Madeira, February 2024

This was my second trip to Madeira, but Tracy’s first.

I spent a week here in November 2017, just a few months after Kate’s death.

On that occasion I travelled alone, having booked with Saga (for the first time) on an all-inclusive package (also for the first time). I flew with British Airways and stayed at the Vidamar Resort Hotel.

This time we booked an Inghams Walking Holiday, on bed and breakfast terms, flying with Easyjet and staying at the Hotel Porto Mare. This is just a little further westward along the Estrada Monumental, the hotel-heavy road that stretches away from central Funchal.

Our holiday was timed to coincide with my birthday.

We arrived at Gatwick’s North Terminal at around five in the morning on St Valentine’s Day. The automated bag-drop was undertaken for us by an over-zealous attendant who clearly considered us unable to perform the task unaided.

We breakfasted at Sonoma before boarding our aircraft at Gate 112, taking off only a few minutes late. The captain said the flight would take 3 hours and 45 minutes, slightly longer than expected, owing to the direction of the prevailing winds.

It was roughly eleven when we touched down at the Cristiano Ronaldo International Airport. The landing earned the co-pilot a spontaneous round of applause.

Some experienced ladies in the row behind suggested that we had approached the runway in the opposite direction to normal. I wasn’t quite so sure.

These ladies were talkative throughout the flight. I particularly enjoyed their extended discussion of nail-biting, especially the vexed question whether or not it constitutes self-harm.

Having been seated in the middle of the plane, we were almost the last to leave it.

We passed successfully through the automated passport gates, (though mine needed two attempts), were quickly reunited with our suitcases and soon found the driver of our car.

The Hotel

The Porto Mare sits in the middle of three hotels collectively known as the Vila Porto Mare Resort. It takes some time to master the relationship between the different floors of these buildings, and the routes through the others to one’s own.

They share the Resort’s many facilities: the various pools, bars and restaurants, as well as the attractive tropical gardens.

The Porto Mare itself has just shy of 200 rooms. Ours was located towards the end of a long corridor running from the corner of the reception area. There were only two floors in this section, ours being the higher.

It was a quiet location and we enjoyed a splendid sea view, through palm trees and across the intervening Lido Promenade and Gardens.

Our room was rectangular, perhaps four metres wide and eight metres long, with a square bathroom adjacent to the door. The shower was over the bath.

The twin beds, placed together, created a vast sleeping area. There was a table and two armchairs, as well as an office desk and chair, a large wardrobe, a television, a safe and a small fridge.

The balcony was spacious, fully covered and equipped with a patio table and chairs.

We did not dine in the Hotel, but we breakfasted every day in the main Atlantida Restaurant, overlooking the principal swimming pool. Some tables were inside, some in a covered extension and some outside on the patio. Invariably, we sought the latter.

We were offered a variety of cereals, fruit, nuts, breads and pastries, as well as the option of a cooked breakfast.  Overall, breakfast was good, but suffered slightly in comparison with the superlative spread in Riva del Garda.

Wednesday

After unpacking and admiring the view from our balcony, we began an orientation walk, initially round the gardens and then through the interior. Eventually we repaired to the Veranda – a poolside bar and café – for lunch.

Then we wandered along the promenade, past the Lido and round to the main road, sizing up various options for dinner later.

After a while, we stopped at Boutique Lido, on the Estrada Monumental, for coffee and pasteis de nata.

We sat on a small square terrace across the road from the café, with its amazing display of cakes and pastries. The heart-shaped Valentine’s balloons, fastened to the tables, had mostly escaped in the stiffening breeze. Small lizards played around our feet and bags.

That evening we were alarmed to discover that our two preferred restaurants were fully booked. This seemed a consequence of it being St Valentine’s Day.

Eventually we found space outside a small bar called Porka, close beside our hotel. Unsurprisingly, it specialised in pork dishes. Not being particularly hungry, we both selected pork tacos, washed down with red wine. Meanwhile we were serenaded by a plump lady in a red dress.

Thursday – Funchal and part of the Levada dos Tornos

After breakfast we strolled down into Funchal, but were accosted by a tenacious man wanting us to pay him 15 euros apiece to access a rooftop bar, allegedly once visited by Mr Ronaldo himself.

