Travel
Madeira : The. Island of the Lovers
FustenAL, the capital of Madeira, has become fashionable in late years, and is likely to bemore so since it is within easy reach of England by British ships, has British-owned hotels, and, at a time when Continental holiday resorts are closed to us while the world is under repair, keeps the pound at its old value. I am not going to deal with recent improvements " in the way of casinos, great cafes, modern bathing facilities, up-to-date methods of landing, motor-ears, and newly con- structed roads. It is the unchanging background to all this, the picturesqueness, natural beauty, colour and romance of the setting that make Madeira one of the most fascinating winter holiday grounds still left us.
Whatever changes may have some or may come, the island can never quite lose the fragrance of the old-time love story that led to its discovery in 1346, when (if legend be true) Robert Machin and Anna D'Arfet were driven out of their course to France by storm; and cast ashore to be the Adam and Eve of a little earthly Eden iri the Atlantic. If the tale of this Gretna Green pair of lovers is not true it ought to be. Porto Santo, the little island one passes twenty-five miles or so from Madeira on the three and a half days' journey from England, is the scene of a romance more famous in history. Columbus stayed here and married the daughter of the Governor.
I am afraid the old picturesqueness of the landing as I knew it—the boat driven through the surf, the oxen yoked to the nose of it to drag it up the shingle, the waiting bullock-car with its runners oiled with castor-oil plant to carry one by the light of torches over the pebbled roads, must have gone. In the old days the bathing arrangements were primitive, but the bathing in warm, crystal, clear water where, from the Pentinha, one could dive into twenty feet of sea where every tiny pebble far below was visible, was a morning and evening delight. ' On the beach strange sights were witnessed. There was the plump priest, for instance, who came daily with his huge umbrella under which he undressed, and a small acolyte of the bath came with him to water him with fresh water from an old watering- can when he emerged from the sea. Not far away a pork- butcher perhaps might be slaughtering a pig before the eyes of an interested crowd, and in close proximity-was the fish market with fish of innumerable strange shapes and gorgeous colours— Hie little scarlet Papa Jam I recollect as one of them—and on the beach itself the multicoloured boats in which diving boys, vendors of wickerbaskets, ebairs„ fruit,lace, innumerable other kinds of merchandise; waited for the flag at Blandy's to announce the coming of another big steamer.
There are surely few places in the world as beautiful—or as quaint. A goat-herd passes, playing a pipe, and, if you can tolerate goat's milk, will sell you a drink by the ways-ide before he urges on his herd. Blue skies, blue seas, precipitous cliffs, mountain heights running five or six thousand feet into clouds which at sunset are a miracle of gold and colour, make:Madeira a place to dream about, and basket chairs on spacious Verandahs, gardens where lizards bask in the sun and come to life when footsteps draw near, and where luscious grapes, passion flower fruit, prickly pear, -custard apples, and flowers of every imaginable colour, shape and size, make it a place to dream in. High above Funchal is the Mount Church, the favourite excursion for those with only a few hours to spare in the island on the way to or from the Cape ; a festa here, with two or three bands playing at once, and fireworks let off in broad daylight, is great fun. You may come down by sledge— an exciting journey, not altogether unlike the switchback with' which we are familiar at home.
There are glorious. excursions everywhere. It would be difficult to find views more magnificent and often awe-inspiring than those in the mountains. Take, for instance, the Grand Curral, a ravine two thousand feet or so in depth. There are curtained litters for ladies or the elderly ; horses, especially shod to negotiate the steep mountain paths, for those more active. No more enjoyable programme for a day can be imagined, I think, than a morning bathe, breakfast at which figure all kinds of delectable native fish and fruit added to our ordinary European fare, lung hours in the saddle until the island-world lies before you, a picnic perhaps in a mossy cave with walls lined with ferns and, in front, the magnificent panorama of mountain and sea, the return journey and another dip to freshen one for dinner ; and then the doles far niente before bed.
And in Madeira you will always (or almost always) know that blue sky, sunshine, and an equable temperature await you on the morrow.
I have said nothing about Madeira wine.
ALFRED TRESIDDER SHEPPARD.
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