Madeira. Seven days on four wheels, thinking of two.
- Profu'
- 1 day ago
- 9 min read
I should write as soon as I get home.
Ideally, right after a trip ends, while my boots still have some soil on their soles, my phone is full of photos that I recognize without looking at the location, and the sensations haven't had time to be pushed into a corner of my memory by meetings, bills, and other very important things that we won't remember in ten years anyway.
It's been more than three months since we returned from Madeira.
A whole week left behind fragments. Twisted trees emerging from the fog. The Atlantic seen from above. Slopes where our convertible Mini had to prove it wasn't just for looks. Forest trails. Wind. And that feeling that no matter which way you go on the island, there's something waiting around the next bend worth stopping the car for.
Maybe memory also does some kind of editing.
Delete the exact schedule and keep the places that moved you.
Madeira had been on my bucket list for a long time. The kind of destination you periodically search for, look at photos, check flights, say "we have to go there too" and then manage, with remarkable consistency, to not book anything.
Last year I solved the decision problem in a very effective way: I made an impulsive move, booked a house through Airbnb, and paid for it.
Once the money is gone, the dream suddenly has a departure date.
The natural question, considering we're on a blog about motorcycle travel, is probably:
Why not with Harley?
The answer is simple. Madeira is a relatively small island and, above all, this was going to be a family trip. The option where I rode my motorbike and they followed me in a car would have looked less like a family holiday and more like a poorly organized official motorcade.
So I looked for a compromise.
A Mini convertible.
Four wheels, but no roof. It didn't have a V-twin, it didn't vibrate at traffic lights, and it didn't sound like a Harley when you started it, but at least the wind was coming straight at us. I was hoping to replicate the feeling of a motorcycle a little.
It wasn't the same.
But it was enough to make me smile.
After landing and picking up the car, we headed to our accommodation. Madeira wasted no time in introducing itself. From the very first minutes, it presented us with tight curves, narrow streets and slopes steep enough to make me congratulate myself for not choosing the most anemic convertible in the rental company's fleet.
On the map, the distances seemed small.
On the ground, the island had other plans.
We got a little confused through the winding streets, probably passed through places we didn't necessarily need to go through a few times, and finally found our accommodation.
It was a large villa, just for us. Maybe too big for three people, but very beautiful and with a view that made you quickly forget that you had just driven a car on some slopes where even the goats didn't seem completely relaxed.
I wasn't in full form yet.
After settling in, we headed back to the airport to pick up our son, who was coming from the Netherlands. He's at university in Arnhem, a city that I particularly like and always enjoy returning to.
Once there, he studied the Mini carefully.
Unfortunately for him, he wasn't allowed to drive it, as he had had his license for less than a year. There are few things more frustrating than a convertible that you're allowed to inspect, photograph, and ride in, but not drive.
He came to terms with the situation.
Or at least he didn't have a choice.
We returned to the villa and started making plans for the next few days. The goal of the vacation was simple: a hike every day. We hadn't come to Madeira to sit by the pool and chat from a distance about how beautiful the mountains were.
We had come to walk through them.
We started the first day easily, with Fanal Forest.
We rushed to get there early, hoping to catch some fog. On most vacations, fog is the thing you hope to avoid. At Fanal, you look for it.
And I was lucky.
I caught everything in a fog.
Fanal is part of the Laurissilva, Madeira's ancient laurel forest, a plant formation whose origins go back approximately 20 million years. The area is known for its centuries-old *til* trees, *Ocotea foetens*, a species of laurel, some of which were already present before the Portuguese discovered the island. The Laurissilva of Madeira has been a UNESCO World Natural Heritage Site since 1999. ([Visit Madeira][1])
The information is impressive.
But it's only when you get there that you understand what it means.
The trees don't seem grown, but shaped. The trunks are twisted, the branches go out in all directions, and the moss covers them as if the forest is trying to keep them whole for a few more hundred years. Through the fog, they appear one by one, then disappear again after a few steps.
Fanal doesn't seem like a place built for people.
It seems like a place you were allowed to enter for a short time.
The fog erased distances and muffled sounds. You couldn't see very far, but that was exactly what made everything spectacular. Each tree became a separate apparition, each silhouette seemed to be hiding something, and the forest had that mysterious atmosphere that photographs try to capture and rarely succeed in.
So my advice is simple: try to visit Fanal in the fog or even in the rain.
Here, bad weather is good weather.
The hike we did in the Fanal area was very short and extremely easy. If you are used to the mountains and trails in Romania, don't count on it to fill an entire day.
Add another goal.
Otherwise, by the time you warm up properly, the route is over and you start wondering where to eat.
We ended the day in Funchal. We found the center compact, pleasant, and easy to walk around. Restaurants, streets you could walk on without rushing, good food, and a relaxed atmosphere.
After a day in the fog and forest, it was just what I needed.
In the following days, the calendar began to be replaced by callsigns.
It was no longer Tuesday or Wednesday.
It was the day with PR6, the day with PR8, the day with PR9.
The levades, in addition to giving their name to some of the most famous trails, are water channels built to transport water from the island's humid areas to the drier ones. The narrow paths used to maintain them have become, over time, some of the most beautiful ways to discover the forests and slopes of Madeira.