Finally managing to escape, we strolled down through the Santa Catarina Park, where I spent several hours back in 2017.

After enjoying the fountains and the view down across the harbour, we descended to the Avenida do Mar, heading towards the Sao Tiago Fort.

I was pleased to recognise several of the highlights, including much of the statuary, the lighthouse and the cable car station.

Funchal possesses some amazing sculptures, invariably striking, often humorous.

This is ‘Do outro Lado do Oceano’ by the Madeiran sculptor Celso Caires.

This is ‘Cabra-Cega’ (blind goat) by his compatriot Silvio Cro. It is said to honour the wives of local fishermen, but also has some mysterious connection with a game akin to Blind Man’s Buff.

This is the impressive Monumenta a Autonomia (monument to autonomy) by Ricardo Veloso.

He also produced the fabulous Monumento ao Trabalhador (monument to the worker), on the other side of Funchal, which I failed to photograph myself. A huge bronze angel – possibly Icarus – hangs in a frame, commemorating all those who lost their lives constructing Madeira’s tunnels and levadas.

And this is Monumento ao Jogador de Futebol, a superb statue of a man running towards a football, by Martim Velosa, Ricardo’s son.

The settlement of Funchal developed early in the Fifteenth Century, the place being named after the wild fennel (‘funcho’ in Portuguese) which grew there.

It soon became a prominent port and mercantile centre. Christopher Columbus based himself here for a while, arriving in 1478 and marrying a woman of aristocratic descent from the island of Porto Santo.

The king of Portugal declared Funchal a city in 1508. It acquired a cathedral and bishopric six years later. The Island’s wine began to enjoy an international reputation

But, as the Sixteenth Century progressed, Funchal became increasingly vulnerable to attack by pirates and privateers, and in 1566 was laid waste by French corsairs.

This led eventually to construction of the Sao Tiago Fort, begun in 1614 and completed some 20 years later. Further building took place in the mid-Eighteenth Century before British troops were quartered here during the Spanish Peninsular War (1807-1814).

From 1992 to 2014, the Fort housed Madeira’s Museum of Contemporary Art, but the latest plan is to convert it into an archaeological museum.

We explored the towers and battlements before walking back through Funchal to our Hotel.

That afternoon we joined a half-day excursion exploring a short stretch of the Levada dos Tornos, which runs from Monte (above Funchal) to Camacha.

There were twenty or more tourists aboard our coach, which climbed steadily up into the interior, dropping us off in the vicinity of Gaula, a parish some five miles north-east of Funchal. Here we were joined by our guide, Rita.

We would be walking only three kilometres, over easy terrain, before taking afternoon tea.

It was noticeably cool up here, cloudy and overcast. Several participants seemed not to have got the memo about bringing a warm layer of clothing, a waterproof coat and decent walking shoes. We felt distinctly overdressed!

As we walked, Rita told us about the lives of the people who once lived up here, pointing out the various plants and trees growing nearby.

Electricity did not reach this area until the mid-1980s.

Rita herself had been born in South Africa, where her father had emigrated for work.

She mentioned in passing that one of the uninhabited islands in the Madeiran archipelago is teeming with tarantulas.

She must have been referring to the Deserta Grande Island, home to a giant wolf spider – Hogna ingens – an endangered species with a leg span of up to 12cm and a painful, venomous bite.

My mind drifted to Desert Island Discs…one wouldn’t want to be shipwrecked on that one!

Our walk concluded in a modern tearoom. It was called ‘Rita’s’ so presumably she owned it. Here we were served sweet potato bread baked by her mother, and cakes baked by her son.

We shared a table with a Birmingham couple and their teenaged daughter. They owned a timeshare across one group of hotels, entitling them to stay 23 weeks over a maximum period of ten years.

We were returned to our hotel by 18:30. That evening we opted for a pizza dinner, provided by Martucci, a five minute walk from the Porto Mare.

The barman insisted on adding ice and a slice of lemon to Tracy’s cider, which seems de rigeur throughout Madeira.

Friday – at leisure

We decided to enjoy a day of comparative leisure and relaxation.

While we were at breakfast, a bird of prey passed by on the arm of its keeper, presumably employed to keep the pigeons and rodents away.

