On making new friends... and almost getting arrested...

I hit the road for Colombia bright and early on a Monday looking forward to the full week that I had ahead of me, but also without a godd*mn clue what I was going to do there. Had I booked the trip a few days earlier and since it was Halloweekend not had a single moment to spare to plan? Absolutely. I had picked two cities based on recommendations from friends: Cartagena and Medellin (I honestly still can't figure out the correct pronunciation for "Medellin..."). 

Upon arrival in Cartagena, my phone was dead. I had at the last minute memorized the name of my hostel and followed the first dude that yelled "taxi". We kept walking and walking and walking, while my inner monologue matched the beat with, "this is where I die, this is where I die..." These thoughts continued as we got into an unmarked car where my taxi driver used Google translate to try to sell me weed and cocaine. Since I seemed unconvinced, he handed me the cocaine to inspect, and after I once again turned down his offer, he moved on to my sightseeing options. I gripped my bag and stared out at the ocean, hoping that a.) he wouldn't crash while showing off his drugs and b.) that I had memorized the hostel address correctly... 

We pulled up to Media Luna Hostel, and since the pesos were Monopoly money to me, I handed him whatever he requested without an inkling of how much it was. But hey... I freakin made it!!! 

I immediately met people in my room that invited me to go on a walking tour with them in 15 minutes. Um, DONE. Hands down my favorite way to orient myself to a city (or at least attempt to...) After 3 trips down to the corner store for just about every toiletry you can think of (I guess in my mind, I was staying at a hotel? IDK), I had five minutes to shower. I ran out after my roommates with my hair dripping, as ready as I would ever be.

Upon arrival, it turned out that it was not the tour they thought it was, so they decided to leave. I was torn, not knowing if I should "orient" myself or if I should make friends. Enter Brooke, Chelsea, Christine and Lauren. They were at the same hostel and had come for the walking tour and were there to stay. Thus my fate was decided for the next two days. 

This walking tour was amazing. Beer salesmen (not sure what else you would call them?) dutifully followed the tour around, and you could just walk over a grab a beer at any point (for what I believe was about a dollar). 

I learned two things from our tour guide: the colors of the Colombian flag are red, yellow and blue because of the red lips, yellow hair and blue eyes of some European woman that fell in love with someone or other (okay, that's obviously a myth, but he DID tell us about it). Secondly, the number 11 is lucky... We talked about this a lot the trip and took pictures throwing up "11" (see below), but Google is turning up absolutely nothing regarding this, so maybe our tour guide was just full of sh*t.

We were the delinquents of the group and got left behind a couple of times for doing things like this...

A couple of German guys joined our group and after grabbing my first meal of the trip, we headed back to the hostel pool to "regroup", aka drink coco locos. We then hit up several bars at random. We kept leaving bars that we deemed too expensive... $3 for a beer instead of $1..???? RIP OFF. I mean for real though... We did find some good ones though.

One of us then had the genius idea to buy our OWN beer and scale the wall that surrounds the city.

Chelsea and I then had to pee, so we went and hid behind this tent thing on beach? Meanwhile, the German boys were peeing further down the beach. 

By the time Chelsea and I came back (five minutes later), the German lads were in a full-fledged argument with two policemen atop the wall who accused them of peeing on the beach. Not wanting to get arrested on my first night there, a few of us got in a taxi, urging everyone else to do the same. 

***Sidebar: as you may remember from my Santo Domingo post, the police tried to steal our IDs, and the only way we were saved from a major ripoff was because Daniel made us walk VERY quickly away. So in my experience... this worked! For this reason... I thought we should all just leave the police atop the wall and call it a day.***

So not everyone got in the taxi, leaving the three of us that did extremely guilt ridden. In the end, the German guys handed over every peso they had in their wallet as a fine (BRIBE) to these guys, about the equivalent to $37 from what I remember... I guess it could've been much worse. As you will find out...

Day 2! Woke up refreshed(ish)... At least I look it in this super cool photo that the hostel posted of me whilst I slowly woke up in the hostel courtyard...

