Madeira

We had two days chugging through the sea a long way off the coast of Africa. There was a distinct feeling that I was leaving all the exotic stuff behind. We only had two stops ahead and they were both easily accessible from home and distinctly European. They did not have quite the same cache as Brazil or the Falklands. But I was determined to squeeze every last drop out of the experience.

I was making the most of the sun. It was cooler and had lost that tropical rawness but there were still plenty of UV rays to transform into Vitamin D. Sunlight is very bad for the skin but it does have a way of lifting the spirit. To get up, thrown on a T-shirt and shorts and step out into the warmth is a pleasant experience. In another week I would be disembarking into the winter chill of England. I was hoping for a miracle. Perhaps March would have an unprecedented tropical heatwave. It was a forlorn hope. I knew that we were more likely to be suffering cold and drizzle for the next couple of months. There could even be snow!

I sat around on deck reading or writing. I took my customary position at the bows, camera in hand, watching for a few last whales or dolphins. Not one showed their face. It seemed to me that the only time dolphins showed up was when I wasn’t around. They then delighted in bouncing out of the water, spinning around and grinning, just to mock me – the bastards.

Madeira loomed out of the sea bathed in sun with bright blue skies. I quite like Madeira but I prefer a shiraz. At least we were lucky with the weather. We were being chased by a big storm and reputedly Madeira has suffered fourteen days of miserable rain. We were hitting a magic window of opportunity.

Funchal looked good. The town nestled under snow-capped mountains. To have snow on those mountains was unusual. It added a bit to it.

They chose nice places to build ports. I suppose there is a reason for that. All these ports, cosied up in bays under the protection of a circle of mountains, had been established there for a reason. It wasn’t because they thought it might look attractive to pasty tourists. Those ports were set up in the days of those big wooden sailing boats. The bays were selected merely because they afforded a place to berth that was protected from the elements.

Funchal was one of those. It was a good place for Portuguese ships to pop into on their way to more exotic regions. Madeira was a way off from Portugal but was part of Portugal. It was renowned for four things – the brilliant temperature that endured all year through, the picturesque cliffs, the cable car that took you up into the mountains and to the Botanical Gardens, and this weird toboggan ride down the mountain in wicker-basket toboggans. That sounded fun.

Madeira was another of those volcanic islands. You could see that from the rocks and soil. It had that reddish brown volcanic colour. I suppose that all land is really the result of volcanoes or at least tectonic uplifts. It certainly made for interesting landscape and fertile gardens.

We headed off to investigate.

There was a nice promenade with Palm trees and lots of statues and artwork. There was one of Christiano Ronaldo! The sun was very pleasant!

We arrived at the cable car and headed up into the rarified atmosphere of the mountains. It was a great ride up with views over the city, cliffs and tropical plants. It was awash with colour. There was a great café at the top with a view over the bay and city below. There were no coconuts to drink but they did a smashing frozen yoghurt with nuts and honey.

Refreshed with set off to discover the delights of Monte. Up on the hill was a beautiful little chapel with typical Portuguese tilework and painted ceilings.

Further along we ran into the toboggan rides. A gang of guys all with a studied Portuguese swagger, wearing white shirts and trousers topped off with boater hats, were carelessly unloading the wicker toboggans off a lorry, standing around posing and smoking before launching tourists off down the street. I watched. We’d been considering having a go but on inspection it looked pretty tame and we decided against. It was an interesting tradition and we ought to support it. But it looked a bit naff. I have an aversion to touristy things.

Up the steps was the cathedral. At least that’s what I suspected it was. I don’t know the difference between a big church and a cathedral. If ‘Our Mother of Monte’ wasn’t a cathedral it ought to be. It was beautiful. If the blue tile-work and painted ceilings of the chapel were delightful the quality of the art in that cathedral was in another dimension. Being an antitheist I often despair at the rituals and superstition of religions but even I have to admit that some of the greatest creative minds have poured their talents into religious buildings around the world. Or is it merely that the churches, mosques and temples had the power and money to employ the best?

Having filled our spirits with beauty we headed back down to do a hop-on hop-off around the city and up into the mountains. It was a pretty place.

In the afternoon we wandered up into the old town, had a look round the fort and through the narrow streets. All of the doors had been painted with different artwork that reflected the personality of the owners. They were extremely colourful and amusing. The whole area was a maze of restaurants all touting delicious foods with enticing smells leaking out into the alleyways. There were art and craft shops and an atmosphere of a bohemian culture. The sort of place I would have liked to have dallied in and investigated more.

We had a beer and sat around and watched life go by then we bought a couple of bottles of Madeira and headed off.

In the town square there was another fort. The whole world is covered in them. Human beings are a war-like species. We love violence and cruelty and seem to operate on the philosophy that instead of growing and making goods it is far easier to wait until somebody else has done all the hard work and then wade in and take it off them. At the same time you can have fun chopping people to bits, raping all the women and burning everything down.

We have a long despicable history behind us. I wonder what lies ahead?

We settled ourselves in a suitable café lavishly decorated with characteristic blue Portuguese tilework depicting Madeira in the past when it was a small town in the midst of tropical paradise and a few sailing boats in the bay – a bit different to the sprawling city that now exists and the stream of cruise-liners that were constantly passing through. I found myself thinking that I would have loved it even more back in those times – before the world was flooded with the hordes of humanity. Those tiles depicted an ideal looking scene. I also noticed that someone had smashed all the faces in one of the scenes. Was that some demented, intolerant Muslim who had desecrated the faces in the name of Islam?

We ordered a beer and listened to the excellent guitarist who was entertaining us. The temperature was still nice and warm. The beer was cool. The guitarist was brilliant. I discovered that I had enjoyed Madeira much more than I had anticipated. It was a place I wouldn’t mind coming back to for a longer visit. It had a nice feel to it.

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