Antiques and Tea

The weather has been far from fabulous lately, and since Sao Miguel really is an outdoor destination, this has made my trip less than perfect. There are, however, a few spots that are fun to visit while it’s raining out.

The Museu M.J. Melo is set up to resemble a small village in times past. Every room encompasses a different type of shop, ranging from a newspaper’s printing room with various printing presses, to a carpenter’s workshop, to a clothing store filled with hats circa the 1920’s, corsets and gloves. For only two Euros a guided tour is provided through the antiques village and guests are made privy to the manner in which local artisans create their work.

There is a room with two looms, one of which was in the middle of producing placemats to be sold in the gift shop. The lady working there told us that threading the machine is one of the most time consuming parts of the job since the fibres have to be laced through a series of strings before the weaving may begin. For decorative affects, recycled fabric is torn into strips and woven into designs. The craftworks make rare and durable bedspreads, rugs, bags, and kitchen cloths, pot-holders et cetera. My mother bought me an assortment of objects for my home, and another bag (I had one from my last visit, which I still receive compliments on).

Another craft made at the museum are miniature sculptures of flowers and rosettes made of washed and dried fish scales, onion skins, and fig tree pulp. A lady was working on fig tree pulp rosettes and explained the process. After the bark is removed from the branch of the fig tree twigs, a razor blade is used to cut paper-thin discs from one end. Depending on how the disc is cut, it could become a leaf or a petal. Leaves are sculpted with a tool resembling a pin, which adds details such as leaf veins. Another fig tree branch is cut so that only the centre remains on the outer side (so that the branch looks like a spoon protruding from a can, only with the spoon sticking straight up). The petals are then glued on using special glue and a pair of tweezers. The work is done in stages, and is thus difficult to determine just how long the process takes. I imagine it is quite tedious work…at least for someone as un-crafty as myself! These works of art are also sold in the gift shop.

Another rainy day destination is the two tea factories on the island, Chá Port Formoso, and Chá Gorreana. The Port Formoso factory includes a video in various languages that tells the history of tea on the island and a guided tour of the machines used today and in the past while the Gorreana factory includes a self-guided tour. Both offer free samples of tea and you are welcome to wander into the field of tea bushes.

Originally tea was brought to Sao Miguel from Brazil as a decorative plant, but during the downfall of the orange trade in the 1800’s, experts were brought from China to teach the Azoreans about tea production. Tea has since thrived here, as there are no natural predators or diseases that can affect the plants here. This also means that the tea is pesticide free. The tea produced in the Azores is the only loose leaf tea grown in Europe. Seventy-five percent of the tea produced is sold in the region, but requests for tea are growing in the US, Canada, and mainland Europe. It’s undeniably the best tea I’ve ever had.

Azores photos!

For the time being, photos of my trip can be found on my Facebook account: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=8453&l=70bb5&id=551891124

When I get home, I will post more here. Until then, enjoy!

Solitary vs. Lonely Holiday-ing

I’ve been feeling a certain malaise lately from which there are a few different sources. Firstly, I’m a bit homesick, which I think is based mostly on the fact that, here in Sao Miguel, I’m friendless. I have my parents and I have my grandmother, and I even have a smattering of cousins (none of which are close), but the great majority of my parents’ friends are their age and their friends, not mine. I miss the people that I normally hang out with. I miss my morning coffees with Stephanie and my casual encounters with Jen and Leanne in the yard. I miss seeing Peakies and former Peakies and I miss the ability to just go for coffee or a drink with various people back home, despite my tendency to spend time alone.

The second source of my malaise is related to the first. I have a distaste for my way of life on this island. I’ve been visiting Sao Miguel every few years since I was ten years old, but I have no permanent pals here. When I was a kid and would visit for the whole of my summer breaks, and I would be incredibly lonely here. I would spend a lot of time reading, playing with the animals my grandparents kept, and being driven to and from places that I had already seen many times –– the places I have returned to on this trip. A few times, my grandfather made friends with some person who had a child near my age and they would come along on those drives to keep me company, but I can barely remember those people’s names, never mind having stayed in touch, and I suspect that their lives have taken quite different courses from my own. Those few cousins here have all gotten married, and Lisa, the one I knew best, is pregnant. While this change in social status is beginning to occur to a few of my friends back home, the significance seems elevated here (although I believe that a similar situation exists with those people back home). Married’s, and more so people with babies, aren’t usually up for drunken nights out and can’t go on spur of the moment trips, and suddenly there’s a divide between me and them.

