“He’s not going to make it.” I nudged Mr Word Loft in the ribs as I referred to the pilot attempting to land our aeroplane, affected by the Trade Winds. We had been circling above Madeira for approximately an hour, and as the tarmac came into focus, the craft buffeted from side to side. I wasn’t too worried; nevertheless, I was elated we didn’t zoom back into the air again at the end of the runway. Passengers cheered and clapped, and our Madeiran holiday began.

Travelling along palm tree lined roads throughout the city, the minibus driver proudly provided us with information about his hometown. White-painted, red-roofed houses bejewelled with vibrant flowers glowed in the sun along the way.

Soon, we arrived at our hotel and were impressed by the comfortable, wood-and-marble interior. The Atlantic Ocean glinted like moonstones through the wide sliding glass doors of our bedroom. Gazing down from the spacious balcony, I was soothed by ancient olive trees swishing in lush gardens below. I couldn’t wait to see the flowerbeds up close. Half an hour later, an abundance of short and tall fronds of Bird of Paradise took my breath away with their citrus-yellow, blue and orange, exotic avian-shaped blooms.

The swimming pools looked inviting, and some swimmers braved the sea, accessed by steps from a short pier. Who knew, I might be tempted to take a dip in the waves by the end of the trip, but the infinity pool was more to my liking, and over the fortnight, it was my chosen daily bathing spot.

From our accommodation, the main town was to the right, along Estrada Monumental, and we ventured in that direction on night one. Lights twinkled on the hillside as darkness settled, and a cloud misted around the top of the evergreen mountain range above the buildings. We decided a bus trip would be the best way to see more of Funchal in less time, further into our stay.

The next morning after breakfast, we sauntered in the opposite direction. It was just as charming, but in a different way. Past souvenir shops, bars, and cafés was a local landmark: the Lido. The turquoise pools were busy, and the exhilarated voices of holidaymakers met us as we gazed from the sherbet chequered promenade above. But we couldn’t dally; the rocky coastline stretched alluringly before us. Reached from boardwalks amid greenery, interspersed with statues and benches. There was even a dog park. A pity there weren’t any enjoying the facilities, as their antics would have been amusing, jumping through the hoops, over low fences and around the agility weave poles.

We stopped at a quiet, friendly parade of shops, their shelves brimming with goods fashioned from cork. Handbags, bookmarks, wallets, purses, and many more designs, at reasonable prices.

Back on the coastal thoroughfare, overlooking an ebony sandy beach and bathing terraces sculpted in volcanic rock, people soaked up the rays. It was humid, so we stopped at a petite café; my thirst quenched with zesty, freshly squeezed orange juice over ice, and Mr Word Loft sampled Coral, the local beer. Fully refreshed and back in exploring mode, we noticed a sign. Jardim Panorâmico, the garden is landscaped on layers and connects Promenade do Lido with Estrada Monumental. Ideal for a quick mooch before turning back. The superb views and dazzling indigenous plants were worth every footstep to the summit.

More about Madeira in my next blog post.

Best wishes,
Sue. X