Island escape
Known for its appeal to retirees and those seeking a slower pace of life, the Portuguese island of Madeira is shaking off its staid and sleepy image, finds Laura Millar
Exploring Madeira’s dramatic countryside
Iam a woman on the edge literally. I’m sitting in something which resembles an oversized breadbasket, poised at the top of what looks like the Tarmac version of the Cresta Run. Ahead of me lies 2km of steep, downhill, twisting road, polished to an obsidian shine in places, testament to the decades over which the activity I’m about to experience has taken place.
I’m in the hilltop district of Monte, which looms 1,840ft above Funchal, the capital of Madeira.
Sitting 600 miles south of the western coast of mainland Portugal, and directly to the west of Africa, this lush little island was first claimed by Portuguese sailors in the 15th century and swiftly colonised. By the 19th century, it had become fashionable for wealthy residents to construct summer homes up here, away from the heat of the city (as, despite its proximity to the coast, it can get humid and sticky). Horse drawn carts ferried people up the hill; the only problem was that the roads were so precipitous, getting back down again was a trickier issue. Hence the giant breadbaskets.
The concept of using large, woven wicker “sleighs”, or toboggans, came about around 1850. Attached to two flat planks of wood, or runners, the idea was that passengers sat inside. However, instead of being attached to an animal, as the carriage would simply pull the beast down with the force of gravity, it was steered by humans. Two men, known as carreiros, would guide the toboggan from behind with ropes, acting as steering, and – crucially – as brakes.
Dressed all in white, with straw boaters, they looked not unlike Venetian gondoliers. The most important part of their uniform,
Dressed all in white, with straw boaters, they looked not unlike gondoliers
however, was the thick soled shoes they wore to act as resistance between the road and the toboggan. And the tradition continues to this day – now, of course, mainly for tourists (the invention of the car, and braking systems, has meant that locals don’t need to use them) but it’s a brilliant piece of ingenuity, and I’m about to find out how it actually works.
The heavy toboggan strains at the ropes, as my two friendly carreiros, Tomas and Filipe, get ready to launch.
The angle of the road seems impossible; I suddenly know how those hapless celebrities who face down the vertiginous ramp in The
Jump must feel – how are we not just going to go plummeting recklessly to the bottom? But these guys know exactly what they’re doing. They have to – they’re only allowed to do this job if the older generations of their family have done it too.
With a sickening lurch, we’re off and it’s utterly terrifying. I’m told they can reach speeds of nearly 35mph, and as the wind whips past us, the carreiros seem to accelerate, pushing off against the road with their feet, swinging the toboggan from side to side – eliciting rather unladylike screams from its occupant – and generally bombing down the track as if they were going for gold in the Winter Olympics.
Once I relax, it becomes exhilarating; and even though we only go as far as the suburb of Livramento, and not all the way back to Funchal, it’s been a wild ride, and I have the utmost respect for the men
who have done it for decades.
At the disembarking point, I spot coaches and cars filled with more carreiros, waiting to take them back up to the top. While I drifted up here on the city’s cable car, which was installed in 2000, passing above the sinuous, curving terraces cut into the side of the hill for growing the grapes for Madeira’s famous wine, lush banana trees, eucalyptus plants and terracotta rooftops, back in the old days, they’d have to sling their toboggans onto their backs, and make the hard return slog up to Monte on foot.
As a first impression, it’s not exactly how I pictured Madeira. My granny came here on holiday, drawn, like many, to its year-round warmth – making it perfect for a festive visit – and it attracts silver-haired hikers, those in search of a slower pace of life, and nature lovers. But these days it’s hoping to shake off its slightly staid reputation and appeal to a broader range of visitors, particularly foodies, and those who want to take part in more adventurous pursuits, like diving, paragliding, or canyoning.
The day after my tobogganing experience, I sign up for a jeep safari with Mountain Expeditions (www. mex.pt), a suitably high-octane way to see more of the island, as we’ll be going off-road, taking old farmers’ and rangers’ routes through Madeira’s ancient, UNESCO heritage forest.
My guide, Joao Bento, left his job selling sports equipment in Porto in 2006 and came over to find a better work-life balance. Now he spends every day in the outdoors, with a wealth of knowledge about the island’s history and its diverse fauna and flora – which has earned Madeira its nickname of the Garden of the Atlantic – which he’s only too keen to share.
As we inch up cork-screwing roads with dizzying gradients, many with sheer drops on at least one side, I try to concentrate on what he’s saying about the Jurassic-era laurel trees we pass through, rather than the prospect of tumbling down into the gulfs and chasms made by the many hills and mountains which form Madeira’s intricate topography. I’ve never seen so many different shades of green; the smell of pine and eucalyptus mingle in the clean, clear air.
Joao explains the word “madeira” actually means wood; between the 15th and 19th centuries, the dense forest earned money as its bounty was exported throughout Europe for construction. Today the forests are filled with acacia, sweet chestnut, fruit trees and more.
We drive to the second-highest point on the island, Pico do Arieiro, which, at 1,818m, offers great views of the craggy mountain scenery around it. Throngs of hikers are setting off on well-marked trails, many towards some of the island’s 1,500 miles of levadas, the man-made water channels which help irrigate the volcanic soil.
Then it’s back down through narrow forest trails, and as we bump along various bone-jarring tracks, Joao jokes that it’s like a free massage.
Later, we stop off at the Skywalk of the Miradouro Cabo Girao, a viewing platform with a giddying glass floor, which extends over a cliff – at 580m, it’s apparently the highest in Europe. I inch over it gingerly, looking down onto craggy, black rocks, the Atlantic sea churning and roiling at their base. Another hair-raising, and breathtaking, experience.
When I get back to my hotel, the elegant, pink, 125-year old Belmond Reid’s Palace, which looms high over the bay of Funchal, and which has hosted distinguished guests from Winston Churchill to European royalty, I need something to steady my nerves. Out on the black and white floor-tiled terrace, lined with palm trees and looking like the setting for an Agatha Christie novel, I order a Funchal tonic. The globe-like glass contains a large serving of gin mixed with fresh local fennel juice (indeed, Funchal means ‘fennel’), adorned with a sprig of dill. It’s enjoyable, refreshing and surprising; much like Madeira itself. Jet2 flies direct from Edinburgh or Glasgow to Funchal; for prices and to book, visit www.jet2.com. Double rooms at Belmond Reid’s Palace (0845 077 2222, www. belmond.com) start from €415 (£370)
per night including breakfast. For more information on Madeira, visit www.madeiraallyear.com