After grabbing some coffee, we crammed into a cab and headed to the markets. Mandatory coconut stop...

After a few silly purchases, well on my part at least (when am I going to use a small wicker purse that does not even fit my phone, let alone anything else that people put in purses), we once again took the illegal route back towards our hostel: five gringo gals conspicuously in a very small taxi. The taxi driver freaked out pretty much the whole way, but we made it back in one piece.

Back to our street to grab arepas before heading out on one of the weirdest excursions I have encountered.

We piled into a very large van to go on a trip to... the volcano mud baths!!! Never heard of them? Yeah, most people have not. Was this 100% a tourist trap? YES. Was this obvious from the moment that we started driving all around Cartagena FOR AN HOUR trying to find people to come with us? I'd say so...

Tourist trap it may be, but these mud baths were spectacular. Let me walk you through it. After the hour of searching for people, then an hour of actually driving in the right direction, you arrive at the "volcano" (actually a 30 foot man-made mound of dirt that you could easily fall to your death from as you embark on a very slippery ascent to the top).

Then you (one by one) enter the baths. And by "enter" I mean that we were dragged in by the people that worked literally IN the baths. They then pushed us to the side. Yes. Upon entering, you realize that you can't stand, and your body will just go wherever the bath people send you. Complete chaos...

We could not stop laughing. The ground was 30 feet below us, and we were just floating, and laughing, because every single one of us had thought that we were going to a real volcano.

I must give credit where credit is due. Every single photo that I have from this excursion was taken on the phone of the Asian man you see pictured above (the only man still clothed). He stated that he did not want to get in the gross mud, but instead wanted to enjoy it by watching us. Did we find this extremely creepy? YES. Did we come to accept it as our new existence atop this fake volcano? Also, yes. He also had a pretty high quality iPhone X camera that we weren't complaining about.

After not enough time (also after the sometimes creepy, sometimes sweet Asian man bought me a beer), we were forced out of our new home and back down the treacherous stairway that led to... the women that cleaned us off. I'm not kidding. They do not stop until you're clean. For some that meant dunking their head under the water until the mud is out. For others it meant demanding full declothing in order to give the swimsuits a proper washing. For me, it meant a lot of cups of water over my head, a lot of hands over me, a lot of smiles in lieu of words.

A ribbon was then tied around my wrist, which I thought was a memento of the special time that we had just shared together. It was not. It was so that she would know who to come to for a tip. And then they all came. As we packed up our things, every person that had held our hand as we climbed the volcano, massaged our bodies as we rolled around in the mud, and held our beers as we took photos... came for what was due them. We paid up. What did we pay them? I do not know. Monopoly money.

Next move? The drive back home. We came prepared this time: two beers each. Three sips in and we broke down. Well not us, the van. We were doing great. Life was good. We had made it out alive. No one was being held for ransom.

We climbed out of the van, and (despite the exorbitant amount of bugs that attacked us) traipsed around the road for a few - daring anyone to yell at us. In not a lot of time, everything was fixed, and we were back on our way.

After a safe arrival back in Cartagena, we grabbed some dinner and drinks and then... it was time for goodbyes. They were off to cool beaches somewhere, and I was in for a night of (according to my plan) wandering around Cartagena with my headphones in.

Ten minutes after they left, I was approached by someone else staying at our luxurious hostel. Before you know it, after a few hostel happy hour drinks, I agreed to go out for the night with two German dudes and a Turkish guy.

I thought I had met my friend quota for the trip, and then there I was: dancing in clubs, getting awkward photos taken and wandering the streets with some super fun dudes that I had met just hours before. Our Turkish friend had been to this bar before and was adamant that we all get pictures with the owner, so here you go... (Pretty sure all of the photos on the wall were with celebrities. This dude was not famous, and clearly, neither were we.)

We meandered a bit more, and after a few different places, Philip (German guy pictured above) and I realized we had lost the other two and headed back to the hostel to find our friends.

As we approached our hostel, my worst nightmare occured. Five policemen surrounded us. Flashlights high. Guns pointed right at us.

