Author: Mr A Date: March 2026
Location: Eventually Madeira, Portugal
Day 0
Well, what a kerfuddle – that’s a technical term for standing at the airport after a 3 a.m. alarm, staring at the departures board, and instead of a gate number, seeing a single word: CANCELLED.
We were due to head to the island of Madeira for seven nights of hiking and topping up our vitamin D reserves after a long wet winter. Actually, we’d probably need to bathe in a tub of it to restore what we lacked, but no – the gods of travel had other plans.
After 27 years of taking flights together – and that means Catherine has spent more of her life with me than without – this was our first flight ever to be cancelled. Not too shabby, if you think about the average.
We rebooked for the next available flight, two days later. The day after that, every flight was cancelled again. Apparently, Madeira Airport is “weather sensitive,” according to Google. That’s now a firm addition to my growing list of things to avoid in a holiday destination.
With time to kill back home – which is never good – I went down the rabbit hole with my mate ChatGPT, asking questions like: “Why is Madeira Airport so weather sensitive?” The short answer: it’s considered one of the trickiest airports in the world for takeoffs and landings. Rapid changes in wind strength and direction, cliffs, and the cold Atlantic make for a hair-raising combination. The airport even has a grim history – over 200 deaths have occurred under such conditions.
Day 1
So you can imagine where my over-anxious mind went as I climbed the steps for our Wednesday flight. I’ve never paid so much attention to the safety broadcast—or the captain’s tone – before lining up for final approach. Everything seemed fine…so it must have been alarming to the couple in the seats next to me when I adopted a brace position and muttered a quiet prayer. Not out loud, mind you – but my white-knuckled grip on the seat in front probably gave me away.
Trying to lighten the mood, I asked, “Flown into here before?”
They shook their heads, glancing nervously out the window at the cliffs looming and the white-capped waves below, which seemed intent on grabbing the landing gear. I muttered under my breath, “I’ll tell you after we land…if I still can.”
I tried to focus on the fact that after 131 people died in 1977 when a plane overran the runway and ended up in the sea, the runway was extended over the water. Good call. Very important call.
We landed smoothly. Sheepishly, I turned away and found a lot to do repacking my bag before hurrying off the plane. I noticed the couple in the immigration queue glance at me before moving to another line – probably expecting trouble.
Our host had arranged a transfer, and after five minutes driving through Madeira’s evening traffic, I was profoundly grateful we’d cancelled our car rental. Tiny, narrow roads, speeds that could be mistaken for F1: The Movie – it was an excellent decision. Our driver even dropped us at a supermarket on the way, then took us to the Old Town for a late dinner.
Yes, we’d checked the forecasts, and yes, it promised to be “fresh,” especially in the evenings. But I suspect the Madeira tourist board has some sort of deal with the meteorological authority: no bad news allowed. I was so cold I might have shivered for two people.
Anyway, we headed back to the apartment – up four flights of stairs – because when Catherine pushed the lift button, nothing happened. Since then, we’ve discovered the lift doesn’t like her dinky little thumb. Works perfectly for me, of course. Had to bite my tongue to avoid smirking.
Day 2
The next day was Catherine’s birthday. Cards and presents produced, we set off for a little morning walk followed by brunch. One of the drawcards for us in choosing Madeira was the 2,000 km of hiking trails – most built alongside the levadas, the irrigation channels designed to bring water from the rainy north to the drier, more populous south.
Well, we were in the south, and it promptly started raining. Some Atlantic storms had stuck around, bringing unusually unsettled – and cold – weather to the region. We headed back to a little tea house I had booked and while there spent a lovely couple of hours gazing out at the view. Well…until it wasn’t there, obscured by rain clouds, only for the sun to return five minutes later. Then rain. Then sun. If you don’t like the weather in Madeira, just wait five minutes.
The rest of the day was spent exploring the Botanical Gardens – Mrs. A’s choice – followed by a ride on a gondola. Some strong gusts made it slightly more “interesting” than our flight landing. Life, as ever, keeps you guessing.
…snigger…
Dinner that night was pretty good, and the conversation with the birthday girl even better. I’d been messaging our apartment host, who had been very helpful with suggestions. Early on, I’d wondered if I was actually talking to a bot via Booking.com; the communication style seemed…off. Then we switched to WhatsApp and the messages came thick and fast: “Try this, try that,” all with heaps of gushing flattery. I showed one to Catherine and she said, “ChatGPT.”
Of course – that hadn’t clicked for me. Between courses, I forwarded some of the messages to ChatGPT. Verdict: yes, AI style, a few giveaways.
Did it make the messages any less helpful? Absolutely not. Did we feel a little cheated? Yes. It’s a complex subject, and one we’re all going to have to get our heads around sooner or later.
Day 3
What would a trip to an island be without a boat trip? Dolphins and whales apparently abound in these clean waters, so I booked one. The brochure promised “agile” and “fast” – words that sounded fun at the time. What I hadn’t appreciated when we rocked up to the marina and were shown the boat was that it bore a striking resemblance to an assault craft. No G&Ts on the sun deck for this wild ride!
