Modern air travel may be grueling and crazy-making, but consider this: I woke up yesterday on an island 300 miles off the coast of Africa and today I surfed to consciousness in my own bed.

Jet lag was no match for sheer exhaustion, so I slept through the night and am writing again from my morning spot, a view not of Funchal harbor but of our own backyard. I see no profusion of bougainvillea or jacaranda. Instead, just the earliest blush of spring: daffodils budding and weeds coming to life.

But my mind is still in Madeira, with its dramatic scenery, its bluffs and beauty. As I plunge back into normal routines, I’ll try to hang onto that top-of-the-mountain feeling travel can give.