We’ve been home now, from our late autumn cruise, for just
over a month, and I suddenly realised that I hadn’t written anything about our
visit to Madeira – officially the third port of call on our two-week voyage.
However, as things turned out, with our aborted attempt to dock at Praia de
Vitoria, Madeira was actually the second location we visited. Our ship docked
at Funchal, the lovely and rather charming capital of Madeira, where we had an
overnight stop at Funchal. This gave us two full days in which to explore this
charming town along with the surrounding area.
As I’ve probably mentioned before, I’d visited Funchal before, again
arriving by ship, although that time it was a school “educational cruise” in a
converted, former troop ship. As almost 50 years had passed since that visit,
my memories of Madeira are rather limited. Having said that, I’m pretty certain
that my school mates and I just proceeded down the gangway and walked into
Funchal, rather than being bussed into town, as Eileen, me and other passengers
were. The drive itself took around 10 minutes, if that’s anything to go by, but
after half a century, who really knows.
The coach dropped us off at a bus station on the seafront,
where there were landscaped gardens, shaded with palm trees. We decided to
explore the immediate vicinity before finding a suitable place for lunch.
Eileen’s niece, and her husband had visited the island recently and had strongly
recommended a restaurant situated further along the seafront. She hadn’t
indicated how far along, but after reviewing the location on Google Maps, we
realized it was a good 45–50-minute walk. This was rather too far Mrs PBT’s,
and further too than I’d care to walk, just for a bite to eat. Fortunately, we
discovered several excellent alternatives in the vicinity.
Our first stop was a small café with outdoor shaded seating,
beneath a canopy. We dropped in, ordered a coffee each, as well as a delicious
Portuguese custard tart. Sitting there gave us time to figure out where to eat
later. We then wandered down one of the side streets that run parallel to the
shoreline—narrow, bustling, and full of charm.
There were plenty of local cafés
and bars opening onto the street, all very inviting and tempting, although one
particularly proprietor was rather too vocal and persistent for my liking, in
his attempts to encourage visitors to try his rooftop bar. It may well have afforded
views out over the seafront, but he didn’t get our custom, no matter how good
his establishment might have been.
We moved on and looked elsewhere, and after taking a
shortcut, back towards the sea front, we found the terminus of the city’s
famous cable car. For €20, you can ride right to the top of the hills (mountains)
behind the city, and enjoy uninterrupted views stretching right across Funchal,
and out to the sea beyond. Having watched the film “Where Eagles Dare”, I’ve
never been that keen on cable cars. Mrs PBT’s felt the same, so we decided to
skip that activity, and walked a little further in the direction of the ship.
There we noticed a contemporary and laid-back place called “Loft”, with a few tables overlooking
the grassy area we’d just passed through.
Wanting something light for our lunch, we checked out their
menu, which included some nice bruschetta’s, and decided to give the place a
try. We found a table, in the shade, and ordered some drinks. A half litre of
Coral White – the local lager, for me and whatever Eileen was having – mineral
water I expect. Our food arrived, looking nicely presented, and tasting as good
as it looked. It was just the right size for lunch, as without wishing to sound
too self-righteous, we were trying to be mindful about what we ate, despite
being on holiday.
Afterwards, whilst Mrs PBT’s got stuck into her obligatory
coffee, I decided to try the Coral Stout, but somehow, I ended up with another White
beer. Something had obviously been lost in translation, but no matter. On our way
back to the coach terminal, we found the inevitable souvenir shop and picked up
a few goodies, including a couple of the ever-popular fridge magnets. No pineapples
though, just to disappoint those who get excited about such things! Afterward,
we took the bus back to the cruise terminal and returned to the ship.
The following morning, at Mrs PBT’s suggestion, I went into Funchal
on my own. If anything, the day was hotter than the previous one, and I was
left wishing I’d brought my water bottle with me – an “elementary school boy
error”, as one of my colleagues would say. But I hadn’t, regardless of my
colleague’s advice, so after staying in the shade as much as possible, I found
a nice little corner café, close to Funchal’s rather modest looking cathedral.
I sat outside, in the shade, enjoying a coffee plus a bottle of ice-cold water,
before contemplating my next move.
It had been quite a climb up to the cathedral, although
given that Funchal is constructed on a hill, this wasn’t surprising. I’d ended
up on the other side of the main thoroughfare that bisects the town, so I
headed in a roughly easterly direction, and ended up close to where Eileen and
I had been the day before.
Not all the shops were open, as it was a religious
holiday, but the restaurants, bars and souvenir outlets were certainly trading,
as were the ice-cream sellers, so hiding behind the pretext that a cone, or
small tub would cool me down, I ordered a generous scoop. It was one of those places
that leave you spoiled for choice, but whilst tempted by mango, I opted for the
pineapple ice cream – what is it about that fruit that is so tempting?
After crossing the busy highway that runs down from the
upper parts of Funchal, towards the seafront, I realised I was back in the maze
of narrow back streets where we had walked the previous day. I was tempted by a
small, local fish-restaurant, where patrons could sit outside, and enjoy a meal
whilst watching the world go by. With menus in English, and photos to guide one,
I opted for a freshly grilled sea-bass – highly recommended according to the friendly
waiter. Served with some freshly cooked, boiled potatoes and garnished with parsley
and butter, it was the perfect lunchtime meal. A glass of Coral Stout – the beer I’d missed out on the day before, went down
well with my meal, as well as being another tick on Untappd.
I went inside to make use of the “facilities” and also to
pay the bill. As I was counting out the cash, the waiter, and the chef, offered
me a glass of “Poncha”, a traditional alcoholic beverage, made with sugar cane rum,
honey and lemon juice that is popular in Madeira. The rum was
over-proof, so this shot, which was on the house, had quite a kick to it. A nice place, though with good food, nice surroundings
and friendly people, what more could one want?
With the afternoon drawing to a close, I returned to the bus terminal
and took the bus back to the ship, aiming of course be back on board with ample
time before the scheduled departure. I’m sure many of you will have seen those YouTube clips of late returning passengers running along the pier, waving their
arms in a vain attempt to signal the ship to halt. This of course is a futile
gesture, as once the vessel has prepared to depart, and cast off its lines it
cannot return to the quayside, unless there is a dire emergency. Not allowing
sufficient time to be back on board, doesn’t constitute such a situation.
Later that evening Mrs PBT’s and I sat out on our cabin
balcony, watching Queen Victoria slide away from the quayside, before heading
out to sea. With the lights of Funchal twinkling away in the background, the
ship followed the coastline of Madeira for a while, until we reached a point
where the island’s main airport came into view. The latter is quite a
construction, on an island with very little in the way of flat land. The airport’s
designers’ solved this issue by supporting the runway on concrete pillars, which
rise above the hill side and an adjacent motorway. With the lights, and later sounds
of an approaching aircraft, I retrieved my binoculars from the cabin and watched
as the plane made a text-book landing.
According to Eileen’s niece, it’s quite a
scary descent and landing, so maybe arriving and departing by ship, is the way
to go. It’s how both my visits to Madeira were achieved, although I’m fairly certain that airport hadn’t been conceived, let alone built back in 1971, when I
first came to this charming and captivating Atlantic island.