PR6 – Levada das 25 Fontes was incredibly beautiful.
Lots of greenery, water that accompanies you and that feeling that the path was cut through the forest without disturbing the place too much. The name promises water, and the route delivers. For us, this was also easy, especially by the standards we come with from Romania.
That doesn't make it any less beautiful.
Sometimes we have the bad habit of measuring a route only by its difficulty. If it didn't break our legs and we didn't reach the car negotiating every step, we feel like we didn't do enough.
Madeira quickly teaches you that a hike doesn't have to punish you to be worth it.
Then came Cabo Girão.
A place that doesn't take hours to take effect. You arrive, look down, see the Atlantic, and you understand again how steep the island is. Madeira sometimes seems built vertically, as if someone had forgotten that people generally prefer flatter terrain.
Spectacular.
No other explanations.
We couldn't miss PR8 – Ponta de São Lourenço.
After the humid forests and the green-hidden levades, the eastern end of the island changes the scenery completely. The landscape becomes open, volcanic and almost arid. The ocean appears on both sides, the wind is no longer filtered by the trees, and the path follows the coast as if it wants to see how far it can go into the Atlantic.
If Fanal makes you speak more slowly, Ponta de São Lourenço makes you look further.
The coastal route from Machico continued at the same pace, with the sea always close by and the relief that doesn't let you forget that you're on a volcanic island.
At Achadas da Cruz, the scale of the landscape has changed again. The slopes seem to drop straight down to the ocean, and the places where people have managed to make their way, houses and land seem almost impossible when viewed from above.
Madeira has this talent.
Just when you think you've got it, change the scenery.
PR9 – Levada do Caldeirão Verde took us back into the forest, close to the water, through tunnels and green walls. If Ponta de São Lourenço keeps you permanently under the open sky, Caldeirão Verde pulls you into the interior of the island.
Light filters through the leaves, water flows beside the path, and the walk takes on a steady rhythm.
Step.
Water.
Forest.
Tunnel.
And light again.
Vereda dos Balcões was more of a stroll than a serious hike, but the view at the end more than makes up for the lack of difficulty. It's one of those places where you arrive quickly and stay longer than you planned, just because the mountains are right in front of you.
Obviously, we couldn't miss the famous PR1 – Pico do Areeiro.
It's the route I had heard the most about before leaving and one of the places that almost inevitably pops up when you search for Madeira. Ridges, steps, cliffs, clouds and the feeling that the island has gathered all its dramatic shapes in one place.
It seemed easy to us by the standards of Romanian trails.
But "easy" is always a personal word. For someone used to the mountains, the trail flows well. For someone who comes with only enthusiasm and city shoes, the experience will probably be formulated differently.
On the mountain, optimism is no substitute for good footing.
Levada dos Cedros came as a change of tone.
A relaxing and beautiful walk, through a landscape that doesn't constantly try to impress you. After so many cliff edges, lookout points and places where the Atlantic took up the entire frame, here the island seemed to speak more slowly.
I was also lucky with the weather.
The temperatures were very pleasant, and walking through the forest, out of direct sunlight, was excellent. It was warm enough not to need many layers, but not so hot that every stop turned into a drying operation.
In short, enough so that you don't sweat too much.
An underestimated criterion in any active vacation.
Between routes, the Mini connected all the days together.
The roads in Madeira seem made for those who love curves, even though this time we had two extra wheels. With the roof down, the wind entered the car, the terrain changed after every turn, and the engine conscientiously did its job on the slopes.
It wasn't a motorcycle.
On a motorcycle you feel the road in a different way. In your palms, in your shoulders, in your knees. You are closer to the asphalt, to the temperature, to the smells of the place and, sometimes, closer than you would like to the rain.
But the Mini gave us enough of that open road feeling that I didn't feel like I had completely betrayed the cause.
Especially since we were together.
And maybe that was the important part.
Before a trip to Madeira, it's worth checking the status of each trail. Access can change depending on weather or safety works, and trails classified as PR currently require booking through the official platform. Don't leave checking for the parking lot at the entrance, where the sign and well-laid plans can disappear at once. ([Visit Madeira][3])
After a week, the feeling was that wherever you went on the island there was something spectacular to see.
A forest that looks better in the fog.
A rib that looks like it was drawn with a ruler and then broken by hand.
A levada that takes you through places where, without that stream of water, you probably would never have reached.
A road that descends, climbs, and twists just enough to remind you why you chose the convertible.
The people were extremely welcoming, the atmosphere relaxed, and the nature formidable.
The family's verdict was unanimous.
We have to return to Madeira.
Maybe even more often.
I left, trying to fool my longing for a motorcycle with a Mini without a roof. I came back without feeling the need for comparison.
Because not all road stories have to have two wheels.
Sometimes the wind matters. Sometimes the path. Sometimes the fact that, at the end of the day, those you went with saw the same place and remained, for a few minutes, as silent as you.
Three months have passed and I don't remember every stop.
But I remember the fog in Fanal.
I remember the curves.
I remember the Atlantic.
And I remember that before we left, three people came to the same conclusion:
Here we go again.
What place made you completely forget how many wheels you got there with?
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