A Word About Madeira

My first indication that I wouldn’t like my next accommodation is when I contacted the host and was told it would be an 80-euro taxi ride to get to his place.  No more public transport or taxi rides for less than 20 euros.  I have to admit that my apartment in Lisbon had spoiled me.  The location couldn’t be beat and I had full amenities.  It also cost for one week what I’d planned to spend for an entire month of lodging, which is why I couldn’t rent it for much longer.

I woke way too early on travel day, said a wistful goodbye to my Lisbon digs, and headed for the taxi stand.  After about a 10-minute wait, the cab showed up and swiftly got me to the airport.  Again, I was too early and had to wait to check my bags.  Then more waiting for the gate number to be assigned.  After a quick meal, there was still more waiting for EasyJet to board.  More waiting after that to get everyone on the plane and why the hell is this taking so long?  After all that standing with my heavy bags, I was thrilled to have a window seat and a row of three to myself on the plane.  I promptly fell asleep for most of the 1 ½ hour flight.

Then the real fun began.  The only address I had for the bed and breakfast was incomprehensible to the first cabbie I met.  He threw up his hands, saying the address was not enough to navigate on, and quickly dropped me for another client.  I sent the host a message and waited for a response (I gotta say, cell phones do come in handy sometimes).  When I got something that looked a little more precise, I approached a friendly looking woman and asked if she could take me there.  She nodded and we were on our way.

I already knew that Portuguese drivers were nuts, but this lady surpassed them all.  I swear she was trying out for the Indy 5000 (forget the Indy 500 – she’d already swooped way past them).  My brother used to drive just as fast, so it didn’t bother me too much.  Until she passed two cars at 80 miles an hour while driving through a tunnel …

This cabbie was far more talkative than any other driver I’d had so far.  As we raced through tunnels and skidded around circles, she’d point out the farms and what they grew.  There are banana trees all over the island as well as plots of potatoes and lettuces.  She raved about Madeira strawberries, how they were better and sweeter than Spanish varieties which just made me want some.  She noted that the weather had been weird lately.  Since Monday (it was Thursday at the time) a fog had been rolling in from the water in strange places.  We literally went into a tunnel under clear skies and when we came out, nothing beyond the road was visible.  It was truly bizarre.

I marveled at all the rows of red-roofed houses visible from the highway.  And we just kept passing by all of them.  We passed by Funchal, the capital city, by Ponta do Sol, the digital nomad village that cropped up a few years ago.  The further we went, the sparser the houses became until we finally started to see signs for Ponta do Pargo, where my hotel was located.  At least that’s what we thought.  We kept looking for the place among the few seemingly private properties to no avail.  I was about to call the host when my driver remembered that she had once brought a fare to this area and she knew where it was.  Turns out she was right and we turned into a restaurant/bed and breakfast.

I was both relieved and dismayed at the place.  While peaceful and quite lovely, it is in the middle of nowhere.  There are no attractions, no beach access, no stores, or any sign of life in general.  My room, while clean with a gorgeous view of the ocean, is a far cry from the modern apartment I’d just left.  No full kitchen this time, no on-site laundry, just a small fridge that I quickly discovered was unplugged from the only outlet behind the desk.  I could either have cold water or my computer.

And, also animals.  I took a walk up the street to get the lay of the land.  I’m basically on a 2-lane road with nothing but the hotel and a bunch of private homes.  Other than the pigeons, I don’t remember any animals roaming around Lisbon.  Here, every bush I pass starts to rustle.  Lizards crawl out of every stone wall.  There are house flies, buzzing bees, and, of course, there are the cows.  Here I am walking up the road only to turn to the field on my left and – cow.  A couple more stare me down as I gawk at them.  I don’t think any of them belong to anyone.  They’re just wild cows grazing in the abundant grassy areas.  I am literally in the Portuguese countryside.

And the host was wrong about the 80 euros for a taxi – it was actually 100.    You’d think as fast as the woman was going, we would have broken the sound barrier and made the fare cheaper.

As I write this, it’s a sunny 65 degrees. The fog is lifting over the ocean, I hear birds chirping and the occasional moo of a wild cow.  Can’t say I expected any of this.

Not sure I’ll last the whole month here.

                                                                            COW!