I missed the turn again. I laughed to myself as I turned around again. I could see the rental car agency employees watching me - I imagine they were quite amused by the person in the Smartcar who was comically circling the rental return lot and repeatedly missing the right turn. The early morning darkness and confusing signs weren't helpful for someone who has poor navigational skills at baseline. I finally made the correct turn and triumphantly whizzed up to the return kiosk. I felt a bit sheepish as I traded in the keys and shrugged on my backpack. I would miss that little car - I'd had it just a few days but already it felt like mine.
As I walked into the quiet airport, I thought to myself that it's good I didn't come even earlier. The lines were just a few people deep and I wouldn't have wanted to wait even longer than necessary. I flew through the security line and did my usual scoping out of the small DutyFree shop. I grabbed an overpriced coffee and waited to board.
The plane was small, and I understood why there were no assigned seats. I shared the plane with two dozen other passengers. I watched a soccer team jovially banter with each other. They looked to be in their late teens or early twenties and were accompanied by a pair of older gentlemen who I assumed were the coaches. I wondered if those two were soccer stars in their heyday and now continuing their legacy through coaching, and then chided myself for being overly romantic. "Don't be weird."
I winced as my ears popped during the takeoff. I have always been sensitive to altitude, noticing my ears popping even when driving on hills, but this was accompanied by an unfamiliar sharp pain that worsened with the ascent.
We landed for a twenty minute stopover on Terceira; gaining a handful of tourists and losing the soccer team. As they ambled over the tarmac in their matching jackets and jerseys, I hoped they'd win their game. The brief flight to Pico was marred by more ear discomfort. Things were starting to sound very far away. The eponymous peak was clearly visible from the sky.
The airport in Pico was even more deserted than Ponta Delgada. The other passengers drifted away into waiting cabs and family member's cars but I didn't see a couple who resembled the AirBnB photo. I called the number in the listing and he was very apologetic and said they'd be there in a half hour; there had been a mix up and they thought I hadn't accepted their offer to pick me up. At this point, I was the only other person in the airport. I sat in a corner by an electrical outlet and waited. My ears were still bothering me and I tried to pop them. I laughed - I wasn't expecting to be doing Valsalva manoeuvres in a tiny island airport. I felt a bit like I was underwater and realized the bit of a cold I had gotten had settled into my sinuses. I wondered if the culprit was the canyoning water (it was worth it if it was).
They met me outside with a warm welcome and more apologies. As we wound through the greenery towards their home, they told me about their life on the island. D was a slight man with impeccable posture and his wife S exuded warmth and had a kindness in the crinkles around her eyes. I was content to listen to them while zipping along in the sunshine. Mount Pico, rising impressively in the distance, was occasionally obscured by clouds. I remarked that like a portrait on the wall, it seemed like it was always watching you. I wasn't able to climb it this time around but hoped that I'd have the opportunity to do so in future iA.
We arrived in their small village and they showed me to the apartment in their house that was a stone's throw from the ocean. They were extremely hospitable and thoughtful. The kitchen table was laden with food and drink and S thoughtfully advised me which liquor would help with my cough. I was surprised when they asked if it was OK for them to take me out for lunch and around the island. I understood why AirBnB reviewers had stated their hosting was "like staying with your parents."We piled back into the hatchback and headed off.
They were clearly experienced and enjoyed touring people around Pico. We stopped at several lookouts and I mutely took in the view each time. We had been blessed with clear, sunny weather and the island was stunning. We arrived at a small cove with a cluster of buildings that were mostly closed as it was Sunday; we passed an elementary school with a deserted playground. At the restaurant, I realized I hadn't had genuine Portuguese seafood as I'd subsisted on a diet of predominantly pastries and cheese. I opted for the swordfish and wasn't disappointed.
D and S were a pair of the kindest souls I have encountered. Their fondness for each other was palpable. D always made sure to open and close her door; S would smooth his collar and re-tuck his shirt if it was even slightly askew. Their shared affection was beautiful to behold - it wasn't overt or obnoxious, but rather made you feel simultaneously happy for them while also hoping for the same sort of bond yourself.
