very grateful to T and P for all of the time they'd spent with me over the course of the day. I said a very fond goodbye to P and headed to the car.
While we were driving, their daughter popped up between the seats every few moments to ask her mother a question. T would repeatedly tell her to sit back down and she exasperatedly told me it was an ongoing battle whenever they drove anywhere. She told me about her family as we drove. It wasn't long to the hostel and I watched Ponta Delgada whizz by.
T dropped me off on the very same corner that they picked me up that morning; it seemed like a lifetime ago. I hugged her tightly and thanked her profusely for all of their time and attention. I was truly touched at their hospitality and how welcoming they were. It was a profound experience.
Back in my hostel, I started to unpack my wet clothes. I held the sock and hijab that had precipitated this leg of the adventure and stared at them. All of that snowballed from these two humble garments I absentmindedly had left in their car. It seemed unbelievable that so much came from that - canyoning to walking; pineapples to cherimoyas; consumerism to minimalism.
Maktub.
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