My confidence level has never been higher. I walked away. My hostel was on the block, and if Cartagena was like Santo Domingo, then this was clearly the only way to survive. As I approached the hostel, it became apparent that my path to survival should evolve. They chased after me. Began to handcuff me. And honestly, if it wasn't for Philip, I would still be in a Colombian jail.

I should have mentioned earlier... they were yelling for my passport, which as the dumb American that I am, I had on me. Once I showed it, one of the policemen walked away with it. I started screaming to them about how illegal all of this was. Their response?

"This is not America. THIS IS COLOMBIA."

I've never been more terrified in my life. They were right.

This declaration shut me up in an unprecedented way (I'm sure my friends wish they could replicate this reaction). I stood there in silence, hoping that my newly found compliance would calm them. Just when I thought the situation had a made a turn for the better, the guy with my passport stormed toward me, screaming "You have cocaine!!!"

I would like to make this VERY clear. I did not have an ounce of any type of drug on me, and he had no reason to believe that I did. But I'm a very blonde, very touristy American, so easy target for the classic "you have drugs on you (as they slip the drug in your pocket), now bribe us so you don't have to go to jail".

They snatched my wallet, dumped out the contents, and upon finding nothing, searched my entire person. In case you forgot, guns and flashlights - still pointed at us.

Anyway. Thanks to Philip, I am at this moment NOT in a Colombian jail, rotting away. He was somehow able to maintain the right amount of level-headedness that kept the police assuaged, and me, well, not yelling (quite as much) at the cops like I had been previously (thank God he can speak Spanish and English on top of the German...).

They had to let us go, because, while I may be a dumb American tourist, I'm not dumb enough to A.) walk around with drugs in my pocket or B.) walk around Cartagena at night alone (although that was totally my plan until I met the German guys so call THAT what you will).

We made it back to the hostel, which as I stated earlier, was literally on the block. Thankfully, our hostel was still serving beer, so we grabbed some of those, went to the roof, easily forgetting responsibilities that were to come with the sunrise (plane to catch for me / interview for Philip).

After what I think must have been an hour or two of sleep, I was off to Medellin! Did I think that I was going to "catch up on sleep" on this trip? I think a part of me did? But the other 90% of me knew that was ludicrous.

I did however, sleep the entire flight. Turns out when I thoroughly sleep deprive myself, I become one of those people that can sleep anywhere. It's nice to finally be a part of the club.

So many people had told me that I would like Medellin even more than Cartagena, to which I would respond, "what are you smoking?!"

But hell. They were right. Had another fab taxi driver, although this one didn't offer me drugs, making me feel a bit out of place, but I adjusted.

I settled into my new home at Los Patios Hostel with some coffee on my balcony, roof explorations, mirror selfies(?!), chats with my roomie from The Netherlands and lunch!

This lunch is the most time that I spent alone this entire trip. So much for a "solo" trip. After reading three whole articles from one of the seven Time magazines that I brought, I headed back for the street art tour.

We were under the impression that for this tour we would just be walking around our neighborhood. We were sorely mistaken. We had to walk to the metro. On this walk, there were no crosswalks. 

Just imagine 20 tourists weaving in and out of traffic, trying to keep up with their tour guide. She would barely glance back to check on us every few minutes. It was a miracle we even made it to the first subway.

Then there was the second subway, then there was the bus... an hour later, we finally made it to our walking tour, sweatier than I've been in a very long time. Honestly, if all we did was go on this ridiculous journey to get there, it would have been worth it.

While this very interesting (I mean it) tour was happening, my main focus was actually on getting tickets to this super important futbol game that was to take place that evening. I was texting with this guy Juan trying to get tickets, calling around EVERYWHERE, and interrupting our guide incessantly trying to figure out where to get tickets.

I did not end up getting the tickets from Juan because I received a better offer elsewhere, BUT he seemed pretty legit.

I left the walking tour early with the Dutch roommate and my new British friend. After trying unsuccessfully to order an Uber, we somehow convinced one of many lounging cab drivers to drive us and our beers home so we could get to this "super important, but we didn't know why" futbol game.

