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Travel Guide

Travel Guide: Madeira

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Funchal

Madeira is a Portuguese island off the coast of Morocco, and I knew little else about it when my partner and I decided to spend a week there. For reasons that immediately became apparent upon our arrival in the capital, Funchal, the island is known as the “Flower Island”.

The temperature on Madeira remains constant year-round and the island is full of microclimates, which was the most amazing part of our trip. The vegetation and foliage are more diverse there than anything we’d ever seen in a similarly-sized area, and the landscape was made up of different worlds.

In Funchal, we delighted in old buildings lining winding streets . . .

. . . the botanical gardens in the centre of town, which contained tropical species I haven’t seen since living in Singapore . . .

. . . and proximity to the harbour. . . .

Funchal also has an excellent street art scene in the Zona Velha, the old part of town that used to be comprised of fishermen’s cottages and is now made up of buzzing restaurants and shops.

Unbeknownst to us before our arrival, dolphin and whale watching tours were on offer, and we were happy to participate. Once a pod is spotted, the boat is only allowed to spend 10 minutes there so as not to overwhelm the animals, which we appreciated. We saw several groups of pilot whales, which are common in the area.

That afternoon, we visited the Mercado dos Lavradores, which seemed more touristy than we would have liked. A salesperson gave us tastes of the seven different species of passion fruits that grow on Madeira and we bought one each. A few items that we hadn’t selected ended up in our bag, as well, and we certainly paid for them. However, everything really did taste as good as it looked.

Interested in the views from lookout points, we walked through Forte de São Tiago later that day, the yellow paint striking against the blue sky.

The steepness of the island is hard to understate, and this is something we didn’t fully understand or appreciate until we rented a car later on, but we were beginning to get an idea.

The following day, we took a cable car up to the Monte Palace Tropical Garden, giving us an excellent perspective on the elevation of Funchal. The air was noticeably cooler than at sea level, and we were fascinated by the hundreds of plants from all over the world that looked completely at home. In the centre of the gardens was a lake with a small stage and live music. It was relaxing, idyllic, and a wonderful oasis away from the bustle of city life, even on an island.

The Monte Church, located just around the corner, stands at 598 meters, and the view down to sea level was impressive.

Traditionally, one descends from the palace into the city by way of the Carreiros do Monte, essentially a wicker basket sled guided from the rear by two porters. Nowadays, the ride is only two kilometers (we walked the rest of the way) and we enjoyed every minute of it.

Machico

The following morning, we took the bus to the airport to pick up our rental car, and then headed down the road to the beach town of Machico, which we had chosen due to its proximity to the hiking trails for which Madeira is famous. We arrived to weather significantly cooler than what we had experienced in Funchal, though the two locations are only 25 kilometers apart along the coast. In recognition of the slower pace and change of atmosphere, we made ourselves comfortable on the rocky beach and just watched the waves.

That afternoon, we drove out to a lookout point on the eastern end of the island, gradually gaining elevation on narrow, twisting roads. The landscape changed from tropical trees and flowers, to cacti and beach grasses, to red earth with scrubby brush.

We walked along the edges of cliffs looking out into the sea, clearly in the shape of the caldera left behind from the volcano that created Madeira Island.

The next morning, we took what was probably the wildest drive of the trip, climbing serpentines for about 1300 meters from where we began at sea level. We wanted to hike up to Pico Ruivo, the highest point of Madeira Island at 1862 meters.

At just under three kilometers, the trail is straightforward though steep, and it winds through an incredibly diverse landscape. We started in terrain that was almost sub-alpine, mist in the cold air . . .

. . . climbed through and above the clouds . . .

. . . and ended on the south side of the peak in a dry, scrubby landscape with signs of fire damage. . . .

By the time we got to the summit, I was very aware of my pregnant and rapidly changing body. I had needed to go more slowly than usual to regulate my breathing, and I tried to skirt the stairs that caused my stomach muscles to engage, resulting in cramps that are best avoided. But there’s also a feeling of confidence that comes from being pregnant in such terrain (I wasn’t the only one, either!) and I enjoyed that very much.

Upon returning to the car, having thoroughly enjoyed the hike and wanting to explore more of the island, we drove about five minutes back down the road and again into the clouds. Pulling over when we could, we walked the easy, flat trail from Queimadas to Pico das Pedras. In sharp contrast to the morning, this trail took us through a rainforest. It had been cold and sunny on the summit, but we needed a jacket for the rainforest.

