Ahh Madeira

 

Yet another trip across the pond back to Heathrow.  I was ready for security this time.  I didn’t top up my liquids or add any more in the states, so the quart bag was unchanged coming back through.  My bags were fine this time, but just to keep me on my toes, this time I got flagged.  I went through the metal detector and was asked to step aside.

Seriously?  Do I have to remind you how many times I’ve been through airports this year?  Other than the underwire in my bras and the screws in my eyeglasses, there is no metal anywhere on me.  I know the drill by now.

It seems the machine detected some residue on my clothing that it found suspicious.  The guy swabbed my hands and the waist of my pants, scanned them again, then gave me the go-ahead.  This whole process is just …. I … I have no words.   

At least the flight went well.  I did note that while it was sunny when we left London, it was raining when we landed in Portugal.  The rain may have had something to do with my flight delay.  Here I am, all set to get this last leg over with, when the travel gods decided I needed to spend some more time in Lisbon airport.

Then, once we could actually board the flight, we ended up stuck on the tarmac for 45 minutes because there was a backlog of planes on the ground that had to leave first.  Sigh.  Just get me to the island in one piece.

Yes. I’m a wienie.  It was late and I’d been travelling all day.  But I was almost ready to cry when the plane finally landed on Madeira a little before 11:00 p.m.  It truly felt like I was coming home after months of wandering.  Not that the wandering wasn’t fun, but there is still nothing like the feeling of returning to the beautiful familiar.

I know.  It’s not official yet.  May never be.  But the island still feels like home.

I grabbed a cab and, for once, I was totally okay being in a car with a strange guy driving like a bat out of hell.  I was tired, it had been a stupidly long couple of days, and I was more than ready to reach my next temporary home.

The host was a friendly man named Alberto.  He lives next door to the rental property and was very understanding about my late arrival.  He was also clearly thrilled to share his island with guests.  After he showed me around the place, he whipped out a map and pointed out some of the areas depicted in the pictures he’d sent me earlier.  He told me the bus numbers and where to catch them to get to the good hiking spots.  He told me he would love to take me there himself, but he doesn’t own a car, only a motorbike.  I’m nodding along thinking ‘dude.  I am exhausted.  I’ve been traveling for almost an entire day and I really need to be unconscious right now’.  Not wanting to be rude, I listened to his spiel until I could discreetly get him the hell gone.

Left to explore on my own was interesting.  I got mixed feelings about the place.  The location is killer.  Close to the ocean, a bunch of restaurants, and the colorful doorways that I love, all without having to climb any hills.  The location also sucks because it’s right next to a couple of popular Fado clubs with people singing and carousing all night.  The apartment is spacious but has no oven and two single beds as opposed to a queen.  I liked the recycling bins in the kitchen, but I hated the lighting in the entire apartment.   While there was hot water in the shower, the sinks in the kitchen and bathroom remained ice cold.  I'd have to boil water to sanitize the dishes after I washed them.

And then there’s the hole.  Right above the toilet is a gaping hole in the ceiling.  There’s no screen or door and I could clearly see the rafters of the roof.  I couldn’t tell which was worse, the daytime when sun streamed in through it or nighttime when I couldn’t see a thing and it was just this void.  No.  Nighttime was worse.  I just did my best to ignore it on the many occasions I had to drop trou.

But back to the location.  The front door leads directly to a narrow, one-way, cobblestone street where people speed by.  A few steps away is the first of several restaurants lining either side of the street.  Crossing that street, there’s a park popular with the locals.  There are always groups of men sitting at the picnic tables drinking, talking, and playing games.  Just beyond the park, with the cable cars launching from the right, is

and

And I have to keep myself from repeatedly shouting “God, I love this place!” as my outbursts tend to upset the tourists.

I get such a sense of peace just looking out over the water.  I remember having a chat with a waitress in Cascais and I mentioned wanting to live on Madeira.  She scoffed, “you don’t want to be stuck on an island.”  Yes.  Yes, I do.

I don’t consider it being stuck.  As much as I’ve seen of the island, I’ve still only scratched the surface.  I haven’t been on any of the hikes that my host recommended.  Haven’t even been on the cable cars yet.  There’s still so much here to see.

For the time being, though, it’s back to my established routine.  Looking for work in the morning, exercise and meal at midday, then back to the apartment for study.  It’s not the most exciting way to spend my days but hopefully I’m getting closer to making a new life for myself.

On one of my trips around Funchal to reacquaint myself with the city, I stumbled across a bunch of cars in one of the courtyards.  Thinking this expo was somehow related to the Porsches I saw in Cascais, I didn’t think much of it.  I just thought ‘Hey.  There are cars over there.” 

I didn’t find out until later that this was a staging area for Rally Madeira (Rali Vinho Da Madeira), a race around the island that happens every year.  I had no idea this was such a big deal.  But it does explain why everyone drives like the cops are chasing them – they’re just keeping in practice.