Next Stop: Horta

We intended to spend a couple of days on Flores. That turned into two weeks. One local said if we've seen Flores, we've seen the Azores. Perhaps he's biased, but it's easy to believe.

This is by far the most beautiful place I've seen in my life. The island is COVERED with flowers. Dramatic sea cliffs plunge into the ocean. Cows roam rolling green hills separated by vibrant blue hydrangeas. Sleepy towns hide streets of cobblestone cut from lava rock. Whitewashed homes are topped with red clay roofs. Instead of grass lawns, locals have burgeoning gardens of corn, potatoes, squash, cabbage, tomatoes and cucumber.

Beautiful landscapes aren't the islands only treasure--the people of Flores create the friendliest, most generous community I've ever experienced. And this is as an outsider. You know how people in cities suddenly find the ground really interesting when you walk by? Here, every person greets you as a friend.

We traveled Flores by hitchhiking (the customs official even recommended it). Rarely did more than three cars pass before someone pulled over. What's more, they would stop at scenic spots along the way, turn off the engine, and patiently wait for us to take pictures before continuing. After the second person tried stopping to let us take pictures, we insisted they keep driving, feeling guilty we were taking advantage of their overwhelming generosity.

Amanda and I sat on the dock next to some locals one night and fished for dinner. We eventually packed up empty-handed. But before we could leave, the fisherman beside us reached into his catch and filled a recycled grocery bag with enough fish to feed a family of ten. Us not speaking Portuguese, he not speaking English, we understood each other perfectly; Amanda and I couldn't leave without accepting the fish.

Over the weekend, we ran out of Euros and the local banks were closed. An annual festival was taking place and the locals set up large tent restaurants for the occasion.

We befriended the chef of one restaurant, a Finnish immigrant named Tino, who happened to be taking a break on the street. Amongst casual conversation, we mentioned our dilemma.

"No worries!" he said. "Come eat at my restaurant and pay whenever you can."

The thing is, the festival ended that night and the restaurant would be dismantled and staff disbanded.

"How can we pay if you won't be here tomorrow?" I asked.

"I live on the other side of the island, just ask around for the crazy Finnish guy!" Tino Replied.

With that, we were treated as guests of honor.

Three days later we sought out Tino's house to pay our dinner bill. It only took two tries to find someone who knew him.

"Go up the street. You'll see a big yellow house--that's not his house. Go past it and turn right. Walk down the alley and look for a stone wall between two white houses with a barking dog. Follow the grass trail until you see the wooden house with a grass roof." Explained a woman named Rafaela.

We should've expected that simply paying for our meal and continuing on was out of the question. Tino invited us into his home and introduced us to his family. We spent the afternoon picking vegetables in his organic garden, preparing a feast for dinner, sharing stories, and of course, eating said feast.

While we could easily spend months here, the Flores experience simply reinforces the need to sail on. How many other Flores' await with beautiful vistas and warm people waiting to share a meal and a story?

A small weather window opens tonight amongst 12 foot seas and 30 knot winds...Horta, here we come!