NORMAL LIFE: Madeira (Part 1)

Sunday, 22nd April

Breakfast on the hotel veranda was lovely – while a breeze swarmed around those nibbling on their cereals and sandwiches, the sun shone brightly while, looking towards the south, cruise liners, tugboats, tankers and yachts dotted the South Atlantic. To the west, you could see the furthest parts of the island dipped in what remained of the morning’s haze.

Breakfast is a bargain at €4 (£2.60), the offering consisting of warm scrambled eggs, sausages, a selection of breads with cold ham and cheese together with cereals, yoghurt and fruits.

We decided to while away some of the morning, taking some sun before heading into town on one of the many buses bound for Funchal. The bus groaned, transport its passengers down the slopping Avenida do Infante onto the lush Avenida Arriaga, before dropping us off at the Avenida do Mar. Nearby, we passed the Beatles Boat, now moored on the beach in concrete and serving as a novelty restaurant to fans of the Fab Four.

We walked along the Avenida do Mar, admiring the cruise liners that were moored in the harbour. Eventually, we reached the Madeira Cable Car station only to be told that the toboggans were not working on Sunday. What a shame, I thought. We decided against taking the cable car up to Monte, instead opting for a walk through Zona Velha, Funchal’s Old Town, the first part of Madeira to be settled.

Everywhere you went, there were people. Apparently, the Flower Festival Parade would take place at 4pm. Tourists, locals, families on holiday and relatives gathered for what is considered to be one of Madeira’s highlights. On our wonder through the Old Town, we passed the miniscule Chapel of Corpo Santo, built in 1559 by local people to provide help for destitute sailors and fishermen. Further on, navigating along the narrow alley of Rua Dom Carlos I, we reached the façade of Santo Maria Maior, dating from 1803 which replaced an earlier chapel which had been built in thanks for Madeira’s salvation from the plague.

We made our way back into town, ambling back along the backstreet, Rua Dom Carlos I. Upon passing the Santa Luzia canal, we reached Avenida Arriaga via Rua de Sé, which translates to Cathedral Place. Here stands an imposing yet unpretentious Cathedral, built between 1493 and 1517, after King Manual I granted Little Lisbon city status. Nearby, stands the statue of João Gonçalves Zarco, XXX. Further down the road lies the Jardim De São Francisco, an area of dense greenery, replete with plentiful benches in shaded areas and fountains casting a dehumidifying effect.

By this time, it had just passed 3pm and, soon, the parade would begin so we thought it wise to take a position along the route of the parade now that people were gathering in their hundreds and thousands. I left Bree there briefly, to return with cooling ice creams. Bree was thankful, but it was yet another full hour before the parade finally started to make an appearance up the other end of Avenue Arriaga, having already made its way westward along Avenida do Mar and wound it’s way around the roundabout of Praça do Infante to return eastward towards us.

Despite what turned out to be a two hour wait in the end, it was worth it. As with most parades, different groups represented different groups, each of which were choreographed to that sections music. There were children as young as three dressed in cute little costumes, dancing as best as they could to the delight of the thousands of visitors. Young girls and boys showed of their costumes, which were laced with fresh flowers to denote the official arrival of Spring. Later, young couples, dressed in smart ballroom-dancing-style costumes wowed the audience, who clapped happily along with the beat of the music which ranged from what I can only describe as traditional Madeiran folk music, to the solitary voice of a Madeiran girl who sand beautifully to the playing of popular music such as We Are The World and Celebration. It was truly a festival of colour.

The moment the parade ended, people set of like a pack of animals foraging the Serengeti, all in search of transport to get back to their accommodations. We managed to flag down a taxi and we were gratefully whisked away by a driver who was honking his horn angrily at a tourist driving very slowly on the one-lane road ahead. ‘Timo es dinero’ (time is money), I said, to which the taxi drive nodded ferociously.

Already 6pm, the evening had already arrived. Realising I had sustained sunburn, I took a dip in the pool to cool the skin. Later, the true extent of the mornings sunbathing and the afternoons exposure wearing a vest were reveal; you could actually see where my vest had been! Ouch! After a rest, we took the bus back into town and walked on foot to the Old Town once again. We dined at Restauranté Arsénios. A prawn cocktail was followed by a succulent lamb kebab, which I washed down with a bottle of Portuguese wine. Can you believe that a bottle of Madeiran wine would have cost us €30?