I had to do a quick detour to the ATM (one of many). See, I had this problem where all of my credit and debit cards had decided that they didn't want to work in Medellin. When my card was declined once again, I said F*ck it.

Also, I do realize that you have probably never seen finger nails in such need of maintenance.

I had paid for my ticket already, and you couldn't buy beer at these games anyway, sooo I surmised that sorting out the money issue could come later. We all gathered in front of the hostel and broke off into random groups as taxis rolled up.

I ended up with Julie and Sam who had met earlier that day and we had The. Best. Time. By the time we got to the game, which was well over an hour later, we were all best friends. We snagged some shirts (we had to ask bystanders if we were buying shirts for the right team...), chugged some beers and then entered the craziest arena I have ever encountered.

We never did find the quite large amount of other people that were in our group. No service, loud noises and too much fun make it nearly impossible for three separated groups of people who barely know each other to find one another again. The next couple of hours are a blur of yelling things in indiscernible "Spanish", jumping and throwing random things into the air.

Back at the hostel, we were chatting with one of our friends who said that he had bought 3 beers at the game and was feeling drunk until he realized that there was no alcohol in the beer they were selling. Talk about placebo effect...

Later that night, after some drinking games on the roof of our hostel, we headed out on the town with even more new-found friends. As you may recall from earlier, I had zero money left at this point. I mentioned it one time, and from that point on everyone bought me drinks. Granted, each drink was about $1.00, but a lot of these people are traveling for months and years so, really, SO NICE.

I tried to book a tour to Guatape. I truly didn't know what it was, but everyone kept talking about it, so at 3am, with no money, I went to the front desk of the hostel, and you know what they said? Come back at 6am. I dutifully came down after three hours of sleep (still drunk?), and somehow there was one spot left for the 8am tour. This gave me some time for one last attempt at obtaining some money, which thankfully I was finally successful at doing.

The night before, I had met this girl who was travelling with her ex-boyfriend because they had booked the tickets when they were still together; these tickets were non-refundable. And who sat next to me? Well, the lovely T-Lee from just a few hours previously. As if the epic surroundings weren't enough to keep me entertained, these two truly made my day. I was beyond intrigued by the intricacies of their situation, and dying with laughter every time I would see concerned glances darting their way every time they bickered and joked about pushing each other off cliffs.

We wandered through some villages, ate some popsicles, took a boat by Pablo Escobar's house (super cool), and finally arrived at our picnic spot! The only issue with this was that I found nigh everything utterly inedible. I did like the provisions of (one) beer (the "big surprise" our guide kept mentioning). My advice? Have at least three beers per person if the surprise that you're referring to is indeed "big".

We swam in the freezing water, changed in the woods and then hopped back in the boat to take on the "big" climb.

Everyone had been talking about how "crazy" this climb was. And from my memory, the only "crazy" thing was all of the times T-Lee mentioned pushing her ex down the stairs. We made it up in about half the time people said it would take us, took some cute pics, marvelled at the view and then made the trek back down.

Not too shabby of a view, eh? We had a grand Italian meal that evening, dispersed to gather ourselves and then met on the roof for some sort of happy hour - I think it was free drinks for girls, but it was only beer, and they served the beer in cups that were essentially shot glasses, so I got really annoyed and just ended up paying full price (the full $1) cause who has time for that shit.

'Twas another grand evening out on the town. T-Lee and I had met this great couple from NYC that we stuck with this night. T-Lee broke a barber chair? It was at one of the very strange stops that we encountered on the bar crawl (the bar crawl was put on by the hostel, we refused to pay for it, and just followed them everywhere they went, and took the free shots they offered. We saved liiike $3 and only had to put up with dirty looks for the first 20 minutes, so totally worth it. Would highly recommend). All that being said, we are happy that we were not officially on the tour because after the chair broke, we left, met some other friends, smoked some hookah, ate some empanadas...

