Salisbury 2

Tags

Cancer Research, Edward Heath, Kate Chruscicka, Mompesson House, National Trust, Salisbury, Salisbury Cathedral

Salisbury 2.  Out once more on the Cathedral green, I stood in the middle and took a video.

Just from there, not counting the rest of Salisbury, there were several things we could have been to see, including:

A regimental museum and quite posh tea room in one building

Heath’s home, Arundells, is now owned and run by a charitable trust

But we decided upon the National Trust property, Mompesson House, a ‘perfectly proportioned Queen Anne house’.  Again, photography was freely allowed – just no flash. The property was not large, so it did not take us long to go round. 

I thought of my new bridge-playing friends at this point

Not a bad view from your bedroom…

And a pleasant view from the landing as well

We wandered slowly back into town,  and not long after decided we just had time for a cup of tea before Mary had to get back to the station for her train.  And for once we were delighted to be entertained by a street musician, a violinist, clearly very talented and playing very acceptable melodic music. 

 

We learned in due course that her name was Kate Chruscicka, a professional, though this time she was playing for Cancer Research, a cause for which she will be climbing Mount Kilimanjaro in October. (Mary knows someone who is doing similarly, so we are wondering if the two women will be on the same expedition.)

I had been hoping to drive eastwards on leaving Salisbury to join relatives in Berkshire, as we were meant to be making a sixth attempt to go up in a hot air balloon the following morning.  However, by the time I got back to my car, I knew that this attempt had also been cancelled, yet again ‘due to unfavourable weather conditions’.  Next try next week – I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll ever get to do that blog post!

But I’m sure to go back to Salisbury.

Salisbury 1

Tags

Ernst Blensdorf, kathedra, Magna Carta, Modern font, Old clock, Prisoners of conscience, Salisbury, Salisbury Cathedral, William Longespee

Salisbury 1.  A couple of days ago, my friend Mary and I met up in Salisbury to spend a few hours together there – and catch up on our news.  We headed from the station for a coffee, at the Café Rouge in the (pedestrianised) High Street. I had somehow never been to Salisbury in my life, and Mary hadn’t been there for a very long time, so after a very lengthy coffee (because as ever we had so much to talk about), we agreed that the highest priority was to visit the Cathedral. These external pictures were taken in the afternoon, by which time there were hordes of people there, mainly foreign schoolchildren on visits. But in the morning, the number of visitors was very reasonable.  We were very impressed by the discreet helpfulness of the many (presumably volunteer) guides there.

After a look down the full length of the building, 

and wondering if I might bump into a friend living nearly, with long and strong connections to the Cathedral, I could have spent a very long time just studying this model of the construction of it. But following the suggested walk – and surprised and delighted that photos were allowed without having to pay for a permit – we next looked at the oldest working mechanical clock in England (1386).  It has no face, but, (on special occasions only now) chimes the hour, which was presumably sufficient indication of the passage of time in the days when it was built. Not easy to see what’s going on here. All is revealed – a most beautiful and very modern font (2003).  This was somewhere else I could have spent hours in peaceful contemplation. We continued on the suggested route. 

Looking west

Looking east

The Prisoners of Conscience window (1980)

The ‘kathedra’, the seat of the Bishop

I particularly liked this detail

Another lovely modern feature

There was still a little way to go, but we were getting hungry, and the restaurant was conveniently in the way.  An excellent choice of food, but we settled for soups and some delicious granary bread. The cloisters and chapter house remained.  The latter contained one of the four copies existing of Magna Carta.  On seeing the queue,

we decided not to join it.  It was not only long, but making the chapter house very noisy.

For some reason, I chose to go into the stocks located, presumably for tourist reasons, in the cloisters. 

I did escape in due course, and we left the Cathedral – one of the most beautiful places of worship I think I have ever visited – to decide what we would do for the remaining hours of our time in Salisbury.

