RSS

Contact us

Saturday 5 July 2008

Tea and tranquility

Liz Anderson enjoys the levadas and gardens of Madeira

‘You are going where?’ was the first question. Closely followed by an incredulous: ‘Madeira? What on earth for? I suppose you are going to stay at Reid’s?’ Well, no, actually, we’re not.

The volcanic island of Madeira lies due west of Casablanca, almost midway between the Azores and the Canaries, and is 58km long by 23km wide. That measurement is somewhat misleading, however, as a mountain chain threads its way from east to west (the highest peak is over 1,800 metres in the eastern part of the island), with long ridges on each side separated by deep valleys. Not the holiday destination of choice, you might think, for a person who hates heights and is prone to sudden, unexpected attacks of vertigo. But, ha, you would be wrong.

So there we were at Funchal airport, two middle-aged women clutching rucksacks and suitcases, escaping from a long winter and a saintly husband, in search of sun and cloudless skies, with time for walking, swimming, exploring, reading and eating.

First piece of advice: do not sit by the window in the coach or bus travelling into town from the airport (where part of the runway is built on stilts over the sea — yes, it’s pretty frightening landing/taking off, but the pilots get special training, allegedly); or, if travelling by taxi, do not look out of the window. The second highest sea cliff in the world is on Madeira, though admittedly it’s on the other side of the island.

Over the past 15 years, there has been a seemingly unregulated explosion of hotel building, so Reid’s, for example, no longer stands alone on the outskirts of town; huge tourist complexes are encroaching from all directions, though nothing can get between it and the sea. Indeed, afternoon tea at Reid’s (E27 per person, no shorts, trainers or jeans) can be taken on a terrace overlooking the gardens and sea in complete tranquillity, with only the rustle of the Daily Telegraph in the background (British newspapers arrive daily in the afternoon). The whole atmosphere exudes good taste — and expense.

More articles from: Liz Anderson | this section

Print this article  |  Email to a friend  |  Permalink  |   Comment

Post this entry to:   del.icio.us | Digg | Newsvine | NowPublic | Reddit

Advertisement

Spectator Business | Apollo Magazine

Corporate | Advertising | Privacy | Terms

Spectator, 22 Old Queen Street, London, SW1H 9HP

All Articles and Content Copyright ©2008 by The Spectator | All Rights Reserved