So all of these lovely people that you see here were kind enough to stay up (basically) all night with me. I had a 6am flight. I had to leave at 4am for the airport soooo they were up with me until like 3am? I stand by this being a much safer way to guarantee making a flight than sleeping for an hour or two and crossing your fingers that you'll wake up to the alarm.

Well... this approach gets you to the airport. Once I arrived at the airport, I walked around a bit to stay awake, and then eased my head onto my backpack to give my eyes a wee bit of a rest...

I awoke with a start to "last boarding call" for my flight, ran over to the gate, only to be told that I didn't have enough "evidence" that I was supposed to be on the flight (even though I had my ticket). In a drunken/sleepy stupor I searched and searched on my phone for my confirmation number, which I somehow found (as they were calling for security...).

I melted into my crowded economy seat and slept like a baby does not sleep - straight through the flight. I had an eight hour layover in Panama City. I meant to thoroughly plan a state of the art tourist blitz on the city, but instead collapsed onto the floor, about 100 feet from the airport gate and slept for another two hours.

Armed with sleep, and the strange confidence that comes with protecting your bag during your power nap in a crowded airport, I called an Uber and traversed to Panama Viejo (according to the recommendation of some random blog on "how to do a layover in Panama").

I was feeling GREAT about my layover choice, enjoying my walk among the palm trees, when a vast thunderstorm engulfed me. I hid under said palm trees until a hooded cart came to my rescue.

I took it to where all of these cool ruins were, grabbed a coffee, embraced the rain, saw a cool view, walked a mile through the ruins back to the only spot where Ubers would pick people up and zoomed back to the airport.

Of course my flight was delayed due to weather in Toronto (layover on my way to Montreal to meet up with some NYC and Canadian friends), so I settled in and stared at this screen that declared a bit too loudly that I was headed back to freezing weather.

On the Atlantic and PTSD

I was torn about whether or not I should write this blog. Let me tell you why. The Azores are perfect. Untarnished. And I don't want you to ruin them. But. Against my better judgment... here we go again!

This trip started the way they always do... Scott and I scoured the map until we found cheap tickets to a cool place that we both wanted to go to. I personally had never heard of the Azores, but that's to be expected. Upon further inquest while I was there, half of Europe doesn't even know they exist. The Azores are 9 islands off the coast of Portugal; we escaped to the island of Sao Miguel. And by off the coast, I mean a two and a half hour flight from Lisbon. In reality, these nine islands are smack dab in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.

We ended up having several friends join us this time around. They all got there a day before me, and the pictures that I received while at work summoned a sundry blend of envy and anticipation. After a 4 hour delay and a comparable amount of gin and tonics, my direct flight for the islands took off at 2am, and I unfurled across my three seats dreaming of... Aquaman (I mean, most likely, since that was the movie I was watching).

Five short hours later and it was suddenly 11am, and I was in Portugal, ready (because that was the only option) to dive headfirst into the day. The crew picked me up in a minivan type vehicle (except it was so so much smaller than a minivan, but it meant that we were super close together, so we could all get to know each other so much quicker).

First stop: Abandoned hotel with a view. Guidebook said "worth a quick stop in if you have time". UM WHAT? No. This place has it all: Horror. Intrigue. And an unmatched view (well, some views later on may have given it a run for its money). Sidenote: Any guide books I was able to find for the Azores were not good, so this blog honestly is probably your best bet. The only true contender would be the four day itinerary by The Geeky Explorer. Alright full disclosure, our entire four day trip is an exact replica of his four day itinerary. Huge fans right here.

Next stop: Miradouro da Boca do Inferno. Talk about breathtaking (also beware, I'm a bit concerned that I'm going to run out of synonyms REAL quick).

Now that we had seen this epic view of the three lakes, it was time to venture down to them, plus we were sure that we saw a town that was sure to have a pub with "a nice outdoor area for us to enjoy our beer" as Jake put it. After a stop and a dip at one the lakes (my takeaway from the dip is: cold, but refreshing), we did indeed find a pub with an outdoor area and after all of our sightseeing, it was great to be able to sit, drink and chat.

