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.