As we ate, the restaurant owner’s dog rested beneath our table, seeming to guard the property from unwanted guests. Less than two metres away, a grill cooked out food, the aromas stimulating my hunger. The evening was warm and I ate my meal wearing a short-sleeved shirt. Wonderful! What a wonderful first full day on holiday, I thought, as we took a taxi back to the hotel and I rubbed afternoon into my glowing skin.

Monday, 23rd April

After breakfast, Bree sunbathed while I read my book in the shade; the sunburn was quite significant and further sunbathing would have been quite foolish. Around midday, we took a bus into town, taking the cable car up to Monte. The views were amazing as the cable car passed over the town, the highway and, later, over people’s own backyards. When we arrived at the docking station, I got out my Insight Guide to Madeira and located the Island Walks section. We headed off towards Vale do Paraiso, said to be one of the easiest and most popular Madeiran walks.

At least, I thought we had headed off in the right direction – we walked around the Botanical Gardens before arriving at the impressive 18th Century church, Nossa Senhora do Monte, which sits atop a mound with 74 concrete steps. The church was rebuilt on 1818 after an earthquake caused extensive damage and, more than a century later in 1922, the body of Charles I of Hapsburg would rest here, having died in exile following the dissolution of the Hapsburg Empire. From the forecourt of the church, you can observe the start of Madeira’s famous toboggan run, based on the use of a wicker sledge to transport two passengers down to base.

Realising that we should have in fact turned right at the cable car docking station and not right (although I am glad we did otherwise we would not have seen the church or the toboggans), we headed back and proceeded beyond the docking station. To our left was an ornate, petit chapel, but straight ahead was the verada (meaning old path) we were looking for.

Within minutes, our feet had transported ourselves into a world where only nature existed, accompanied by fellow walkers along the route. You could hear cockerels crowing from distant settlements, while newts scuttled beneath your feet. At one point, on a bridge with a pool of water far below, you could hear the incessant croaking of frogs while, in the bush, butterflies seemingly dances together as if on an journey.

The views were remarkable and, thankfully, the route wasn’t took exposed to the sun. After two hours of walking vervadas which, at some point, hooked up to our first levada, we reached the immaculate Hortensia Gardens which, according to my Insight Guide, is an excellent tea-house set in lushly planted grounds, offering salads, soups and cakes. How could we resist? After finding out was through the maze of footpaths, the house came into view, and we found a table in the shade.

What a relief it was to sit. And even better: our host, Analise, was a South African of Portuguese descent. When I heard her accent, I had to ask where she was from. When she told us she was in South Africa, but had lived in Madeira for four years now, I told her about my trip to South Africa two years ago (see here), which made her feel a bit homesick. Like many non-native Africans, she felt inclined to leave what she believes to be her homeland for safety and work. How her family ended up in South Africa, I didn’t get round to asking, but the scones and tea she bought to us were delicious.

When Analise returned to our table to ask if everything was okay, a chat started up once again. I told Analise that Bree and I had booked a holiday to South Africa (read here) for Christmas, by which time she must have sensed that we were so gay! I sensed, however, that she enjoyed our company; business was slow on this particular day and there’s nothing more engaging for a waitress than to have customers who praise their homeland.

Apparently, a bus stop some 200 metres away would take us back to Funchal so, having said our goodbyes, we dashed in the direction where Analise had pointed out where the bus was. Within fifteen minutes, the bus had arrived. We got ourselves onboard and, on our way back to Funchal, were transported through various villages. As more people go onto the bus, more people seemed to know eachother and they were happy to engage in polite chit-chat; there was a real sense of community up in the hills yet I wondered how does Analise survive on this pretty isolated, relatively remote island, having lived in South Africa most of her life?

By the time we arrived in Funchal, it was already 6pm. From the centre, we caught the Number 4 bus which transported us to a stop across the road from our hotel, but near a supermarket from which I bought some aftersun cream. By 7pm, I was in the ice-cold swimming pool, nursing my redder-than-yesterday arms and hands. Back in the apartment, I then had a red-hot bath and my skin sizzled unforgivingly as if to say it’s your own fault for not putting on the Factor 30 Bree offered! To cool off, I sat on the balcony with a towel around my waist; the breeze was relieving.

