by Slawka G. Scarso
No need for hair pins nor jimmies. There are different ways to open the locked door of a historical building when you're visiting the most remote islands of Europe. All that is necessary is a confident peep inside any window, some gesticulation meaning that you'd like to look around (a circular movement of the arm usually does the trick) and most importantly, a nice smile. The Azoreans are so proud of their sights they will open you every door, even if the church or palace you'd like to see is closed for repairs or the visiting hour is over.

Once, I took a long walk to the village of Manadas, on the island of Sao Jorge, only to visit the church of Santa Barbara which, according to tourist brochures, was not to be missed. When I finally got there it was closed, the village deserted. I sat hopelessly in the courtyard, gazing at the Atlantic Ocean. Suddenly an old man on a bike appeared out of nowhere and asked me (in English!): "Would you like to visit the church?" I nodded. "I'll get the keys." Ten minutes later he was illustrating the azulejos representing the life of the Saint and commenting on the golden Baroque stuccoes in the nave!

The ritual was the same all over the archipelago. In Ponta Delgada on Sao Miguel, it involved entering a Jesuit convent closed for repairs. In Praia da Vitòria on Terceira, it implicated visiting the church of Senhor Santo Cristo, which had two main altars instead of one (!), after closing time.

The most unbelievable performance of Azorean welcoming however, was in Angra do Heroismo on Terceira. There I visited the convent of Sao Gonçalo once hosting cloistered nuns. Senhora Maria guided me through the church and the room where nuns and their families met (separated by a double set of metal bars to prevent any physical contact), then took me to a small medications room where two beautiful triptych altarpieces were secluded. As we were leaving, I looked outside a window and saw a courtyard still damaged by the latest earthquake but crammed with flowers of all sorts. My fascinated eyes compensated for the lack of Portuguese vocabulary and after a little hesitation she took me for a tour not only of that courtyard, but also of the adjoining one! It turned out the convent is now used as a residence for elderly ladies a couple of whom excitedly showed me to their quarters crowded with religious images and crochet work they did themselves.

Before leaving I took a last photograph of the flowered courtyard. Multicolored, giant daisies, sunflowers and (possibly) orange trees created unruly splashes of colors against the worn, whitewashed walls of the convent. After a couple of shots Senhora Maria insisted to take a picture of me too. She said (at least that's what I understood) that seeing that photo would keep me warm during the winter. Needless to say, though blurred, that portrait is by far my favorite souvenir.

Originally published in TheTraveler