Next stop: Ferraria. I feel like I can never explain this spot quite right, but alas, I shall try again. So, we arrived, and we could see the way down. I don't know about you, but whenever I see a winding, steep trail down, all I can do is think about the way back up. I mustered my resolve though, shut the antagonism out of my mind and soldiered on.

We grabbed some beer at the only building that you can see in the photo above and headed to our destination. Let me tell you about Ferraria. It's confusing. I jumped in the water and was immediately taken aback. This was supposed to be lava rocks with warm water. Instead the water immediately reminded me of glacier water that I had encountered near, well... a glacier. Everyone else was already in the water and insisted that it would be warmer as soon as I swam over to the lava rocks. It kind of was, but it would be 5 seconds out of every minute that were actually a little warm. So, actually no, it was not warmer.

Next stop was dinner near the water so that when it came near sunset we could stroll down the coast. Food wasn't great, but look at this...

We then set off for our Airbnb. It was 10pm and it was my first chance of the entire day to take a shower and wash off the plane and lake water and ocean and god knows what else. Did I? Unfortunately for everyone, no. I dropped my bags off, and on we trekked to the water (five minute walk from our place) for some drinks and chats. Hours later, we trudged home, discovering bridges and these actually really cool vending machines that deposit warm, no actually HOT food for weary late night travelers. Day one: complete.

The next morning we were off to the Furnas hot springs. Let me tell you, these were cool enough I guess, but they made me feel so sick. Imagine being on four hours of sleep (six hours total in the last 48 hours), and the temperature rising 15 degrees the second you get out of the car (and yes, you had been drinking pretty consistently the day before). Next you are hit with wafts of sulfur. Not fun. What was cool was that they cooked all of this "Furnas" stew in these horrifying springs - yay.

Also, this is how I felt (I was not the only one, just saying)...

Strolling along the water brought us all back to life, especially the views of Ermida Nossa Senhora das Vitorias (aka this really cool church).

After tasting the delicious Furnas stew for lunch, the rest of the day consisted of all of the best views of Nordeste. We had to force ourselves to leave each spot, because we could have stayed at each lookout for hours... especially because some people kept finding cats and picking them up 🙄.

Also, did I mention the flowers?

Next on the itinerary was this lighthouse. Would not recommend. Look, I'm sure the lighthouse is cool, but we never got to it. We took this very long winding stroll down towards the lighthouse, and again, all I could think about was the walk up. This time there was no beer to comfort me on the journey up. The highlight of this expedition was when Scott carved our names into the new asphalt that had been poured down. See below my one glimpse of the lighthouse. 

We then immediately turned around and my nightmare ensued. Cars zoomed down the path straight at us, forcing us to cling to the wall, I was screaming, Scott FELL; essentially everyone seemed to be ok except... me and Scott, as you can see...

To ease our minds after this horrid experience, gelato...

Next stop? Our sunset cruise on the catamaran. Were we excited for this? Just a bit. After giving ourselves what we thought was plenty of time to get to the boat, we completely ran out of time, were lost, running this way and that, in and out of stores, trying to find whatever company Scott had booked. Want to know how we ended up at the right place? They ran after us. Nothing like six gringos sweating, looking lost and confused, running this way and that. I'll have to remember that for the next time I'm lost in a foreign country.

After a small mishap regarding payment which involved Scott running along the water (again) for the ATM, we at last boarded the boat and set sail for what proved to be simultaneously one of the best and worst nights of my life. Thankfully, the worst part came first. Long story short, this crew ended up being the most uptight boat crew any of us had ever experienced. We had a five minute lecture (two at a time) on how to safely use their toilet. They made us wear lifelines and buckle ourselves in so that we were attached to the boat. When I asked when we would receive the unlimited wine that was promised, they said "only after you swim". My reply? "What if I don't want to swim?" The crew's response: "You drinking wine will tempt everyone else to start drinking before they swim."