A young English couple took the table next to us. They discussed a batch of reality TV stars at some length. Both frequently consulted their mobiles, leaving them on the table when revisiting the buffet. The mobile phone has replaced the morning newspaper.

After breakfast we went for a mid-morning walk along the promenade in a westerly direction, away from Funchal.

Since my previous visit, further work had been done to preserve the site of the docks established by Wilson and Sons in 1901. This area is known as Cais do Carvao (or the Coal Wharf) and is located just beyond Funchal’s Marine Biology Station.

Several fishermen were spaced along the pier, which juts several metres out to sea. Some way beyond, a replica galleon cruised along the coast, the sun sparkling on the intervening waters.

We stopped at the Magic Tea House Café, next to the Pestana Grand Hotel, for refreshment and a spot of people-watching.

Then it was back to our own hotel for a first try of the sunbeds and a dip in the pool. We remained in the gardens, reading our books until late in the afternoon.

I was struggling through Christina Stead’s ‘Letty Fox – Her Luck’, which I do not recommend.

That evening we visited a nearby Portuguese restaurant, O Dragoeiro, named after the Dragon Tree in its garden, where most of the diners were eating.

The Dragon Tree is native to Madeira, Cape Verde and the Canary Islands. The bark and leaves secrete a red resin, known as ‘dragon’s blood’. It is comparatively rare and grows very slowly: the trunk branches when the tree flowers, but it may take ten years to do so.

Our table was by the hedge separating the garden from the pavement. We sampled the three course tourist menu, washed down with glasses of house red, extremely tasty and very good value for money at around 60 Euros for two.

Saturday – tour of Western Madeira

We had booked a full day coach tour of Western Madeira.

Back in 2017 I had taken a similar excursion through Eastern Madeira, and was keen to see the other end!

We travelled with Lido Tours, which describes itself as Madeira’s leading tour operator.

We were collected from our Hotel by a minibus at 08:45, eventually accumulating some 16 passengers.

Our guide told us he was called Nuno – unless we didn’t enjoy the day, in which case his name was Susan…

The itinerary was slightly different to that advertised on Lido’s website, and different again to the description supplied by Inghams, but it covered much of the same ground.

Our first stop was at Cabo Girao, to visit the viewing platform on top of the highest sea cliff in Madeira.

Some of the tourist literature claims that this is also the highest sea cliff in Europe and the second highest in the world.  

But most sources agree that the highest European sea cliff is at Homelen, Norway. That reaches 860 metres above sea level, whereas Cabo Girao is less than 600 metres high.

Madeira may be on safer ground (haha) in claiming that the viewing platform is the highest of its kind in Europe.

It was opened in October 2012 and is partly constructed of glass, making the experience of standing on it even more vertiginous.

It was a clear, bright, sunny morning and the views along the coastline were breathtaking. Though still fairly early, there were several groups of tourists here ahead of us.

Our next port of call was Ribeira Brava, a sleepy seafront town in the middle of the south coast. Its name is derived from the river – literally ‘angry river’ – which joins the sea at this point.

The riverbed seemed almost dry when we leaned over to inspect it, but we were assured that there is a raging torrent during the rainiest parts of the year.

This is the birthplace of one Jorge Leodoro. He underwent a sex change and, as Nadia Almada, she won Big Brother in 2004.

We admired the impressive sixteenth century church of Sao Bento, before taking a swift pedestrian tour of the principal streets.

This eventually brought us out upon the seafront, beside several large circular frames, presumably identical to those holding nets a few metres off shore.

A little further on we stopped at a café that was just opening, for coffees and more pasteis de nata, the latter proposed by an entrepreneurial waiter.

We were now close to the Town’s stony ‘beach’ with its rustic umbrellas and a handful of morning swimmers. The surf occasionally battered the protective breakwater separating the swimming area from the open sea.

After reuniting with the minibus, we were driven westwards, along the ER222 road, before switching to the ER209 which climbs upwards. Eventually we reached the high plateau known as the Paul da Serra, at an altitude of approximately 1,400 metres.

This area was allegedly in the running to host Madeira’s airport…until the planners recalled its howling gales and heavy mists.

We passed some wind turbines, and then several handsome cows posing for photographs by the roadside.