During our lunchtime chat, they told me about their beginnings in the Azores, subsequent move to California, and their relocation back home post-retirement. When I asked if they had children, a certain wistfulness passed over S's face and I instantly regretted it. "No, we don't have any children - we struggled with infertility for many years but God didn't have that in store for us." Their openness and generosity made more sense to me after that. I think they appreciated the role of caretaker and to have the novelty of houseguests, with possibly an element of surrogacy as well. They proved that their culture was similar to my own when the bill came and we argued about who would pay. Despite my protests, they wouldn't allow me to even pay for myself. I wondered to myself how this venture was profitable to them given the single night stay was quite affordable. I don't think it was about making money for them.
We took a different route back home to take in more of the island. They pointed out interesting landmarks as we drove, including a series of low brick walls that had once been a vineyard but was now overrun with wild vegetation. At one of the lookouts, they related the story of the fire that had taken place there. They brought me to a fenced off enclave where a small herd of reindeer were penned. The male with the largest antlers eyed me warily as he chewed. We stopped at a local grocery store and it was a very surreal feeling - I trailed behind them as we wound through the aisles. S sated my curiosity about the local fare - she explained to me the different kinds of Christmas cakes stacked by the bakery and identified the different fishes laying filleted on piles of ice. She laughed at my incredulity over the size of cow tongues and the commercial availability of hearts and stomachs. I was quiet in the backseat, lulled into relaxation and drowsy in the late afternoon sunshine. Their generosity and kindness was touching; it gave me a glimpse into what visiting parents might be like. I noticed the same trend continuing throughout my stay - passersby would look at me with curiosity and then smile with their usual friendliness. I couldn't blame them; there weren't many like me around these parts.
When we returned, they showed me around their expansive garden and their chicken coop. The rooster, S explained, liked a lot of attention so he tended to crow more when there were strangers around. One of the doves had recently hatched babies and I peeked into the nesting box to see tiny heads bobbing up and down, vying for their mother's attention. D and S were proud of their home, and with good reason to be. For the umpteenth time they implied me to let them know if I needed anything, and I thanked them as I headed to my quarters.
After a week of hostels and communal bathrooms, I was grateful for the blessing of a private shower. I luxuriated in the steam and felt the cleanest I had since arriving. I donned my hoodie and coat and set off to wander around the little village.
The road hugged the coastline and the rhythmic crashing of the waves was soothing. It was getting dusky and despite there being few people visible on the streets or even driving by, I felt perfectly safe. I stood at the top of a boat launch and was seized by a desire to bolt down the ramp into the frigid water. I passed a shuttered marine museum and a local cafe/bar where a group inside was yelling at a soccer game.
I stopped at a small marina. I was transfixed by a crane slowly lifting a small fishing boat out of the water and settling it precisely onto a trailer. The owners shot me a few questioning looks but didn't seem to mind my presence. I wandered down the cement walls and perused the nautical graffiti. At the far end of the dock, a man was fishing. As I passed him, I asked if he caught anything and he was a bit flustered at his inability to find the right English word. He showed me the contents of his white plastic pail and I was able to recognize his catch - sardines.
The last rays of sun peeked around the island as I climbed the seawall. I sat there for a long while taking in the waves. Similar to how I felt at one of the waterfalls in Iceland, I felt reassured by the waves. There's something about the relentless nature of the water that was calming; despite anything that may happen, the waves were inexorable and would continue on regardless.
Darkness had fallen and I retraced my path back to the apartment. I slept soundly that night, and when I woke I felt refreshed. I noticed my clothes were still damp and hung them up outside on the stone wall. I prayed that the breeze would dry them quickly without hurling them down the street. S knocked on the door; she brought me fresh bread and told me she had taken the liberty of hanging my garments up on her clothesline. I was touched and rueful that I had only a single night's stay with these lovely people. She gave me my clothes back pristinely folded in a plastic bag.
In addition to their hospitality of the prior day, they insisted on driving me to the ferry terminal. They took a scenic route to get in as much of the area as possible. Rather than just drop me off, they insisted on ensuring I got on the ferry safely. While we were waiting, they passed the time by telling me stories about the ferries and comprehensively describing the inter-island boat system. When it was time to board, I turned to them to say goodbye and was surprised to see tears in S's eyes. D offered me a firm handshake while S hugged me while sniffling and imploring me to be safe during the remaining leg of my trip. I was a bit shellshocked that despite such a brief time together, these people were so kind to me. I waved to them as I boarded the ferry; D with his arm around S as she wiped her eyes.
I swallowed, and my ears popped.
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