And what a forest. Moss hanging in clumps from old, gnarled trees; water running below us and along the sides of the path; ferns everywhere. We walked mostly in silence, smelling the muddy earth and the effortlessly lush vegetation, marvelling at finding ourselves in yet another climate zone.

From there, another winding, twisting drive took us yet higher into the cliffs to the short walk named for its outlook point, Vereda dos Balcões. We were in a cloud forest at that point, walking along the side of a cliff that looked down into one of the many villages dotting the landscape.

After our explorations of the east side of the island, we drove out the next day towards the centre to hike the Levada das 25 Fontes, a trail named for its 25 waterfalls. The easy walk led downhill from where we parked, and its status as one of Madeira’s most famous walks was immediately apparent from the number of people following the trail. We had to look for stillness here, which we managed to find.

And then, ready for stillness to find us, we followed a trail turnoff that would take us back to the car in a slightly different direction than the out-and-back that we knew most people would follow. Alongside Spanish moss, trees with low-hanging branches, and irrigation canals, we found ourselves exactly where we wanted to be – entirely alone.

From there, we continued our drive to Porto Moniz, the northwestern most point of the island. We walked along the water and gazed down into the natural pools created by the ocean.

The drive back to Machico completed our circuit of the island, which had left us in awe of the diversity we had experienced. We have both had the fortune to see a few places in the world, and neither of us had been anywhere quite like this.

The next morning, our last full day on Madeira, I settled myself on the rocky beach while my partner took a surf lesson . . .

. . . and we spent the afternoon hiking the Vereda da Ponta de São Lourenço, the trail on the eastern end of the island that reaches the highest peak in that area. This time, we walked through desert and along sea cliffs, and were almost always in sight of the ocean. Every so often, a particularly spectacular rock formation came into view, and we just had to stop and take in the colours.

The sun made this walk strenuous because there was absolutely zero shade, but the rocky paths themselves were gentle enough with a relaxed variety of ascents and descents. And like we had seen literally everywhere in Madeira, there were snacks and drinks on offer (upon return, of course!) from multiple food trucks in the parking lot.

Returning to our favourite restaurant for yet another delicious meal of fish (locally caught) and vegetables (locally grown), we toasted a local beer and a local juice to the week we had experienced. We had seen plenty of families underway on Madeira and smiled at the thought of being there with our little one. It is hopefully not our last time on this beautiful island, and we departed early the next morning with beach air in our noses and the sunrise in our eyes. One cannot ask for more than that.

Travel Guide

Travel Guide: Bad Herrenalb

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When I told the people closest to me that I was going to the Schwarzwald (Black Forest) in search of fairies, no one batted an eyelash, neither at the plan to spend a few days alone hiking, nor upon hearing that I was looking for the creatures of stories.

Perhaps it’s telling that I received an illustrated book of the complete Grimm’s fairytales in the original German as a gift for Weihnachten*, a gift that was both surprising and touching. Perhaps it’s not just me who’s willing to entertain the possibility of fairies. And really, why not?

I had relatively few stereotypes of Germany before moving here, but one was certainly the Black Forest, a place devoid of light and full of mystery, a place that held secrets that could not be known from outside. As I would come to learn over three and a half days hiking from my base in Bad Herrenalb, the Schwarzwald is not only full of light, but indeed also full of mystery. And while I found the answers to some questions throughout my walks in the woods, the woods kept quiet in a way that has already called me to listen again.

Hör mal – Listen

Walking through the trees, I couldn’t stop smiling. There was a peace that came over me, a sense of getting lost in the sounds of leaves and water, so much water, that flowed through the forest.

Already struck by the fading light and the mist rising over the hills surrounding the valley, I watched the patterns the sun made on the forest floor and in the surrounding trees. And in the mornings, I watched the sun creep up and wake the very same forest. It is no surprise that these woods are at the centre of so many stories and dreams.

Every day, all day, I could not stop thinking how glad I was to be there, to bear witness to the majesty that is nature. I remember how I felt the first time someone told me they like to imagine how the forest looked 500 years ago. And imagine I did.

Walking along the west side of the valley, I spent the day almost entirely in the snow. There had been hints of snow throughout, but here I experienced the forest in a whole new way.

