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The Sé

The Sé

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We had been in Funchal for a full week before I darkened the door of its main attraction, the cathedral, or Sé. I attended mass there, which featured one only brief reading in English, the rest in Portuguese. But that didn’t matter. I sat (or knelt or stood) and let the experience wash over me: the setting, the music, the piety.

The cathedral was built in the 16th century, and features a carved wooden ceiling made of Madeirian cedar and a gleaming gold altar. The service was beautifully accompanied by a small choir and orchestra in the loft. The worshippers beside me seemed as awed by the place as I was.

At one time, this cathedral oversaw the largest diocese in the world, because it encompassed all of Portugal’s territories in Africa, Asia, North America, South America. A mighty Sé, indeed.

The Scene

The Scene

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Travel is not just those top-of-the-mountain moments; it’s also all the moments in between. Checking a train schedule. Staring at a map. Waiting for the bus. 

I did a bit of bus-waiting yesterday, and while I waited, I looked around. It was a bright, busy morning. A group fitness class was huffing and puffing down by the shore. A taxi-driver was trying to poach bus customers. There was a flea market bustling behind us. 

It was a scene, so I just tried to take it in, let it seep into my consciousness so that on some gray and rainy morning I can pull it out and enjoy it all over again. 

There are scenes happening everywhere — but I’m often busy to notice them. 

(Enjoying the scene with a cup of chai latte.)

Mountainous Madeira

Mountainous Madeira

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Madeira is a mountainous island. This makes for vistas aplenty, some of them vertiginous. A walk we took the other day was along a cliff edge. 

It wasn’t right on the edge, and the path was generous, but it took most of my concentration to focus on the path ahead and not look too far out or down. The few times I did, though, I was rewarded with glimpses of blue sky, white waves and lush greenery.

Soon the trail turned inland, and we followed a steep old road down to the shore. The knees were a bit wobbly at the end, both from the height and the effort. But they made it.

To Live on a Levada

To Live on a Levada

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It’s the end of our first week in Madeira. We arrived here late morning last Friday. Since then we have hiked levada paths, toured northern villages, sampled local food and drink, and best of all, made new friends. 

This trip is a different kind of adventure, staying put rather than moving around, micro not macro. I’ll admit, it’s an adjustment for me. But it’s a delightful adjustment.

As we walk the paths, we pass so close to homes that we can practically smell the coffee being brewed. And we can certainly glimpse the lush gardens being tended and hear the roosters crowing.

What would it be like to live on a levada? To have a house so much a part of its surroundings? I would have to be a different kind of person to find out. 

My Third Leg

My Third Leg

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To travel means meeting people, as well as places. One of the people we’ve met in Madeira is an 81-year-old dynamo with orangey-red hair, bright blue eyes and a contagious smile. 

She brings people together, plans levada walks and other excursions. When there’s a steep descent, she leads the group. As I was mincing my way down a trail of rain-slicked stones, she offered me her walking stick. “Take it,” she said. “It’s like a third leg.”

I found a stick in the forest so she could keep her own, but she got me thinking about the idea of a third leg. What would I do if I had one? Walk faster? Move more sure-footedly, with a tripod-like balance? 

I like the idea of a spare or two, but it’s greedy to ask for more limbs when the ones I have are working fine.  If I did have a third leg, though, I hope I would offer it to a friend. When I did, I would see in my mind’s eye the cheerful, lined face of the woman who offered me hers. 

(My third leg, above.)

Valley of the Nuns

Valley of the Nuns

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Imagine a valley so isolated that until the last 50 years or so, people who were born there seldom left the place. That’s Curral des Freiras, Valley of the Nuns. 

Located in the center of Madeira, the valley was once home to an order of sisters who hid here to escape pirates, or so legend has it. The location does make an excellent hiding place, perhaps a little too excellent.

We saw it on a cool morning, with clouds hovering over the mountain tops. We didn’t hike down (though we did a similar downhill later in the day), but you can do it if you have the time and the knees.

I’m just as glad I saw it from the peaks, the lack of easy entry or exit giving the place an ethereal quality, like it isn’t quite there at all. 

There and Back

There and Back

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The village of Câmara de Lobos is perched near one of the world’s tallest cliffs, but it’s stunning even when seen from a less-imposing viewpoint. We approached it on foot, walking across a bridge, past acres of banana trees. 

When Winston Churchill visited Madeira, he set up up his easel to capture the bustling harbor we just saw today. A hotel nearby has memorialized his visits with a sculpture of the prime minister. You can sit next to him if you like.  

But the best part of Câmara de Lobos was walking home from it, up into the hills to Levada dos Piornias, taking the high road back to Funchal. It was a balancing act, as the only path was along the edge of the levada itself. But it got us home. 

Toasting the Levadas

Toasting the Levadas

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Madeira is made for walking, and we took a levada walk on our first full day on the island, joining a group of Scandinavians who gather every Saturday to stroll the paths alongside the irrigation canals (levadas) for which Madeira is known. 

The levadas were built to pipe water from one end of the island to another, but the trails that run beside them have become an attraction in and of themselves. Saturday’s hike took us to the village of Camacha, approximately 2,300 feet above sea level. Luckily, most of the altitude gain was accomplished by a swashbuckling bus driver switch-backing up a narrow highway into the hills. We only walked the last few hundred feet. 

Once on the levada trail, we pretty much had the level path to ourselves. We ambled and chatted, took a break to swig some water, then walked some more. 

We ended the hike at a Camacha watering hole that serves the local specialty, poncha, a tangy-sweet drink made of sugar-cane rum, honey, and fruit juice. The leader of our merry band suggested that we sing Swedish drinking songs before every skål! We sang many songs. It was that kind of day. 

Profusion

Profusion

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The climate is mild, the sea breezes are gentle and the plants are flourishing here on Madeira. 

Calla lilies grow wild. Geraniums run riot. Birds of paradise add color and whimsy. 

To walk along a path or sidewalk here is to feast the eyes on bright pinks and purples, to revel in profusion.

Monochromatic Morning

Monochromatic Morning

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The jet-lagged traveler thinks there’s no way she could sleep for 12 hours and miss the beginning of a scheduled hike. But the jet-legged traveler just slept 10 quite handily, so who knows what she could do. 

Now she’s fully awake and looking at a sky-scape and city-scape of such generosity and grandeur that she doesn’t quite know how to bring it to life on the electronic page. 

The sun is just peeking from behind a small clutch of clouds that are producing some rain across the bay, and a small ferry is moving quickly toward a small island. To my left is the old town, still in slumbering shadow. Directly ahead … the Atlantic Ocean, which seems to be everywhere you look. This is, after all, an island. And one we’ll be exploring soon. 

(It looks monochromatic but that’s only because I was snapping a shot directly into the sun.)