So, I feel lonely, and slightly trapped here. Although I traveled solo around Europe and did have lonely moments, I was almost always able to meet someone to have a drink with or to see a site with. I attribute this to hostelling, a great method to meet others. Remembering this, I dropped by the only hostel on the island yesterday to ask if they arranged any pub-crawl tours. They do not. I also asked at the tourist office. They don’t either. They told me to try a travel agent. I stopped into one, and the woman I spoke to said that she didn’t know of anyone who organized any such tours.

During my day in Ponta Delgada, the capital of the Azores, and the biggest city in the islands, I saw many tourists. I could spot them not because they were carrying cameras or reading maps or speaking other languages (although there were many who projected these tell-tale signs), but because they were…well, just not Portuguese looking. They dressed differently, they were generally paler, whiter people. It’s difficult to explain. I didn’t want to speak to any of these tourists, despite my desire to meet people to hang out with, because all of them were in pairs, coupled-off pairs, to be more specific. Furthermore, many of them were of a generation before my own — another barrier to the type of friendship I miss.

Being an independent traveler is difficult in the Azores, and perhaps any place where tourism is a new industry. Going on holiday with a friend or a significant other has many advantages: abating loneliness is one of them. Holidaying alone has the advantage of doing what you want, when you want it. But I am in neither position. I’m on holiday with my parents, a thought dreaded by many a teenager. Theoretically, I could go off on my own and see and do as I please, but with limited bus service and fear of Azorean drivers and roadways, I am attached to the folks.

I know that my complaints are hardly useful, and to some extent, are in my head. Many people would metaphorically kill for a month long break where sitting in a comfortable house and being fed is a dull day. I realize my luck, but I still feel lonely.

Hot Springs and Ethnic Diversity

Since I arrived, my grandmother has not been feeling well, which is rather unusual for her despite her 84 years. My mother finally convinced her to go to the hospital on Sunday night and it turns out that she had a mild heart attack the day before I arrived (the 16th). She’s doing alright, but is currently in the hospital for observation. To coincide with this information, the weather has been dreadful. I can hear the wind ripping around the house and it’s been raining on and off for the last few days.

Before the weather turned, however, I did get to go for another drive around the island with my parents and their friends. We stopped at a couple view points before heading down to the beach at Porto Formoso. The old folks had coffee at The Mill café while I went barefoot into the black sand, picking up pumice stones and seeing how close I would venture to a cave on the far end. I crossed a stream where ducks were swimming, walked past sunbathers lying among the large basalt rocks, and turned a corner where a group of people were setting up tents and preparing a fire on the beach. I approached the cave, but didn’t dare go in since the sand there was wet and the tide appeared to be coming in.

After stopping at another two view points, one of which looked down into the caldera of the Furnas (the hot springs) and the Furnas Lake, we went down to the springs themselves where we bought pão levado (a sweet bread that’s only available in this village) and took at look at the water and mud bubbling in the ground and along two streams. My parents’ friends told us about a man who committed suicide by throwing himself into the largest spring. When they removed his body, all that was left were bones. They must have exaggerated to some extent, but it’s not entirely impossible as people cook in the springs where special holes have been built in the ground. Well wrapped pots of meat and vegetables are left in for approximately seven hours, making for a tasty and unique culinary experience.

The waters from the hot springs are said to have immense health benefits. People come to the village to collect water that freely pours from pipes, each with a distinct taste. I tried six, each seeming like its own brand of soda water.

Today I went to Ponta Delgada, the biggest city on the island and the capital of the Azores. I was disappointed with the existence of the brand new mall housing stores common in North America such as Burger King and Zara. It’s novel to the Azoreans, however, so I suspect it will thrive.

In the centre of the city, my mother and I went searching for a trinket for my grandmother. The ethnic diversity on the island is small, with the great majority of people being of European descent, but the Asian population seems to be growing since my last visit (we went into four stores run by Asian people –– nothing compared to my hometown of Vancouver, but astounding for the island, especially compared to my first few visits fifteen years ago, when everyone was white). I also saw a South Asian couple and was so astounded that I pointed them out to my mom!

