Let's go back to a story that is already coming to an end. It was 5,500 nautical miles, and as you remember, it was the way to start a new life.

We only spent a few days in the Azores and they were all on the same island of Faial. I fell in love with everything that surrounds this region from the first step ashore and promised myself to come back and explore it properly. But I didn't feel like going back there by plane, and I'm still patiently waiting in the wings to get back in from the ocean. There wasn't so much information on YouTube back then, and all I knew about this region consisted of legends told to me in conversations with people who had been to this paradise. Even now I don't want to watch numerous videos, because I believe that I'll be there very soon and see everything with my own eyes.

On the way, we found ourselves in the mirror, and I was adding canister after canister so that I could enter the country before customs closed. We lag to the customs dock at 6:30pm, half an hour late. A man in uniform received the Moortovs: “Please excuse me, we came from the Caribbean and were in a hurry as best we could, trying to be in time so as not to keep you from work,” I said, trying to somehow get the opportunity not to go back out into the open water for the night. “Welcome to the Azores, the showers are right in the corner, and the bar across the street is up and to the left, we open at 9:30am, and I'll be waiting for you to complete all the paperwork.” I was so surprised that I even asked him again if we could really go out into town, and he confirmed we shouldn't go any further than the bar. It turned out that this was just the beginning of the dissent that reigns in the local customs office. We had a fun night at Peter's legendary bar, which you can probably write a book about, and in the morning we came to the decoration. If my memory serves me correctly, only one out of 5 people had a Schengen visa. To which customs said, “Adriano, bring your visa forms.” They took a picture of me with a webcam, printed and pasted my transit visa. Even if you were slightly unshaven for two weeks, the photo did not show the gender of the person. I took my papers with a smile and sat down. When it was Airat's turn, the customs officer started beating the printer and pulling the form out of it using Portuguese obscene language. He carefully took his pen and filled in all the data on the form by hand. Then I felt related to the nation and asked: “Who is going to draw the portrait?” He took a serious look at me and sent Adriano somewhere again. He came back with a dusty box — a special stamp for a special occasion — “Really without a photo” (in three languages in a 3x4 ratio). Then I realized that I wanted to stay and live with these normal people who, apparently in the tenth generation, meet people from the ocean and have nothing but trust in them and hate the Schengen bureaucracy. (Thanks to Airat who found this passport and visa photo in the comments)

It seems we spent 3 or 4 days on the island and even managed to go and see the local volcano. But these were very bright days, and I definitely didn't want to go back to the ocean and move on; I didn't want to even forget to look at the weather forecast from Azor to Gibraltar, and this changed the course of events.

📸 our team at Fayala

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