We did tick the dolphin box, though we also ticked the soaked-through-to-our-underpants box – a detail that had somehow escaped the marketing spiel.
Sustenance of the liquid variety was required, so we attempted what the website called a wine tasting. The lady serving the bottles was succinct: “Medium dry” and two words that sounded vaguely like variations on “sweet”. Instruction brief, but we survived, and the wine was passable fuel for our soggy spirits.
Dinner that evening was an extravaganza. We were invited to the chef’s table—a countertop wrapping around the bustling kitchen – and the food was superb. The sommelier suggested a wine on the pricier side, and it paired perfectly with our choices.
We had a two-hour window for dinner, and it quickly became clear that the over-enthusiastic serving staff had a very different interpretation of “window.” Food arrived faster than at McDonald’s, and we literally had to tell them to pause and hold the mains while we were still finishing our entrées. Despite the pace, the experience was brilliant, and a second birthday dessert for Mrs. A arrived for us to share – a sweet, celebratory end to the day.
Day 4
Marcos – the driver who had collected us from the airport – had agreed, for a price, to pick us up and give us a tour of the island for the day.
At 9 a.m. sharp, we were climbing into his car and turning inland, winding up into the hills toward our first destination: Pico do Arieiro, the third highest peak. We soon left behind the broken sunshine and 15 °C, watching as the temperature gauge plummeted to 0 and below. Not far from the top, we passed a police car stopping tourists from driving further – but Marcos flashed a card, granting us permission to continue.
We reached the summit, passing many cold-looking hikers plodding up the road. Fog and clouds had joined forces with an icy wind and a drizzle for good measure. We somewhat reluctantly stepped out of the warm car, donned several layers, and went for a look around. We climbed up to the lookout for views of…well, not much at all. Everything was frozen—leaves and blades of grass were lined with horizontal icicles, and even the barbed wire fencing around the miliary radar station looked surreally beautiful, covered in ice.
We wandered among the brave – or perhaps foolish – people starting hikes from the peak. Literally nothing could be seen more than a few metres in front of you. Not long after, we jumped back into the car and continued our tour.
Our next stop was Levada dos Balcões, lower down and a toasty six degrees Celsius. We wrapped up warmly and started walking. Most of the trail wound through moss- and lichen-draped forest, with a waterfall and stream threading through. Madeira chaffinches were everywhere – clearly used to humans and happy to pose for photographs. The lookout at the end of the walk was fabulous, rewarding us with views across the valley.
We stopped there for ten or so minutes, before returning to Marcos. Our timing was perfect – while we weren’t the only people at the lookout, on our return we walked against a literal tide of coach tourists, each stopping to take 50 photos of the same scene, constantly blocking our way. Ah, the downside of digital photography!
Onwards we went, continuing our descent toward the north coast of Madeira, with the temperature gradually rising. Marcos proved a great guide, sharing tales of locals who never leave these valleys and survive solely on what they produce themselves. Amazon hasn’t reached these parts yet, but apparently it’s on the horizon.
We drove west as far as Santana where we lunched before following the coast towards the east, stopping at scenic viewpoints as we went.
Day 5
Our final day started bright and sunny—not quite shorts weather, but hopefully delivering some of that elusive vitamin D we’d been chasing. We set off on foot from our apartment, holding our breath as huge buses, speeding cars, and scooters thundered past on narrow streets with no pavements.
At the coast, we found the walking path and headed west. Cafés and restaurants were setting up for lunch, and soon we became the first customers at a Japanese place. An outside table overlooking the sea was ours, and what a treat: for €23 a head, we had a two-course Japanese meal with a large glass of very tasty dry house wine. Full and happy, we continued our walk—slightly more challenging after lunch, but easy to navigate as long as we kept the sea on our left.
We finished at the next village, Porto de Câmara de Lobos. Almost our accommodation choice, it’s described as charming and historically significant – Winston Churchill visited in 1950 and painted here. And yes, it was pretty. But our rose-tinted glasses blurred somewhat when a drunk woman, slurring something about Ronaldo and kicking a football, stumbled in front of us asking for money. All towns have their seedy side, it seems, and we’d found this one. Waiting for our Uber brought a few more drunk and drugged local characters into view. Not quite the idyllic farewell impression of Madeira we’d hoped for.
Our final night’s dinner was somewhat spontaneous. Google led us to a Thai restaurant with fabulous reviews and promising “open” signage. They didn’t answer the phone, so we took a punt and a taxi – only to find it had long since closed. A quick online search led us to an Indian restaurant with recent glowing reviews. Brilliant food, fun atmosphere, and enough dry ice theatrics to make you smile at their effort.
Yes, Madeira was not quite what we expected. But it added a real sense of adventure and served up some fabulous meals along the way. I don’t think we’ll be back, but we’re glad we gave it a go!
I lost track of how long I was under water this time, but was ready for a hot shower by the time I climbed back out on to the boat. What a fantastic view of some incredible creatures. Apparently they have very poor eyesight and their only way of testing their food is with their teeth. They don’t actually eat humans once they have attacked. We are much too bony. They far prefer the fat and blubber of a seal.
