Lisa Schreiber

The wind off the Atlantic was stronger today, rattling the shutters of my apartment in Funchal. Four years here, and I still haven't gotten used to how quickly the weather shifts on this island. Madeira seduced me five years ago during a week-long vacation—the kind of escape you book on a whim when Munich's grey skies weigh too heavily. The sun, the cliffs plunging into the ocean, the gardens bursting with colors I'd only seen in photos—it felt like a world apart. So, I stayed.

I was 28 then, craving something different. Munich felt predictable, like a well-worn path I wasn't ready to follow. Madeira was still a quiet corner of Europe back then. Few people could even point it out on a map. Now, it's buzzing with digital nomads and entrepreneurs, drawn by tax breaks and Instagrammable views. I'm part of that wave, whether I like it or not. I rent apartments and sublet them to expats—a business that seemed clever at first. But lately, it feels more like a wedge between me and the place I wanted to belong to.

Locals don't say much, but I see it in their eyes. Rents are up, families are moving out of neighborhoods they've lived in for generations. Sometimes I catch myself wondering if I'm part of the problem. It's ironic, really—surrounded by people all the time, yet feeling completely isolated. The expats I deal with come and go, chasing the next paradise. Friendships are fleeting. I barely speak Portuguese, and my work keeps me cocooned in this expat bubble.

I've thought about leaving—returning to Germany, starting over somewhere else. But what waits for me in Munich? Grey skies and that same sense of restlessness? Probably. So, I stay. Maybe out of stubbornness. Maybe because I still believe there's a way to bridge this gap between me and the island.

This morning, I bought a book in Portuguese from a small shop down the street. The owner gave me a curious look, probably wondering if I'd stick around long enough to finish it. I wonder that too.