After a refreshing Martini Bianco, we were off in search of food. We settled for a set menu in a Chinese restaurant – it was lovely and the best bit was they got the bill wrong; for the two of us, including a bottle of wine, they charged just €29 (£20). We walked back to our hotel room, realising how out of season it was when, during the 1.5km walk back to the hotel, only one establishment appeared to have organised entertainment of some kind. But we didn’t care!

Tuesday, 24th April

After breakfast on the veranda and a brief sunbathing session, we took a bus to Cabo Girao; Winston Churchill used to come here in the good old days to paint the impressive shoreline. Today, we would see this so-called impressive shoreline for ourselves. The bus journey was eventful with the vehicle resembling a tight formulation of three-and-two seats with a very narrow aisle. When we boarded, there were very few seats left so we sat adjacent to one another. I sat next to a very heavy set woman with a beaming smile who took up all of her seat and most of mine. As such, I had one foot on the floor in the aisle to steady myself since I couldn’t get both feet on the floor area in affront of me.

He travelled through undulating hills and were stunned when the driver had apparently hit a road sign and drove on. It was a sudden clunk which stunned everyone. As the driver passed by, however, the passengers continued to engage in their loud chatter, as if nothing had happened. What an experience, Bree said aloud. Near death experience more like, I thought to myself!

When an elderly woman hopped onboard, Bree have up his seat. Such gentlemanly behaviour was well received as the women all around us pointed at him and started up a lively discussion, seeming to curse those who hadn’t offered to give up their seats closer to where the woman had boarded. For some twenty minutes or so, the women ranted, never seeming to pause for air. It was when we arrived at Cabo Girao that the confusion started; my guidebook referred to a new road yet there didn’t seem to be one, at least nowhere near where the bus had dropped us off. It also referred to a car park when, in fact, there were three to choose from.

We finally found the Cabo Girao lookout point, which was nowhere near where the bus had dropped us off. Churchill frequented this area on his many visits to Madeira. At the top of the 580m cliff, the second highest sea cliff in Europe, lizards devoured what was left of a banana skin at my feet. Peering over the cliff itself, you could see the plantations more than half a kilometre down while, out to sea, you sense that you weren’t that far beneath the cloud layer as wisps of clouds moved quickly overhead.

At the nearby café, we asked where the so-called pine trees mentioned in the book were for they apparently signified the start of a Levada walk. He pointed to a brief opening, some ½km away beyond a smattering of recently built apartments. It dawned on me what must have happened: the area has been developed and so the buses had been adjusted accordingly and this must have happened after the publication of the guide I held in my hands.

We made our way along the path, passing the newly built Holiday Property Bond complex; the tarmac of the road was jet black indicating its newness while recently planted shrubs and plants graced the driveway leading up to the reception area. We walked a bit further, finally reaching the start of our Levada Walk, which would take us from Cabo Girao to Câmara de Lobos. To cut a long story short, the walk didn’t resemble what was mentioned in the guide at all. That’s not to say that the walk still wasn’t pleasant; we saw various crops being grown on the expanse of plantations, and this walk provided an opportunity to peer into the backyards of the locals. The walk, however, lacked the closeness with nature as the walk from Monte to Vale do Paraiso had.

During our walk, water was a frequent star as water gushed down the irrigated paths. Strawberries and bananas were being grown here amidst a plentiful assortment of flora, which made for a spectacular display of colour. Somehow, having passed a number of communities where idling dogs were disturbed by our passing by, we ended up in the small town of Câmara de Lobos. Ambling through the town, we bought ice cream and waited for a bus back to Funchal.


Arriving back at our hotel just after 6pm, we dozed, our faces slathered with face packs I had bought on holiday. When we woke, we took steaming hot showers and then dined at the oddly named Granny’s House. Sharing a bottle of Portuguese White, I had a Prawn Cocktail, followed by Cod ‘Granny’s Style’,which was actually just cod with vegetables! For dessert, we ate flambéd pineapple and bananas with a shot of Madeiran wine. Yummy! Back at our hotel, we drank coffee on the balcony, watching a brightly-lit cruise liner leave Funchal, slowly retreating into the distance. Meanwhile, stars twinkled high above as if winking back at two tired guys on Earth.