Madeira

Wednesday/Thursday.  Longest flight we've been on for a while.  We left home before 05:00, so were at the airport in plenty of time to drop the bag and head upstairs for a second breakfast of tea and a bacon baguette per man in the good old Café Rouge.  Incidentally, the two huge mirrors on the wall I was facing each sported a pretty glaring spelling error: an acute accent on BIÉRE and the acute accent on the second 'E' of DEJÉUNER.  Being in upper case, neither required an accent anyway.  Practical joke, maybe?

The flight was long and dull, with nothing to see but cloud for most of the way.  Still, it got us safely up, along and down again for a very reasonable price, so no complaints [Yet: Ed.  See later.].  The usual complement of scraiching bairns, however, and a fellow passenger in the row in front who, when she raised her arms to readjust her pony tail, stank the cabin out.  L'enfer, c'est les autres passagers (see also Monday next....). We were grateful, though, that we'd paid a little extra for emergency exit row seats: the extra leg room was most welcome.  It also helped that we had three seats for the two of us, since that allowed us to spread as well as stretch.  The other transport part of the story is that we have an elderly VW Golf rental car.  It goes, but reluctantly.  It's refined at cruising speed on a flat motorway, but the Madeiran gradients have one looking for third gear rather a lot, and it will barely pull second for the steep roads in the town.

First impressions of Madeira: dramatic craggy coastline on the approach, beautiful coastal views on the drive into town, lovely mild air and a wealth of colour from the bougainvilleas.  We have a hedge of bougainvillea at the edge of our little garden.  Unfortunately, it partly blocks our view of the sea, but we shall not, I hope, be sitting around in the flat a whole lot. 

Driving here is a whole new experience.  With tight bends, steep gradients and frequent tunnels, it is all too easy to find oneself bearing down fast on a lumbering truck.  Particularly when taking action to avoid one of the typically spirited drivers one finds hereabouts.  We drove into town this afternoon to get the makings of a basic meal.  The drive was, um, interesting.  Since I swotted up the route to the shops on Google Earth, a two-way street has become one-way, and that led to a lengthy detour.  We eventually found a different car park close by the shop we wanted.

Being a pallid Brit, I'm automatically addressed in English by butchers and supermarket cashiers.  A little irritating when one is doing one's best, but the friendliness one meets everywhere (so far) outweighs any offence.  When I asked the butcher for half a kilo of mince, the dollop he scooped up weighed 700g.  In Portuguese I said I wanted less because there were only two of us.  In perfect English he replied that he'd want all of that for himself.  We compromised on 600, and it cooked up very well given the very limited cooking facilities and equipment in the flat, leaving enough for a couple of portions for another day.  Interestingly, all the butchers were wearing chain-mail gloves on their left hands.  Too many fingers in the ragout lately, I guess. 

Anyway, after weeks of watching the rain, it's a luxury just to be able to sit with the flat doors wide open, listening to the sounds of the town, birdsong and the occasional ship's whistle from the docks.  There was a huge German floating gin palace in port when we arrived, and we watched it set off for its next port of call.  Minimum energy evening, I think.  We ought to sleep the sleep of the just tonight, and recharge for some sightseeing tomorrow.

Friday.  Cabo Girão and points west.  Fine morning, apart from the fact that I was awake too early.  That's what comes of crashing out soon after 8:00 pm, a mere 17 hours and some thousands of miles since waking.  We headed along to the impressive Cabo Girão, where we soaked in the amazing views along the coast in either direction, and down to the shore over 500 metres down.  A good experience, and the place was not too crowded.  We ventured on to the glass bridge from which you can look past your feet to the terraces and seashore, and found it less terrifying than expected.  We passed on the opportunity to be photographed with a blue macaw or a boa constrictor (or both).  Before Cabo G we'd to thread our way round Câmara dos Lobos, which like so much of the south coast is now vastly developed.  Same was true of Ribeira Brava, though the natural situation of both places gives them a beauty that a spot of building can't harm too much.  Interesting viewpoint at Fajã dos Padres, where for a mere €7.50 you can take the lift down to the shore where the restaurant will sell you a ham and cheese sandwich for a price not disclosed until you've already paid for the lift.  The reference to the fathers is to the Jesuits who introduced wine growing to Madeira, by the way.

From there (without benefit of lift) we ambled along the coast (and through many tunnels), stopping for a rather unamazing lunch in Calheta.  Remembering quite a good fish stew years ago in Cacilhas, I went for that.  There was just a bit too much of it, the bacalhau was full of bones and the tuna was very dry, for all it had been done in a stew.  Maybe just heaved in later, I suppose.  I wouldn't fly all the way to Madeira just to repeat the experience.

Vegetation: tree poinsettias, monsteras growing wild, bougainvillea, hibiscus, strelitzia in profusion, roses and dahlias in full bloom.  You wonder how they manage without a period of dormancy.  Very well, judging by the evidence of our eyes.  People are cropping their bananas.  We're wondering why so any bunches on trees were wrapped in blue plastic sacks, and I guess it is to identify those that are ready to be cut and taken to be sold.  We came past a banana-fettling warehouse on our travels, and saw a lot of blue-wrapped bunches waiting to go in, but didn't get the chance to stop and interrogate.  Our map is a small scale one, so we spent rather a lot of time getting lost and getting in consequence odd looks from locals as we sailed gaily towards dead ends.  But that did lead us at one point through a eucalyptus forest, where recent felling had unmistakably scented the air.  We took the quick way home (lots more tunnels, including two-way jobs in which overtaking is allowed.  Gulp!)