There were three brief photo-stops:

• at a viewpoint across the Boca de Ecumeada, from where, it is said, one can see the north and south coasts simultaneously (we clearly weren’t in the right place to do so);

• beside a mysterious shallow pond on the edge of the Fanal laurisilva forest; and

• on the north coast, above Ribeira de Janela, at the Miradourao da Eira da Achada.

Eventually we arrived at Porto Moniz, where we stopped for lunch.

Here, the waves were crashing in with sustained violence, throwing up enormous plumes of spray – and sometimes large stones too. Part of the coast road was roped off while we were there, given the danger to passing traffic.

Porto Moniz is a small tourist town occupying a headland at the north-west tip of the Island.

The Fort of Sao Joao Baptista was originally built here, circa 1730, to repulse pirates. It subsequently fell into ruin, but was recently restored and now holds the Island’s Aquarium.

But Porto Moniz is best known for its extensive seawater swimming pools, formed by the erosion of the volcanic cliffs. There are two complexes here, one on the west side, the other on the east, adjacent to the Aquarium.

The pools were closed to swimmers, given the volume and velocity of the waves washing over them. Several foolhardy people stood on a squat circular tower just behind the westerly pools, taking selfies with the spray in the background.

Despite the chill air we stopped at a nearby outdoor café, Olhos d’Agua, having decided against the more comfortable indoor restaurant recommended by our guide.

The food was OK, if overpriced. We had steak sandwiches with chips.

The adjacent toilets cost half a euro and there was a queue. But we discovered large, free public conveniences just round the corner.

Feeling rather more comfortable, we continued along the seafront towards the fort and the second set of pools. We explored the walkways above them and, from a rather safer vantage point, took our own photographs.

Climbing back aboard the minibus, we arrived at the coastal village of Seixal, some miles to the east, on the other side of Ribeira da Janela.

Here we stopped for a view back towards the islands off Porto Moniz, of Seixal’s own natural pools and its striking black sandy beach, where a handful of bathers were seated on towels.

Soon afterwards we paused more a more extensive photo opportunity at the Miradora do Veu da Noiva, snapping the waterfall as it plummeted into the sea – and withstanding the temptations of the souvenir shop.

Finally we stopped in Sao Vicente – a town with a very different, almost alpine feel – located midway along the north coast.

We walked around the Church and the surrounding streets, trying to find the best view of the Nossa Senhora de Fátima Chapel, perched hundreds of feet above.

Our guide said it was the local tradition for betrothed couples to wed up there. Although this had once demanded an arduous climb in full wedding regalia, nowadays one is driven to the bottom of a short flight of steps.

Our tour complete, we were speedily transferred back to the south and Funchal, arriving at our hotel by 16:30.

That evening we selected La Paella, which has a light blue VW Dormobile parked outside. We’d originally thought we might get tapas there, not being so hungry after our substantial lunch but, on reviewing the menu, we opted instead to share paella.

Sunday – the Botanical Gardens

We had set aside Sunday morning to visit Funchal’s celebrated Botanical Gardens.

Our initial plan had been to visit the next day, Monday, but with four cruise ships expected in Funchal harbour, we decided to bring our excursion forward.

It was still and peaceful as we retraced our steps along the promenade. Reaching the cable car station by around 10:15, we were relieved to find no queue – a remarkably rare occurrence.

For the uninitiated, the gardens sit high above Funchal, almost directly in line with the Sao Tiago Fort. The best way of reaching them is to take the cable car up to Monte and then, after a short walk, a second cable car across to the gardens.

There was once a railway from lower Funchal up to Monte. Built between 1893 and 1912, it operated by means of a rack system: a toothed middle rail engaged a cog underneath the train, enabling it to make the steep ascent.

The service survived until 1943, but was bedevilled by financial difficulties and a poor safety record. After two serious accidents, people were unwilling to use it.

The upper station was located at Terreiro da Luta, close to the statue known as Our Lady of Peace, constructed in the aftermath of WW1. I visited in 2017.

The cable car service to Monte was opened in 2000. It covers a distance of 3,173 metres while ascending 560 metres, silently skimming over the rooftops and gardens below. There are 39 gondolas and the journey time is typically 15 minutes.

