Monday. Or ‘Putting the Fun in Funchal’

Today we woke up with a beautiful island outside the window. We had made it to Madeira and things were looking up – I almost felt human again!

After a lovely breakfast of fruit and pancakes, we made our way down to disembark. This was one destination that we didn’t seriously feel the need to prebook excursions for – people had told us it’s a 20 minute walk to town, and once there you can sort things out yourselves, so that’s exactly what we did.

The stroll in was leisurely, walking and talking with a nice Welsh couple we’d met in The Queue on day one. We made it into town, past a barrage of taxi drivers touting for business, and to the famous gondola station. We realised we’d need a little cash when we got to the top, so I ran off to get some while Jo bought the tickets.

As I wandered the streets I quickly saw why people love this city, this Island – it’s beautiful. A lot like Palma in Mallorca - with its vibrant feel amidst lovely crumbling buildings, what’s not to like?!

When I got back, we took a couple of minutes to call home and send our love, then onto the Gondola and up the mountain.

What a view. What. A. View. Creeping almost silently up above banana trees, houses and gardens, hearing sheep bleating below, seeing the ship shrink from a massive white lump into a… tiny white lump…

Once we’d made it to the top, we took a couple of pictures & admired the view, then set off looking for the (in)famous toboggans that would take us 2km back down the mountain… Plenty of people on the boat had told us they weren’t doing that, but they just seemed like old fogeys – what could be dangerous in sitting in a wicker box that’s bolted to a wooden sled which is towed/ridden by two big men wearing boater hats a mere 2,000 meters down a tarmacked public road at what turned out to be a remarkably steep angle?

Well as it turned out, nothing – we were fine. Terrified possibly, but fine. There were more than a few parked cars and ancient bits of a brickwork that came within millimeters of being all sorts of scraped up, but better to barely miss than barely hit, ay?

When the ride was over and we’d stopped panting and giggling from the rush, we got out of the toboggan and continued our trip down the mountain and back to the town – funnily enough, although we’d come 2km down from the top, the boat looked no bigger than it had from where we’d climbed in, so we knew it was still a bit of a trek – and as it was such a hot day, we knew we should stop at the first welcoming watering hole to replenish fluids and rest from the sun… The first one we found may not have been the most welcoming, but it would have to do we decided.

The little wizened old woman behind the counter looked a little annoyed that we might come in and interrupt her day-time TV, but gamely poured us each a glass of the local delicacy* - Poncha.

Ahh Poncho. It looks like orange juice, and tastes like a kick to the head with rum-flavoured hob-nailed boots. Just what I needed on the remains of a hangover with a long walk down the hill ahead of us. Still though, it gave Jo and I something to giggle at some more, and almost certainly made the rest of the walk pass much quicker…

Once we stumbled down the rest of the way, we spent a little time exploring some shops before wandering into the old market – which was simply amazing. Stalls in every directions selling almost identical fruit and veg, offering little tastes to anyone passing by in the hope they’d feel guilty enough to buy some – which seems to work well enough, and is a scam worth falling for as the best fruit is simply delicious. We tried mango (average), tomatina (not my thing) and passion fruit (delicious) as well as the best bananas we’ve ever eaten.

They were amazing! Tiny little locally grown things which were sweeter, tangier and firmer than any I’ve ever had before. I know it’s odd to wax lyrical about a simple banana, but simple this was not! If you ever have the opportunity to try bananas of Madeira then grasp it with both hands and only let go to peel the fruit. Past the fruit stalls was a large open Fish Market which was filled with Scabbard Fish (?) – perhaps the ugliest fish ever seen, but it is the local favourite. There are painting and murals dedicated to these beauties all over the city...

Once we’d seen the fish we went upstairs, past a hundred (I exaggerate) more fruit stalls (and dried chilli stalls, tat stalls, postcards, vegetables and random other sellers), to a nice little café which offered a glass of Madeira and a slice of Madeira cake for a couple of Euro…

The wine has never been a favourite of mine, so I had just a sip of Jo’s and we shared the cake which was really lovely, and I ordered another drink I’ve not come across – Crushed sugar cane with lemon.

The waitress pulled out a length of cane and fed it into a juicing machine, which then piddled out a glassful of white liquid to which she added the juice of half a lemon… So essentially it was lemonade. It could have done with another lemon or two, but on the whole it was very refreshing and something I would have again.

When we were replete, we got up and headed off to find something more substantial for lunch, and it seemed that every single restaurant and café owner knew that would be our plan as they all sent someone out to try and entice us into their fine establishments. “Some food, sir? We have the best in all Funchal” “Ahh, you avoided that place like the connoisseurs I can see you to be, why don’t you step inside and I’ll fix you something nice” “You look hungry, perhaps a bite to eat?” “A little drink in here sir? Madam? It is delicious”… It became increasingly hard to say the word NO without being rude, so eventually we ducked into a sort of quaint/naff/sweet/hilarious restaurant done in the style of traditional Madeiran peasant food… Actually, it was very nice – the waitress was very helpful (identifying fish we’d seen at the market and finding translations for other treats we’d eaten) – the only problem being the size of the portions: they were immense. I was still not feeling 100% so I ordered (please start laughing) a salad. I couldn’t finish it. It was liberally dotted with pickled tuna and I can’t help but think that it was the best part of a shoal rather than one fish…

Ahh well - first world problems, ay?

When we were done there it was off for more wandering the old town, stopping in a bar called Arsenal, which I thought was funny, for a drink and a bit of free wifi on the side, before meandering back to the boat before being left behind at 3:30.

(It’s ok, we made it… phew!)

That night we met up with a couple of Manchesterites, John and Sheila, who we met on the Saturday night for the quiz at 19:30 (we came joint second… ish…) then went to dinner with them in the Orion Restaurant on deck 4 which was very nice. After that we all went to see some comedy performed by Andre (not the giant) who was something out of 80s – a comedy magician who I fully expected to be awful, but who had us all in stitches throughout.

When the curtain came down, John and Sheila were all up for carrying on, but us young’uns were just plain knackered so called it a night – I think I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

*Hooch