We were the only passengers on the boat. None of us wanted to swim. But swim we did, only to appease the crew that was convinced that we were going to have the time of our lives. Kevin and Sam jumped in. They seemed fine; I followed. I WAS NOT FINE. I resurfaced mid panic at how cold the water was (the crew had waxed eloquent on how they were taking us to the warmest spot in the Atlantic). As I turned to immediately climb back on the boat, I realized that the crew had accelerated the boat backwards and were all laughing. On top of this, I would like to remind you that we were in the middle of the Atlantic, so not only was the water extremely choppy, but the undercurrents were intense. Somehow I reached the boat, but had no energy to even reach for it; Sam had to pull me in. 0/10. Would NOT recommend jumping in. 

But then the second half... After my least favorite crew member made a joke that was met by my fierce glare in return, they decided they better serve up the wine. The rest of the ride was truly a dream. They served up snacks and never let us finish a glass of wine, without making sure it was full again. I don't know if it's because the beginning was so horrific, but I think Scott and I at least agree that the last hour and a half watching the sunset and talking in depth (maybe extra deep since I had just had a near death experience?), may have been the highlight of the trip.

The snacks had not filled us up so we had a late night meal, drinks on the water and called it a day.

Day 3! Once again, four very short hours later it was time to wake up and get in line for the ferry that would take us to the Islet of Vila Franca do Campo. I was the last up, the last to be showered and ready AND the last person to the car. We got to the line for the ferry and after a thirty minute wait in line, as soon as we arrived at the ticket window, they had some news for us. The person before us was the 400th person, and they could only let 400 people on the islet each day. To say that it was obvious this was my fault is an understatement. SORRY GUYS.

We wandered down this random path, me avoiding everyone's gaze, and everyone else literally just wandering. We basically ran into this dude, and we asked him if he knew of any other boats that could take us to the islet. He offhandedly mentioned that he in fact worked for a company that took people out to not only see the islet, but it was a guided tour where we would snorkel, swim and see a bunch of other cool things. Without hearing the price, we obliged. And who was the tour guide? Well, the same bloke, of course.

We booked our boat and then sojourned on to the tea plantations. After walking through what was the weirdest museum of our lives (essentially it was a guided tour of how to make tea with no guide), we had some really good tea. Like seven cups of it. We then explored the plantation, Scott got lost and then we found him, and Kevin found another cat and named her Mary 😐

Our guide for the boat tour had told us that we could bring whatever we wanted to drink on the boat; Scott and I did not forget this. After an embarrassing amount of searching in this tiiiny town, we found a gas station that sold beer. They only sold single bottles, so Scott and I pulled out AT LEAST 24 beer bottles from this fridge before realizing that we did not have a bottle opener; the shop owner would not sell us his. With a crowd now gathered around us, we put back all 24 bottles, and bemusedly clambered back into the car empty handed. Crushed, but not defeated, we headed to the boat.

We showed back up with just a couple minutes to spare and sped off to the islet. To say that we saw more than we ever would have had we gone straight to the islet is a severe understatement. We saw sea creatures through the glass bottom boat (and scuba divers), studied the delicate rock formations that configured the islet and glimpsed (thankfully from afar) a colossal amount of terrifyingly large crabs.

Next was the snorkeling. I was so ready for this. It had been one of the huge allures of the boat trip. We put on our gear and everyone (except me and Scott) jumped headfirst into the water. After about ten minutes of pacing back and forth on the boat, dipping my foot into the water to test the temperature, I jumped into the water. Talk about PTSD. I was so cold that I couldn't even begin the process of actually snorkeling. I felt like I had done a good enough job of facing my fears, and immediately clambered back to the safety of the boat.

Scott and I then quite contentedly napped on the boat while everyone else splashed around in the horrible abyss the locals call "very warm water". To my extreme relief, everyone agreed that even though I had seemingly ruined the day, it was indeed salvaged by this amazing boat tour.

Next stop! Pineapple plantation. Pineapples are a big deal in the Azores. Apparently back in the day they were trying to figure out what they could export, so they shipped in some pineapple plants, built some greenhouses and voila. For a more in depth study of the pineapples of Portugal... just go there yourself. We explored, sipped some delightfully fresh pina coladas, chatted up some fellow Americans and then were on our way once more!