We shared our gondola with a young couple from somewhere in Eastern Europe – they had the seats pointing upwards while we looked down upon Funchal.

Arriving at Monte, we went straight across to the second cable car, which swoops some 1,600 metres across tree-lined ravines for eighteen minutes or so, before arriving at the entrance to the gardens. It opened in 2005.

The gardens themselves date from 1960. They were previously part of an estate owned by the Reid family, famous for founding Reid’s Hotel in 1891.

They spread over five hectares and contain some 2,500 species, several of which were flowering even in February. We wandered happily for a couple of hours before crossing back to Monte.

Monte is essentially a wealthy suburb of Funchal. It developed up here because the rich wanted cooler summer residences.

Next to the cable car station sits Monte Palace, a house and garden containing collections of exotic plants, sculptures and mineral specimens.

The estate was established by the British consul, Charles Murray, in the late Eighteenth Century, and the house later became a hotel, which also closed in 1943.

We continued to the handsome Church of Our Lady of the Mount, built in 1741, passing the point where the infamous wicker sledges are launched.

This method of travelling downhill at speed was introduced in the Nineteenth Century and is today a major tourist attraction. The sledges are propelled by a pair of drivers, known as ‘carreiros’, who are supposed to wear white clothes, straw boaters and rubber boots (to act as brakes).

Unfortunately, the service does not run on Sundays, which might have helped to explain the comparatively few tourists milling around up here.

We had coffee in a small café beside the church before heading back down to Funchal.

Together, we paid a total of 70 Euros for all four cable car rides and for admission to the Gardens.

Back in Funchal we walked for a while through the old town, catching the fag end of Carnival, which ended that very day. We watched four performers, possibly dressed as sailors or pirates, with coloured beards, one of them on stilts. The significance escaped us.

We had a gelato lunch, then it was back to the hotel for a dip in the pool.

Our choice of restaurant that evening fell upon Tapassol. This is located on the Velya da Adjuda road, right next to a steak house.

Embarrassingly, I was unsure whether we were being seated in the correct restaurant, until reassured by the lady in charge.

By way of atonement, Tracy agreed to have flambéed strawberries for dessert, and we were given the full display.

Meanwhile, my chocolate brownie came with a love heart drawn on the plate. I suggested that perhaps one of the ladies in the kitchen had fallen for my charms.

Monday – my birthday

Today was my birthday, so it was a leisurely start.

Given the number of cruise ships forecast, we decided to walk in the opposite direction, recreating my 2017 walk to the fishing village of Camara de Lobos.

We went beyond the Magic Tea House and into the pedestrian tunnel through the cliffs, known as Tunel das Pocas do Gomes, which echoes to the sound of waves smashing against the rock.

There is a hole in the cliff half way through, enabling one to look down upon the maelstrom below.

It is a relief to emerge into the brightness of the promenade running behind the long beach – Praia Formosa – which has some sandy areas but is mostly pebbled.

The tide was in, and in one place we had to run the gauntlet of the incoming waves – it is a complete fallacy that every seventh is the big one!

Shortly afterwards we were disappointed to find that the walkway was closed because of work to reinforce the elevated section. We had no choice but to turn back.

We stopped at one of the cafes beside the beach, watching a woman climb up the stairs hewn in the rocks to take photographs of herself.

Arriving back at the hotel, we stopped at the pool bar for lunch. Back in the room we found a welcome bottle of sparkling wine.

Following a siesta and a swim, we went to buy a picnic lunch for Tuesday’s walk, but were unable to find ready-made sandwiches, opting instead for separate bread, cheese and ham.

We went down early into Funchal, to visit a craft beer micropub called Fugacidade. This proved an excellent find, laid back, friendly and well-stocked with interesting beers.

Then we went on to Armazem do Sal, which Tracy had booked from England, on the strength of its inclusion in the Michelin guide.

We entered via a covered courtyard area, finding ourselves in a large square room with thick stone walls, wooden pillars and no windows – more like a cellar.

The small square tables were laden with heavy cloths and solid cutlery; the seats resembled grey armchairs.

Half the tables were empty, but cut-glass English accents penetrated the short distance from the table behind me. A guest elsewhere demanded to be moved because the waiter had knocked her coat to the floor.

