We are staying on the main island of the Azores, Sao Miguel, which is the most populous and easternmost island, i.e. the closest to the Portuguese mainland. It's still 700 miles away from the mainland though, and I expected true isolation. The airport in the islands capital Ponte Delgada, where half of its inhabitants live, is tiny and indicated limited tourism. The tourist information was very keen to help, it consisted of a single guy behind a bar, extremely friendly, helpful, but regretfully telling us what we already knew, that the last bus to our holiday home of Nordeste left in the afternoon and that we would have to take a taxi.

The taxi drive was long and brought us a first impression of an island so lush and green it appears to be one big greenhouse, surrounded by the bluest sea one can imagine. My nose was having none of all that lushness, all the antihistamines in the world were defenseless when presented with such a cocktail of pollen. All blue hortensias, and so many other garden plants, coupled with tropical palm treas, banana plants, tea plantations, sweet corn and all the flora we are used to on top of that. It appears that everything thrives in this everwarm and evermoist climate, from European to tropical plants.

Nordeste, which, as the name indicates is at the north eastern tip of the island of Sao Miguel, is small and sleepy. It's whitewashed facades reflect the sunshine, its beauty is almost unreal. This is supposed to be the former poorhouse of Europe, but no sign of it at all. It is rural and each house has its own vegetable garden tucked into the sloping hillside, and the countryside still strongly suggests how hard the first settlers must have worked to plant anything at all, build roads into the volcanic mountainside and make a living out of this place which had happily existed without humans for such a long time. Yet the gardens are amazingly beautiful and blend in to perfection with the wilderness surrounding it, as do the whitewashed houses, small villages and people in cars, on horseback or carriage. The modern blends with the traditional, and in spite of the remoteness of the place, it is civilised to the brim.

There is no mass tourism here. Our hotel has 24 rooms or so and we hardly meet any other tourists. Yet, everyone we've met so far speaks enough English to make communication easy, and people are friendly even if ever so slightly reserved. The food is an unexpected mixture of all that is local here: seafood, but also all that belongs to the cabbage family which I find odd, given that if you can grow tropical plants, why on earth would you turn to kale, cabbage, cauliflour and broccoli? Not that I'm complaining, the food is good, very good.

On our second lengthy walk up and down the coastline, which is rugged and dominated by the mountain rivers slicing into the hillside which carry water from the highest peak, the Vaga, down to the sea where it came from, we encountered a group of Canadian expats. Or rather, Azorian expats. Before the European Union's structural funds turned the destiny of these beatiful islands at the edge of Europe and insured infrastructure and almost full employment, it was indeed a very poor part of Europe. And people emigrated - mostly to Canada rather than Portugal, Europe or the US. No, these exiles are coming back to visit, with their children, extended families and Scottish brother in law from Uddingston. The local knowledge is still there, even 30 years later and we were given directions for a fabulous walk up and down the coast, past a natural pool, bamboo fields and into the next village of Lomba fa something. The pleasure it gave him to explain his native land to us was obvious, and the pride of his mother even more so. He spoke with a clear Canadian accent, while her English still maintained melody and intonation of this place, a family truly at home in two places, so far apart yet linked at this moment.