We opted for a fancy dinner of sorts for our final evening together. Everyone was extremely happy with their meals (except me and Scott who in fact couldn't finish our steak because it was not good). BUT everyone else was happy. The evening before, Scott and I had stumbled upon a lovely spot on the water with live music and a glowing bar, so we took the crew there for our final drinks together, and we couldn't have ended things any better.

By the time we finally got home, the crew had to leave in 45 minutes for their 7am flight, so I settled in for bed while they settled in for a very quick nap. I had one day left in Sao Miguel alone, and I didn't know what I was gonna do, but I knew it was gonna be good. I woke up a few short hours later, tired, but ready.

I checked my map, and I had just a 15 minute walk to my hostel. WIN. I had no idea what to expect; I was NOT disappointed. The only plan I had for the day was to ask the hostel receptionist what I should do. My guy came through!!

Hostel guy: Want to go to the beach?

Me: Yes.

Hostel guy: Like to bike?

Me: Yes.

Hostel guy: Take our bike to the beach. For free. I know just the one for you. It has a bar - sound good?

DONE.

He showed me my route, all along the water of course. So off I went, stopping for amazing views along the way, until I got to Populo, and settled in.

Back to the hostel a few hours, coffees and wines later to check-in. I was showed to my room by a lovely woman, who opened the door saying, "Here's your be...". There was a couple canoodling in my bed. Alll up in my bed. They then claimed that they thought they had the room to themselves. The hostel room... with multiple bunk beds in it. I stared awkwardly on, as the the poor employee kept giving me helpless sideways glances. They went on to say that they needed the bottom bunk (my bed) because they had to keep getting up to throw up in the bathroom. My hero (the lovely woman) demanded they get up, had the sheets changed (thank god), and we were back in business.

Once again, I threw my bags down and zoomed up to the roof. Now just look at this insane roof that I then had all to myself. How? I have no idea.

I woke up (when did I fall asleep?) and there was someone else in the pool. She took one look at my beer, and said, "Do you want another?" I, of course, acquiesced. Thus began a beautiful friendship that involved us sitting next to each other silently, drinking our beer and reading our books.

Next item on the agenda (more of a multiple choice than agenda) was exploring the town. And surprise, surprise, Ponta Delgada did not disappoint...

I stopped for an appetizer (dinner at the hostel planned for later). There was a man next to me with a bowl of bread, just breaking it apart and throwing it. This is not a significant point of the blog BUT I have a note in my phone that says "there is a man throwing bread in front of me - could hit a human OR ME." The fact that I was so concerned for my personal safety because of this bread made me feel obliged to display my intense feelings while I was enjoying this view...

When I had signed up for the BBQ at the hostel, I didn't know what to expect, but if it meant hanging out on that roof... I was in. Just look at what $15 got me...

Was the steak cold and bleeding through and through? Yes. (What is with the strangely terrible steak prep skills on this island?) BUT atmosphere 10/10. Oh and did I mention the unlimited sangria that was also included?

The BBQ was comprised of about 15 solo travellers, and we truly had the best time bonding over our Azores experiences. We ran out of sangria, so we turned to the very cheap and convenient hostel menu...

We got kicked off the roof, and we didn't want to leave each other, so out we went! While at the pineapple plantation I had talked to these Americans who said that they came across "this really cool area with 'people your age' hanging around with beers on the streets and stuff." Well, as luck would have it, that was our destination. And it lived up to their strangely enticing description. Here we are...

After an incredible night, I booked a cab for the next morning and settled in for yet another 4-5 hours of sleep before the events of the following day took over. Because this hostel is amazing, they had a prepped breakfast for me in the fridge since they knew I was leaving early, and off I went.

I leave you with this toothbrush. I don't know why I have this picture. The word "toothbrush" was also found in my phone notes. Since it was clearly important to me at one time that I share it with you, I felt compelled.

THE END.