The Space Between Goodbye and Arrival
A month of goodbyes, a long flight, and my first quiet breath in São Miguel.
The last thing I remember before leaving Chicago wasn’t packing.
It was conversations with my parents about the time we cherished, being home the past month and a half.
It didn’t feel flashy or dramatic, just present. It was conversations that lingered, sometimes sitting on the couch late into the night, playing sequence games (that I unfortunately never seemed to win), the many delicious meals that were made, and random conversations that continued on to grow more meaningful and introspective. It’s time I felt I got to know my parents more, celebrate my dad’s 60th birthday, and get to see my not-so-extended family that I love deeply, the Fernandes’. Aunty Dina and Uncle Pat, an additional thank you to you both for being ready to host me and all the cooking you did ❤️
Time with my family felt steady and grounding.
That feeling carried into the time I spent with everyone else. I feel incredibly special to have such a loving community and support system around me. The Ware’s welcomed me in like they always do, not once but twice - and we shared such special moments from recounting our Argentina trip through the scrapbook to watching videos of an energetic little Amanda from the early 2000s. Not to mention Mark and Jordan meeting Amanda and so sweetly treating us to a delicious dinner. Spending time with Ivan, Essa Kacper, and Essa again (not only cancelling his New York trip to grab dinner the first night but then driving 3 hours to grab dinner again the night before my flight). Everyone over the past month and a half made my time at home feel special - including SLO friends we got to spend time with in the days before we left (Katie, Dario, Noah) :) And, most importantly, I want to give an extra extra super special shoutout to sweet Zeus, who made my heart melt every single day being home.
Despite having so much time to mentally prepare, Saturday came quickly.
An early morning flight. A couple long layovers. That strange airport limbo where time stretches and contracts at the same time. Nearly 24 hours later, I landed on Sao Miguel, the first of three Azorean islands I’ll visit on this chapter of my trip.
When I stepped outside the airport, I felt it immediately, that mix of elation and calm that hits when your body is exhausted but your mind knows something new is starting.
The coastline was wide and saturated. The greens were deep in a way that reminded me of spring in SLO, which now feels so long ago. There was a softness to the air, crisp but not biting (the kind that made Chicago’s January winter feel even further away).
When I made it to my hostel, a sweet English man named Tom jumped up with enthusiasm, gave me a full tour and immediately had me to sit down for breakfast.
I had fully prepared myself for just the sad slice of toast with peanut butter on the right.
Instead? I was brought homemade pancakes with fruit compote picked right on the property. A fruit granola parfait. A spinach quiche…. YUM! What a great start to my day.
My plan for the first day was simple: get lost in Sao Miguel’s biggest city, Ponta Delgada.
No schedule or urgency. Just wander.
I headed north toward a botanical garden called Jardim Antonio Borges. On the way, I met a Ukrainian man who, through a handful of language hurdles and very expressive gestures, wanted to make his passion for the Hindu faith and yoga unmistakably clear to me. Though… our conversation ended shortly after he asked me to buy him a 30-euro bottle of wine, which felt like a natural cue to part ways. Still, I’ll remember him. There was something fitting about my first island interaction being slightly confusing and entirely human.
The botanical garden is where I took my first deep breath.
Up until then, this whole start still felt like it was going to be a short trip. A two week getaway. A fun escape. But standing there, surrounded by saturated greens and winding paths, I felt the travel settling in. Not fully - but it became the first realization of the fairy tale I feel like I’m living.
There’s something so special about taking a deep breathe in a new environment, especially a botanical garden where the smells of nature, the crisp air, and pure freshness fill your lungs.
After the gardens, the city pulled me back in.
I wandered miles of coastline, taking in the black volcanic rock against crashing water, boats bobbing in the harbor, vendors chatting casually, mountain silhouettes hovering in the distance. I made it my mission to walk every nearly street, up and down, side to side of the small-ish city. By the end of the day: 30,000 steps
Somewhere in the middle of all that wandering, I grabbed a fry bread dusted in cinnamon sugar from the city center market. Warm, slightly greasy, perfect. Later, I stumbled into a Nepalese spot and ordered goat mountain curry… and I’m not exaggerating when I say it was the best non-homemade goat dish I’ve ever had. Rich. Tender. Deeply spiced. I’ve already decided it’s going to be my last meal before I leave the island.
Out of the thousand-plus people I passed, one thing I couldn’t stop noticing: almost no one was on their phones; maybe two were looking down at a screen. Just conversation, kids playing, families together. It felt present.
By the time I walked back to the hostel, legs tired, buzzing from experiencing the new environment, I felt a lot of peace with the pace of my first day and all the taking-in I did.
That night, I made plans with a new hostel friend and decided to rent a car for £50 for five days. Tomorrow: the west side of the island.
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