Hopefully my grandmother’s health will improve and the weather will shift soon. Until then I’ll look forward to the tours of the tea plantations and the geothermal plant while continuing in my attempt to convince my mom to visit either Santa Maria or Terceira so I can get a taste of what life on the other islands is like.

A drive around

A group of men came to the house to sing and bring meat, sweet bread, wine, and milk-bread today. They were part of the “Espirito Santo” (Holy Spirit) festival. My dad had gone for a walk and was so disappointed that he had missed them that he actually swore. Ironic, I know. He misses a part of a religious festival and he curses the revellers for coming too early! I, on the other hand, was rather embarrassed and actually went to hide from the 15 or so men. I was in pyjamas and a robe, totally unprepared for any sort of visitors, let alone a bunch of strange men. They were only here long enough to drop off their wares (which my mother later told me were actually paid for, but at a far lower cost than purchasing them from the grocery store), to sing one song, and have a shot of some liqueur or another that we had in the house. Then they continued on to their next location.

My mom made bachalau (salted cod with chickpeas, potatoes, and hard-boiled eggs) for lunch, a traditional meal that I could easily make at home but rarely do. Afterwards my dad took his daily nap (my parents are semi-retired after all) and then we went for a drive around the island and to visit some relatives.

Along the way we passed a few view points, one of which was a whale-watching station. The Azores are along a migratory route for whales, and approximately 25 varieties have been spotted here as well as dolphins. Whaling was once a vital industry, but in 1984 it became illegal. All that remains are a few museums and the new industry of whale watching. The modern-whalers still use these viewing stations located at the tops of cliffs around the islands.

We made another stop at the outer side of the drainage tunnel from the lake of the Sete Cidades. The lake is located in a caldera and the tunnel was built to drain excess water to the ocean. You can walk through the tunnel, but a good flash light would be needed as well as rain gear. We only stopped to take a few photos. My mom spotted some wild strawberries, which only really resemble strawberries in that they are the same colour. I ate a few, but they were not sweet and tasted like water.

My great-aunt’s neighbours were carving up a pig. I would normally consider this site a little disgusting, however, knowing that the animals are raised in pens where they are free to walk around, and that the whole animal will be used, it didn’t seem so bad. It was, however, a little eerie to see another pig snoozing in a pen next door to where his former friend was being butchered.

On the way back home, we stopped in at the coffee shop where my dad works a couple days a week. It’s a narrow shop with a bar, espresso machine, and only a few tables. The doors were all open and flies were buzzing around in circles. We were greeted by a small black dog, which had clearly had puppies recently. My mother and I were the only women, as per usual at such coffee shops. There was a group of old men sitting at a table playing cards and we sat and watched the second half of “Lara Croft” with subtitles on TV while my dad spoke with all his friends. The dog belonged to one of the men playing cards, who later took us to see the puppies in a shed near by. They were adorable, and my mother, half joking, asked my father if she could have them. My parents and the dog owner were chatting, while another man who came with us to see the pups took out a knife and started cutting at rolled and dried tobacco leaves that were in his pocket. He then took out some dried corn leaves that were cut specifically for rolling tobacco, rolled what he had cut, sealed it and began to smoke. I was tempted to ask if I could have some just to see what it was like, but shyness, and the fact that I was with my parents, held me back. My dad told me afterwards that when he was young he used to smoke like that because he couldn’t afford ‘real’ cigarettes, but that it burns your mouth.

We went home and ate the rest of the bachalau while watching my dad’s favourite telenovela (soap opera).

Few people without Portuguese roots or friends with Portuguese roots have ever heard of the Azores. They are a group of nine islands located in the mid-Atlantic, hence, in the fold of an atlas. Few tourists come here, although this is slowly changing, which makes the islands a unique place for those who want to visit a place that has an air of being untouched.

My family originates from São Miguel, the largest of the islands, and my parents retired early and moved back. I've visited numerous times since I was a kid, and it's been four years since my last visit. I was so glad to see my parents and especially my grandma.

I had forgotten that people clap when the pilot lands the plane, but it was a reminder of how thing are here: quiet and kind of old-fashioned.