An Unexpected Arrival
I wake up to the loud sound of raindrops drumming on top of the roof of my rented studio.
I smile.
Living close to nature always makes me feel extremely alive.
My place is located on a secluded property in the mountains, with two other houses sharing the communal outdoor space and another house somewhere down the road.
Perfect for my hermit nature soul.
The rain gets heavier and the wind stronger. After a while, I decide to get up and start my day. I walk down the two stairs to the kitchen and before I see the water, my feet are already wet.
The floor is flooded with rain coming in from the front door.
Immediately, I’m wide awake and start to laugh.
Portugal is known for 300 sunny days per year, and my morning routine on my first day on the island consists of repeatedly soaking up the wet floor with towels and wringing the water into the tub.
What a way to arrive!
Didn’t I mention that living close to nature always makes me feel extremely alive?
The extreme weather changes on the island can trigger a sense of listlessness or a deep surrender to circumstances we absolutely cannot control, depending on our mindset.
When my neighbor E. checks on me later, worried I’ve already packed my suitcase ready to leave, I tell him with a grin that I’m always up for adventures.
I’d rather stay here in the wild mountains than in a soundproof, perfectly climate-controlled 5-star hotel, completely cut off from the outside world.
(Or at least, as long as it doesn’t rain every day - I like to have variety in the ways I wake up.)
Later in the afternoon, when the rain stops and my studio eventually dries, I go for a walk around the surroundings.
I’m not prepared for what I see.
Bald spots scarring the vast landscape, individual blackened, skeletal trees still standing.
When I come closer to a chopped black tree trunk, its roots completely uncovered from the earth - probably from rain - it’s difficult not to break out in tears.
I have no words to describe the violence. The feeling of hopelessness and sadness that suddenly surges through my body.
When did this happen? Is this still from the fire two years ago, when I was on the island?
I quickly scan my brain for any information I have on how fast a forest regrows, and come to the conclusion that two years is definitely not enough.
In the evening, in Ponta do Sol, I reunite with a dear friend who was the person who asked me to come to the island in the first place. We sit down with a drink at the beach, behind us the village decorated lavishly with Christmas lights.
While catching up and planning our next days, the events of the morning slowly fade away.
