I Came to Madeira for Two Months. Two Years Later, I'm Still Here.

"I'm only staying for two months."

I must have repeated that sentence a hundred times.

To my friends. To my family. To myself.

When the plane began descending over Madeira, I looked through the window expecting the island everyone had talked about. Instead, I remember thinking,

"This doesn't look like what I imagined."

It was beautiful. Green mountains rising from the ocean. Clouds resting on the peaks.

But I couldn't really see it.

Fear has a way of covering beautiful places.

At that time, I was living in mainland Portugal. I had decided to spend two months doing an internship at a wellness hotel in Madeira, hoping to escape the exhausting summer heat and, more importantly, to find some quiet space to think about my own project and the life I wanted to build.

Still, I was arriving completely alone.

And if you've grown up in Latin America like I did, travelling alone often comes with another passenger: doubt.

My mother's voice echoed in my head.

"But who's picking you up?"

"What if it's all fake?"

"Where are you actually going?"

"Who will be there?"

The questions followed me all the way through the airport.

Until I walked through the arrivals gate.

There he was. A smiling man holding a piece of paper with my name.

Just like they had promised.

The drive to the house was quiet. The owner welcomed me with kindness, explained how everything worked, and introduced me to another therapist who lived there, from India.

Before unpacking, she handed me a warm cup of homemade chai.

I still remember that first sip. Not just because it was the best chai I've ever had, but because it tasted like relief.

That was the exact moment I realised I was safe.

---

The following morning, I did what I always do whenever I arrive somewhere new.

I walked. No destination. Just curiosity.

I found small cafés. Friendly people. And a local dish called picado, which reminded me surprisingly of meals back home in Chile.

Later that afternoon, I tried to find a beach that appeared on Google Maps. Instead, I got completely lost around Pico da Atalaia.

Madeira has a funny sense of humour. Everything you walk down, you eventually have to climb back up.

As I struggled uphill, sweating and laughing at myself, I remember thinking once again,

"Good thing I'm only here for two months."

Days slowly found their own rhythm.

Mornings at the wellness hotel. Learning therapies. Meeting guests from around the world.

Afternoons swimming at Reis Magos Beach, where entering the Atlantic felt like overcoming a tiny fear every single day. Unlike many beaches, there is no long stretch of sand inviting you in. The ocean simply begins. You take a breath. And step.

Evenings became walks through Funchal. Live music. Small festivals. Markets.

Jessica introduced me to salsa and bachata nights. Like many Europeans, she loved dancing. I wasn't expecting that.

Suddenly, my work experience started feeling like a holiday.

---

Then one day, I rented a car.

I drove towards São Vicente. And somewhere between the tunnels, the cliffs and the impossible green mountains rising above me, something shifted.

I kept saying the same words out loud.

"Wow."

"How can this be real?"

The island no longer felt like a destination. It felt alive.

Every weekend I discovered another village. Another levada. Another viewpoint. Another person with a story.

Without noticing, I was changing too.

I felt lighter. Calmer. More connected to myself.

When the two months ended, I returned to mainland Portugal.

But something felt unfinished.

A few weeks later, I packed my bags again.

"Just two more months," I told everyone.

Then I left once more. And again.

For nearly a year, I kept saying I was only staying two more months.

Today, almost two years later, I can honestly say they have been the best "two months" of my life.

Not because Madeira solved my problems. It didn't.

But because something here allowed me to slow down enough to hear myself again.

---

One memory stays with me more than any other.

Christmas Eve. The famous Market Night in Funchal.

Hundreds of people singing together at Night at the Farmers' Market (Mercado dos Lavradores) in Funchal.

I went alone.

For a moment, I wondered if I should feel lonely.

Instead, I felt completely at peace.

On my way home, I accidentally took the wrong bus. It left me about thirty minutes from home.

Walking alone at night, an old fear returned.

"What if something happens?"

I called a friend. Half joking, half serious, I told him where I was, who I lived with, and that if I disappeared, he should contact her.

He listened quietly before laughing.

"Kathy..."

"You're on an island."

"From everything you've told me, I don't think you could be in a safer place."

I smiled. Because deep down, I already knew he was right.

---

Looking back now, I understand something I couldn't see from the airplane window that first day.

Madeira isn't the kind of place that impresses you all at once.

It reveals itself slowly.

One walk. One conversation. One sunrise. One swim. One unexpected cup of chai at a time.

Maybe that's why so many women arrive here looking for a holiday...

...and leave having found something much more valuable.

A quieter version of themselves.