Somewhere between the stars and the sunrise, the whole trip became a memory.
I sat by the window of the plane, watching the sun rise in the east while the last of the starry sky lingered in the west. Between them stretched a ribbon of blue, deep at one edge and impossibly clear at the other. For a little while, I could see both night and morning.
Tears rolled down my cheeks. Everything I had so recently been living so naturally, as though it were simply my life, was already becoming something I would remember.
And sitting there, I felt proud of myself. Proud of who I am, of how I meet people, of how I connect with the world. With the sand, the ocean, the people who were strangers only a moment before. Grateful for the freedom to go somewhere on my own and feel so fully part of it.
As the stars faded, I wondered if this was the moment I crossed my Jupiter–MC line. The line I had traced on the map, running through Reykjavík, passing close to the eastern coast of São Miguel, and continuing south towards Boa Vista in Cape Verde.
There have been few places I have arrived in for the first time and somehow felt I was returning to. But the Azores felt like that. Some part of me seemed to belong there without needing to explain itself.
There was no extravagant excitement about it. There was a calm. Pure air, and miles upon miles of ocean in every direction.
Away from the familiar, I got to meet myself so clearly.
And I loved her.
The people I met seemed to love her too.
One of the loveliest things I brought home was the realisation that I deeply enjoy my own company. I can travel alone, make my own decisions, spend a day following my curiosity, and be so content and happy.
And wherever I go, I seem to find my people.
People I can joke with and be completely myself around. People who make me laugh until my face and stomach hurt. People I feel I understand before we have told each other very much at all. I love that openness in me, the willingness to meet someone, to be curious, to let a connection happen.
I felt so grateful for my extroverted self. For how easily she reaches out.
By then, the strange, beautiful meeting of stars and sunrise was coming to an end. I could already feel a faint ache for the island. For its lush greens and flowers. Even for the roads that had terrified me when I first arrived.
I thought of the hike I had done alone, high up in the mountains. Among all that unfamiliar scenery, I kept recognising plants I have in my own garden. There they were, growing on a mountainside in the middle of the Atlantic. Walking those paths felt strangely like home.
At some point, a little butterfly, or perhaps a moth, decided to come along. It sheltered inside my hand as I walked, a tiny companion accepting a ride.
I never really felt alone there.
The nature, the animals, the people; they all seemed to welcome me. And I welcomed them.
Except for the enormous thousand-legged creature that appeared one day. He was far too big and creepy for the full warmth of my hospitality.
I got help to release him into the garden anyway.
There was so much life everywhere. Leaves rustling overhead. Plants I had only seen before in Indonesia: birds of paradise, banana plants, huge leaves climbing towards the light. Pineapples growing on an island that also held mountain paths familiar enough to feel like home in Norway.
And the trees.
I keep coming back to the trees.
Their trunks were such a rich brown that I remember wondering whether I had ever really seen brown before. They looked so happy. Towering above me, rooted far beneath my feet. I would stand there looking up, completely taken by them.
Other parts of the island frightened me. The volcanic rock, sharp and jagged. Sudden openings in the earth. Caves and holes breathing heat. In some places, I had the feeling I was approaching something forbidden, somewhere I ought to tread carefully.
But facing my fears became almost second nature on this trip. I kept finding myself willing to approach, to look closer, to discover what was on the other side of that first hesitation.
And then there was the surf.
Can we please talk about the surf?
Surfing there made me realise how comfortable I’ve become. How confident I feel in the water. There were moments when I felt graceful, when I could feel how much my body had learned. I felt good out there.
I took my time getting to know each lineup. Noticing who the locals were, smiling, giving someone a compliment when they had caught a beautiful wave. The feeling in the water was so familiar. It reminded me of home, only with air around 23° and water close to 20°.
On the north coast, it took so little swell. A forecast of 0,6 metres could be more than enough for a powerful wave with a big, beautiful face to ride on a longboard or mid-length. To me, it could feel like something closer to 1,5 metres at twelve seconds back home.
There was such a clean strength to those waves. I loved thinking about the energy travelling through the Atlantic for who knows how long, crashing into the shore, and me getting to ride it for a little while.
If the north shore was pumping, the south coast had its own rhythm. The island had so many places to explore, and somewhere, it seemed, there was always a gentle wave waiting. A surf that could be relaxed and playful and still give me the perfect dose of adrenaline.
I thought about all those moments as daylight filled the plane.
Soon we would land in mainland Portugal. I was on my way home, and I was happy about that too. I love my home. I love the life waiting for me there.
But a piece of me belongs to the Azores now.
On that island, I got to discover myself with a kind of freshness, as though we were meeting for the first time. And as I sat there with my tears, I realised how often I feel that same connection at home.
I feel it driving to surf, when the light catches the mountains in a way that makes me cry with joy. I feel it in the ocean, with animals, or beneath an open sky. In the people I love.
The island had given me so many new things to remember. It had also helped me recognise what was already here, in the life I have made and the person I have become.
Outside the window, the stars had disappeared into morning.
I watched the light and let the tears come.
What an adventure.
What a beautiful life to be living.