I have a great love for signs when following trails. You can learn so much about places and about how people choose to define a place. The guidebook I received from the owner of my pension explained how to follow the trails in the Schwarzwald, but said nothing about how the markers on trees are occasionally hard to find, and can be somewhat ambiguous. The amount of signage is, after all, no indication of the visitor’s ability to follow the signs. I backtracked once a day, even changing course entirely one afternoon, and a particular decision to stray from the obvious path turned out to be my favourite part of a walk.

I enjoyed the Schwarzwald because it was designed to be explored. There is clearly a long tradition of resting in the woods, of taking a moment to just be. I photographed relatively few benches, rested on even fewer, but was glad that they were there. They made the forest a place to spend time in rather than a place to revere from afar.

I didn’t encounter many people along the way, but I can only say nice things about those I did meet. Everyone said hello and we shared smiles about the beauty around us. One elderly man called directions to me from across a field, a woman in a bakery struck up a conversation comparing Germany and Canada, the guests at my pension wished one another a good day upon leaving the breakfast room. And most memorable of all, a man I met while waiting for the S-Bahn in front of Karlsruhe train station sent me a postcard at the pension to thank me for the chat and wish me a good trip. I sent him a postcard in return when I got home to Weimar, thanking him for his note and his tips for where to walk. Unbeknownst to me, I had entered a community, and that could be seen in the forest, too. There are huts dotted across the Schwarzwald, closed for the winter but maintained. I passed many, photographed few, and was glad for the feeling of woods explored and alive.

I often go hiking with the goal of reaching the highest point or finding the best view. While there were these moments, I didn’t walk in the Schwarzwald with any sort of goal. I just wanted to be there, and there I was.

I am always fascinated with wood. With its colour, with its forms, and with how it is all around us all the time. And in the forest, I was ever more aware of not only how much we depend on this resource, but how precious it truly is.

Having chosen to spend a few days alone in the forest to clear my head, to breathe new air, to watch the world with new eyes, it made sense to look carefully. It made sense to look thoughtfully, not just at the big picture, but rather at all the individual parts.

Germans say, “Wie man in den Wald hineinruft, so schallt es heraus.” This literally translates to, “The way you shout into the forest, so it echoes back out.” In English we might say instead, “What goes around, comes around.” A similar concept is, of course, karma. I like the emphasis on the forest, on being part of a greater ecosystem and environment. I like the idea of echoes, of sounds coming back to us, perhaps in ways we had never intended. We walk into the world, we treat others well, and this impact on the world around us arcs back in some way.

I went for a walk in the woods to find fairies, and here I must be fully honest: I was too captivated by how the forest welcomed me, how its lights and colours and sounds drew me in, to go looking for something that was hidden. The forest deserves its secrets; I am privileged enough for being let into its greatness and returning home feeling more connected to the world around me. I don’t need evidence of fairies to know that there’s magic out there.

*Weihnachten is the German name for Christmas. As I’ve learned over the past two years and celebrations, this time of the year has a rather different connotation than the North American event, which is why I prefer the word for this context.

On My Mind

Glow

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The weather gave us a gift this weekend. We had sun, blue skies, and temperatures perfect for being outside. (Although nothing really seems to stop Germans from being outside, which I like very much.) I was out late Sunday morning revisiting a route I’d taken with a friend some weeks ago. We had looked in vain for sunshine that day and the walk was bound to feel different this time.

One thing I have always noticed about walking with my camera is that my senses are sharper, and not just my eyes. I see the world differently, but am also more aware of how it tastes, how it smells, how it feels, and where I stand within it.

In other words, the more present I am, the calmer and more peaceful I feel. The camera around my neck acts as a reminder. Likewise, the more experienced I become in meditation, the more easily awareness seeps into my everyday life. I pause more frequently, slow down, notice, breathe. This is what it means to be mindful.

Lately there have been several loving-kindness, or metta, meditations in my routine. The warmth that I experience through these practices is not unlike the warmth I experienced last weekend in the sun. The world opens wide and it calls.

What I like most about metta meditation is that it makes obvious our connection with one another. There is a physical sensation, a warm glow, that comes from that realization.

There is a warm glow that comes from wishing loving-kindness to others, similar to the sense of rejuvenation that comes from being in nature. I have learned that these are needs for me, needs rather than wants. I would like to think that I am a better person to those around me for having learned this and sought this out.

It is easy to form connections that are light and fun, to play outside on a sunny day. It is not always so easy to get out in the rain or cold, not always so easy to touch another person. But so often, it is the experience of doing exactly this, of embracing difficult conditions and searching for the light, that plants us firmly on the ground.

And this is when we can not only look, but see.