Madeira m'dear

Follyfin was berthed in a marina apparently carved out of an ancient volcanic crater. This marina is an integral part of a holiday village constructed anew since the turn of the millennium. Consequently it is somewhat devoid of character. 

Sad it was to see Ivor leave to catch his plane back to UK on Sunday morning; work really does get in the way of life sometimes. So we took a short bus ride to the next village, Caniçal, in order to find the real Madeira (and a decent meal - something that Quinta do Lorde was supremely unable to do ... but that's another story). The festival celebrations from the previous day were still in full swing. 

Although there were snacks aplenty available from street stalls, 

we opted for a more sedate meal and were lucky just to get a table in the Bar Amarelo (the yellow building in the photo above) before the hordes arrived for their Sunday lunch. Of course we had to try the local speciality: limpets, and they were surprisingly good, cooked and served like escargots in France. Apparently the secret is to ensure they are fresh. Definitely recommended!

The Virgin was once again to be taken out for a ride on a local fishing boat along with many of her admirers before being returned to her shrine on top of the overlooking cliff where she will stay for another year. Indeed some of her admirers almost fell in the water in their anxiety not to be left behind!

On Monday we ventured further afield into the capital of Funchal. The bus ride took 90 minutes and was one of the most hair-raising (and uncomfortable) rides this blogger has ever experienced. Very narrow village streets, steep hills up and down, blind corners and cars parked right in the way all contributed to the excitement. But we made it eventually and Funchal did not disappoint. Lovely avenues with venerable shade trees, some in flower, and many flowering plants along the way. Another hairy bus ride up to the oldest of the several public gardens - the Jardim Botânico - was repaid with sights of giant cacti and unusual plants, a topiary garden to rival anything the Italians could produce, bananas, date palms in profusion, not to mention a formal planting of indigenous species. 

It was, however, very hot, so we indulged in ice cream and succumbed to the advances of a particularly persuasive taxi driver to ride in comfort back down the hillside to the city centre. We did not venture up to the top of the mountain in the cable car because it was shrouded in cloud so would have been a waste. That's for another visit.

So so glad not to miss the last bus back to base! We needed to rest up before setting sail again on Tuesday on the next leg of our journey: 280 miles south to the Canary Islands.