Somerset Rural Life Museum

Tags

Glastonbury Abbey, Glastonbury Tor, Harriet Mead, Hitler, James Lynch, Mapstone, Mussolini, Somerset Rural Life Museum, South West Heritage Trust

I live just a five-minute walk from the Somerset Rural Life Museum, which has been closed for refurbishment for the last three years.  Its unofficial official reopening was yesterday, and a friend, Liz, and I went to it.  What a fantastic job they’ve done! The Museum comprises a farmhouse, the Abbey Barn (that’s Glastonbury Abbey) and a small amount of land.  Until Henry VIII’s 16th century Dissolution of all the abbeys, all the land round here belonged to the Abbey. Since then it has passed through many hands, and in 1917 George Mapstone took over the tenancy.  Mr and Mrs H R Mapstone bought the farm in 1940.  Mrs Mapstone sold most of the land for housing (including where I live) in 1974, but gave the farmhouse and the Abbey Barn to Somerset County Council which used it for the museum. (For the history of the landholding – and much more about Glastonbury – see here.)

The unofficial official opening took place on the north side of the Barn.  Because it was an unofficial official opening there was no ribbon to be cut (the official official opening will be by the Duke of Gloucester in a week or so’s time), so instead the last surviving Mapstone daughter and the Chairman of the Trustees of the museum together unveiled the flag of Somerset.Given the numbers present, we were invited not all to go in via the front door (of the farmhouse), so Liz and I made straight for the courtyard,

(Glastonbury Tor in the background)

where there was music,but most importantly the horse, Captain, made entirely of scrap metal. Liz’s partner, Ray, had been in charge of the machinery which had lifted him into place, and had apparently come home that day raving about the sculpture.  Liz and Ray know a thing or two professionally about horses, and Liz was exclaiming how completely anatomically correct this creation was.  Moreover, she had learned that the sculptor, Harriet Mead, had made no preliminary drawing, but had just started welding pieces of scrap metal together.  (Her work has been featured on the BBC’s ‘Countryfile’.)

 

There is no risk that the sculpture will be pushed over.  It is installed on a solid plinth buried in a large hole in the ground.

We moved into the Abbey Barn, the south side of which completes the courtyard.  It has a splendid new packed earth – I think it’s that – floor (the hardness of which, incidentally will make it much more satisfying for any concerts held there from now on).From there, we went into the farmyard galleries, which, although still housed in the courtyard buildings, have been utterly transformed. Here is just a small selection of the photos I took, (sadly on my phone – I hadn’t thought to take my camera).It was time for a coffee, bought from the café which was undoubtedly having its busiest ever day – entry to the museum was free today –  in a kitchen which was totally new to the staff!

I’d love to know what was being indicated!

 

We talked to the artist, James Lynch, of this amazing landscape, painted in egg tempera on plaster, for a while. Then it was time to go, as we had met and stopped to chat with many interesting people that Liz knew, and as we went we reflected on some of the many quotations appearing around the place.

(I used to sing this at my school in London. I had no idea it was a Somerset folksong!)

With a backward look at the farmhouse, and its porch, the proper entrance to the Museum, I decided to return today, Sunday, to finish looking around.

 

Which I did, with camera this time, around lunchtime.  The time of day, the threatening showers, (the dark and cloudy morning had not turned out to be sunshiny) and of course the fact that it was not longer the opening day, meant than attendance was much thinner on the ground, though I imagine that the staff and volunteers would be pleased enough to see this many people in due course.

I looked around the farmhouse this time, though there remain two more rooms to be fitted out, and was able to admire how well a modern extension to the museum has been blended with the old house.The rooms house many exhibits which have been in storage for so long.

 

The farmhouse kitchen

1940s fairground targets with the faces of Hitler and Mussolini on them

A variety of drinking mugs

 

 

And a very modern exhibit – a waste bin from a recent ‘Glastonbury’ Festival (held in fact at Pilton 7 miles to the east)

 

I went out into the yard again, where Captain was still being admired, and I even saw a woman stroking his nose.  I wonder will that part of his anatomy become shiny in due course?

The black shed is a grain store

The orchard, with its varieties of apples and its sheep, is once more accessible to the public, and has acquired a coconut shy – which I refrained from playing on.

Shepherd’s hut 

Unlike many museums, this one does not oblige you to leave via the shop, but I did so.  It is good to know that just five minutes away I may buy gifts of Somerset produce and manufacture.

 

Congratulations to the South West Heritage Trust for this magnificent restoration, come to fruition so soon after they reopened the beautiful Museum of Somerset at Taunton.