Back at the flat a couple of the things we reported have already been dealt with, so we'll have enough light to read later without having to go to bed, where the bedside lamps are better than the dismal lighting in the living room.  Just waiting for the place to hook up its wifi network to the server.  For the moment I have to go down to the poolside to get reception.

Saturday.  If dull, then museum.  The Madeira story exhibition is quite informative.  The island was first mentioned by Pliny the Elder, then not much was heard of it until the 14th and 15th centuries.  Henry the Navigator sent a couple of his worthies to colonise it after they had landed by chance on neighbouring Porto Santo and seen a gathering of cloud to the south west, surmising that it indicated an island.  (Well, actually they reported that they thought it was the spray from water falling off the edge of the earth, and Hank told them to get back out there and come back with a better answer.)

The importance of the island was not lost on generations of colonists.  Britain virtually occupied it in the early 19th century so as to prevent Napoleon grabbing it as a strategic base, rather as Portugal had nabbed it in the 16th century so as the weaken the Arab stranglehold on maritime trade.  The main economic value of the island, apart from its military significance, was cane sugar growing, hence the four sugar loaves on the island's coat of arms.  Wine came much later.  Reid, as in Reid's Palace Hotel, was (as one might guess) a Scot who had made money in what we now call the hospitality industry, but didn't survive to see his biggest hotel completed.

Brief exercise in pavement pounding.  The farmers' market is superb, though by the time we got there, there wasn't a lot of variety in the fish market hall - OK if you like scabbard fish.  We had lunch in a restaurant in the rather touristy old town, where the food was acceptable and the welcome warm, and indulgent of my unpractised Portuguese.  One of the unwelcome parts of visiting tourist traps is the endless touting by waiters.  We practically had to run the gauntlet of them as we went through the old town.  Our man - whom I quickly cast as Emcee in Cabaret - was one of the less threatening ones.

We had thought of taking the cable car up to the Monte after lunch, but by then the cloud had come down, so back to the flat for a cup of tea and a snooze.

Later: heavy rain showers, temperature falling.  Fortunately, the flat comes with satellite tv, so we wasted the evening peering at a couple of Bridget Jones films, complete with their coy Portuguese sub-titles.  The 14" tv is a bit of challenge, however.

Sunday.  Roads closed.  We set off this morning intending to get above the clouds at the Pico do Arieiro, which is at over 1800 metres.  We got a certain distance before a police road block sent us off down a side road.  On the way up, I'd noticed what looked like snow on the hillside.  In Madeira?  Surely shome mishtake.  Well, of course it wasn't snow, but it certainly was hail, and evidently enough of it to make the roads dangerous higher up.  The strong winds we'd had in Funchal the night before must have been quite something up in the mountains.  Our diversion route was well littered with eucalyptus bark, twigs and eventually trunks: we'd to wait a while at one point till the road was cleared.  I chatted for a while with a woman who was being chauffeured round the island with her husband in a Benz S Class.  Regular Madeira visitors, they have never known conditions Iike it. 

We eventually ambled along to the easternmost point of the island - or as close to it as we could get by road.  I was not tempted to hike to the point: the wind was so strong we could barely stand up.  Amazing scenery, particularly on the north side, which is where the weather is coming from at the moment.  We could just discern the island of Porto Santo on the horizon

We returned with a pause at the airport for a snack lunch in the rather spartan cafeteria, where I got to speak a little Portuguese: the chap behind the counter appeared to have spent longer in the gym than in his English lessons.  The toasted sandwiches were good, but the chips were cold, so went back: our man was suitably apologetic (in English).  In the torrential rain as we returned to Funchal, I briefly lost control of the car when the front wheels aquaplaned on a right hand bend.  Nasty moment, but fortunately there was nothing in the lane to the left when we inadvertently went into it.

We spent a lot of the day sheltering in the car or under awnings waiting for the rain or hail to ease.  This is not what we had  in mind when we booked the trip.  Oh well: you get what you get.

Monday.  Martyn is in a lot of familiar pain.  My cold is really flourishing.  It therefore follows as night follows day that, after some rainbows early on, the day is gorgeous.  After a morning in bed, His Grace is on a Transat in the garden topping up his vitamin D, while I skulk in the shade with a book and a nice glass of rosado from the Alentejo. 

Tuesday.  As we were both feeling a little better, we headed for the hills, hoping to get to one or two of the lower peaks.  Once again we found 'road closed' signs.  But then, it was so damn' cold at 1000 meters that we probably wouldn't have enjoyed the 1500 and 1600 metre peaks we were aiming for.  Instead we toured the north coast of the island from São Vicente to Faial, enjoying some really spectacular scenery.  The surfing would be good if there were any beaches, but the water's edge is largely stony.

We had lunch in a waterfront restaurant in Machico, both of us ordering the Misto de Peixe.  One helping would have been enough for both of us: note for future reference. 

We've had a few more visits from the handyman today.  The kitchen tap had taken to leaking all over the worktop, so I mentioned it to reception.  When we got back after lunch, there was a hole where the tap had once been.  Before long, the handyman was back fitting a new unit.  When I tried it after he left, it provided an enuretic dribble, so I called him back before he'd left the building.  Evidently, the water was off for an unconnected reason.  I tried the tap again when the water came back on, only to find that it provided only hot water, though the bathroom cold taps were fine.  Back on the horn to reception, and our man was quickly back to open the isolating cock. 

Yesterday, they finally hooked the wifi network up to the internet, so I no longer have to lurk by the office to get connected to the world.  Just as we're on the point of leaving, of course.

Wednesday.  Mild grizzle at the Hertz desk about the knackered windscreen wipers and the worn front tyres.  Bad Hertz experience altogether, but perhaps I’ll hold the comments until I’ve sollicited theirs.