We opted for the ‘Meat Lover’ menu, comprising bread, amuse bouche, starter, main course, dessert, coffee and petits fours. Unfortunately we had to wait too long for our starters and, when they finally arrived, our bread and amuse bouche had still to appear.

Still, it was a memorable experience to have on my birthday!

We walked back along the sea front, marvelling at the size of one of the cruise ships still in the harbour, called Aida Cosma. It can accommodate 5,200 passengers in 2,600 cabins.

We made it back to our room by 23:00, setting our alarms for 06:45 next morning.

Tuesday – the Levada do Caldeirao Verde

We were picked up in a minibus at 08:30. There were six of us: ourselves, an elderly German couple, a younger German man and Pablo, our guide and driver. Everyone was friendly and talkative, and everyone spoke fluent English.

Our walk began at the Parque Florestal das Queimadas, a few miles inland from the town of Santana on the north-east coast.

We would be completing the 6.5km along the levada to the waterfall known as Calderao Verde, then back the way we had come, so 13km in all.

The trail is officially classed as moderate in difficulty. It is fairly level, but the ground is often stony and uneven, and there are several dark, damp tunnels en route.

I was surprised at how many walkers we encountered on a Tuesday in February. There were several large groups of younger people, many of them anxious to overtake us.

Given the narrowness of the path it was difficult to accommodate them, not least because of the people heading in the opposite direction.

We soon acquired the rudiments of levada etiquette, including the technique of propping oneself over the levada itself, to allow others to pass. We saw one young American man testing the waterproofing of his boots by standing directly in the channel.

There were toilets at the start of the walk – temporary because the normal toilet block was being restored – but no facilities beyond.

By the time we reached the waterfall, with all that running water, I was in urgent need of relief.  Fortunately, on scaling the stony cliff opposite the waterfall, I discovered that many others had been that way before me.

Slipping back down, I braved the ironically raised eyebrow of a disapproving young man, but was otherwise comfortable and ready to construct my sandwiches while observing the waterfall, which descends from a height of around 100m.

Another young man braved the cold by swimming in the pond hollowed out by the waterfall. He kept his hat on though.

Returning the way we had come, we stopped for coffee and a chat outside the Park Florestal café before being ferried back to the hotel. Here we polished off the sparkling wine and the remains of our picnic.

Dinner was at Cris’s, a few hundred metres along the Promenade de Lido. It had been recommended by the couple from Birmingham we’d met earlier in the week.

We opted for their 50 Euro ‘special concept’ menu – a starter, main and dessert; plus bread, water, ‘amuse bouche’ and ‘pallet cleanser’; house red or white wine with every course; and coffee to finish.

The food was excellent. Moreover, the waiters were industrious toppers-up, and we were more than a little squiffy as a consequence.

Wednesday – Homeward

Our flight home was originally scheduled for 11.35, arriving at London Gatwick at 15:20, but this was subsequently pushed back to a 17:25 departure, arriving home at 21:10.

After breakfast and packing, we paid our bill and walked out once more to the Magic Tree Café, where we sat for a while watching the world walk by.

On the way there we had passed below a nasty-looking landslip, exposing several pipes and undermining a concrete parking area. This must be a fairly regular occurrence in Funchal.

We returned to the Lido Beach Club for ice cream, sitting on the ice cream furniture – the ultimate in kitsch – while someone climbed up on to the roof of the gelateria beside us.

Then we took up residence once more in the hotel gardens, before transferring to the lobby, where we watched a florist refreshing the large bouquet.

We were picked up at 15:00 and driven speedily to the Airport, where we joined a large queue snaking towards check-in.

Passing through to departures, we bought chicken and brie baguettes at vastly inflated prices, plus two final pasteis de nata to serve as a mid-flight snack.

Arriving on board, we discovered some Madeiran ladies in our seats.

We took off slightly early, arriving back at a damp Gatwick some 35 minutes earlier than expected.

We were lucky with the trains, although an angry ex-serviceman joined our service to beg from passengers. Prevented from doing so by the guard, he remonstrated, violently.

It felt an appropriate commentary on the sorry state of our country, in stark contrast with the laid-back warmth and friendliness of Madeira.

TD

April 2024