Madeira

From my seat in the back of the car I had watched the walls of rock and plants for twenty minutes as we climbed up into the hills. Upon rounding the corner a great vista swung into view and I actually, involuntarily said “wow”. We could see down three thousand feet into the great valley below. Right beside us the hill side was more like a cliff, it fell so steeply that you could look almost straight down to the valley floor. And it was so verdant, so rich, so fertile every inch was covered in plants, some on hundreds of narrow terraces for cultivation, others just growing wild on any available bit of space. Grape vines grew on ground so steeply sloping harvesting them must have involved abseiling.
The north coast of Madeira is so very dramatic. It actually takes your breath away, I don’t mean figuratively I mean you literally draw catch yourself when you round a corner and the ground falls away around you. It is almost all on a slope, there are flat bits in the form of terracing and a very small part of the valley floor. I don’t think any part of Madeira is naturally flat. Houses are dug into the hillside, and supported on stilts on their downhill side. Roads wind in tight hairpins or are built laboriously through and over the valleys on an interminable series of tunnels and bridges. Cultivation is on the slope too, there are no tractors here, lots of short round faced locals work laboriously to maintain the terraces and harvest their crops growing a thousand feet above them.
But what crops they are, this north coast is the most fertile land I have ever seen, every single inch of land is covered in greenery. Sugar cane vies for space with bananas, potatoes and marrows fight for the soil, vines cover large sections, copses of fruit trees stand stout over lower growing crops. Roadside verges and tiny gardens yield crops, nothing grows here for beauty it is all edible, or drinkable. Driving through it is a welcome antidote to the last two months of dry, dusty mainland. Michael was working hard though, while we watched this rich promised land coast by he was encouraging the car up the hills, forcing it round the hairpin bends and easing it down the slopes again on the other side of the valleys.
Over the course of our first full day on Madeira we travelled halfway along the north coast. Stopping at small towns and cafés to gaze at the views and replenish Michael with ice creams and cups of tea. In a rock pool a hammer head shark sat, dead and decomposing it’s strange shape reminding me of the alien-ness of the sea. At one point towards the end of that drive the road narrowed to one lane and lead through the rock in a rough, dark old tunnel.
Later we found the Madeira Volcano centre with lava tubes left from the island’s formation. Accompanying the natural exhibit was a small centre with information about volcanoes. I don’t think I took any hallucinogenic drugs before entering which suggests that the ten minute 3D film of the inside of the earth core, mantle and crust was actually real. But it was too surreal to really be believed.

The next day we drove into Funchal, the main town of the island. It was not a particularly exciting place, neither beautiful nor ugly. We rode a cable car to the top of the hill and wandered around a botanic garden filled with an eclectic mix of Japanese, African and Portuguese art. It also housed the tallest vase in the world – certified by the 1992 guiness book of records, I do not know if this has now been superseded by an even taller vase.

After moving the boat to a quieter marina we hired a car again and drove the plateaux in the middle of the island. It is high and still, it reminded me of Scottish hills, with mist and bracken. We walked along a levada – a small canal built to move water along the contours of the hills from the wet north side to the relatively dry south side of the island. I stopped briefly in a little sheltered gully by the old man made stream and ate brambles while the others walked on ahead. After our walk, and a rejuvenating pizza we had tea and scones at the Savoy with some friends of George Michael. Just to show we don’t always slum it.

Earlier today I climbed the hill to a large grey building on the hill top. It stands over the small village of Colheta like a modernist spaceship. It is not signposted anywhere. It houses the best collection of surrealistic art I have ever seen in one place. It is filled with Dali and Magritte and Miro, it was designed by Mies Van Der Rohe. It was the single most rewarding hour I have spent here, fantastic and, well, surreal. It sits over a little village, beside a school in a remote Atlantic Island. I love Madeira.

It is half past four now, once the rain clears and the wind looks good we are going to head out towards La Palma in the Canary Islands. Two more days sailing on big clear oceans then we’ll wake up in a whole new place, with new things to see, new words to speak and new people to meet. It’s a good life really.

B