Sicily 8: Catania

Tags

Bellini, Catania, Etna, Frederick II of Hohenstaufen, lava tube, Monteverdi, Nievski, Sicily, Siculorum gymnasium, Trattoria de Fiore

Sicily 8: Catania. Suitcases packed, accounts settled, we were off to spend the day in Catania before dispersing.  A last sighting of Etna as we went south.

Francesca had arranged for us to leave our luggage in Catania at a small B and B, The Globetrootter, owned by a friend, for the day, and we set off.

I was thrilled serendipitously at the first place we stopped, a castle built by one of my favourite characters in history, Frederick II of Hohenstaufen, 1194-1250, a fascinating, if far from likeable, man.  I had studied him for my ‘A’ levels and he had intrigued me then.  (If you click on the link, skip the history, and go to ‘Personality’, and ‘Literature and Science’.) On my trip to Sicily in 1975 I had paid homage at his tomb in Palermo Cathedral.  This castle was a real bonus for me.

Although we went in, it was just to say hello to the woman running the bookshop, another friend of Francesca.  (We came across many more of them during the day – this was her home city after all, and she was well-known as a television journalist on the island.)

We then went on to the fishmarket, which turned out to be so much more.

Smoking artichokes!

Francesca and a scampo

We had been told about long courgettes!

 

The next two photos will be of interest only to geology enthusiasts, especially since one is not at all clear.  We went through a bar to see a lava tube, a tunnel made by flowing lava as it solidifies on the outside.  As the sign indicates, it formed during the eruption of Etna in 1669.  It’s of particular interest because it now has a stream flowing though it – in the other direction from that of the original lava flow.On to Catania’s cathedral.  I was pleased to see the tomb of Sicily’s famous composer, Bellini, but not nearly as much as I had been to come across that of Monteverdi in Venice some years back.After a stop for refreshments in the cathedral square, we walked on, and passed this.It was communist headquarters, now a popular pub

 

Not a the modern meaning of a gymnasium, but a place of learning. ‘Siculorum’ means ‘of [the] Sicilians’

Lunchtime.  At the Trattoria de Fiore, run (that does not adequately describe the force that she is) for the last 40 plus years by Rosanna, who makes wonderful pasta among other things.  Ordering our meal was an event in itself, especially since Rosanna just loves talking – and she wasn’t the only Sicilian present who has the same predilection…The others all ordered pasta , but I just didn’t feel hungry enough so I ordered antipasti and a light fish dish…

My antipasti!

 

But I should have known that antipasti would be more than sufficient. The sardines to follow were delicious, but I could only manage two of the seven, even though they were small as fresh sardines go.  I managed to persuade others to eat three of those left over, and made copious apologies to Rosanna for not finishing the entire dish.

Here is a blurry picture of someone’s ‘pasta alla norma’, resembling a volcano.We got up from table well after 4 pm!  It was nearly time to get back to the B and B place to pick up our luggage and say goodbye.  But we just had one more visit to make – to what had once been a monastery and was now a university – where Francesca had done her studies.We were able to peek inside the large rooms where lecturers worked – the monks clearly didn’t stint themselves for space back in the days.

And so we said goodbye.  Geoff was off to Syracusa, Francesca, and Alec and Isobel were staying on in Catania for one extra night before returning to the UK the following day, so it was just Emma and I who took a 20-minute bus ride to the airport to await our plane, which would get us to Gatwick at midnight.

Despite my accidents and being off-colour, it had been a lovely week in good and friendly company, with a great variety of themes and activities.  Being a study tour had made it extra interesting.  If there is one which stands out as both unexpected and ultra enjoyable … it was Food!

I  think it is definitely a case of ‘Arrivederci Sicilia’.  I hope so anyway.

Sicily 7: Taormina

Tags

amaro, D H Lawrence, Etna, Florence Trevelyan, Fontana Vecchia, Francesca Marchese, G7, Geoff Andrews, granita, Parco Duca di Cesaro, Sciascia, Sicily, Taormina, Verga

Sicily 7: Taormina.  I had slept terribly on Monday night, or rather I scarcely slept at all. My ankle was troubling me – discomfort is always worse at night – my cold was now full-blown, and I had a sore shoulder from my fall.  I therefore decided to cut the morning’s programme of discussion on Sicilian writers, notably Sciascia and Verga, (of whom I had  never heard) and to rejoin my companions at lunchtime.  I was greeted at 12.45, ‘Have you heard the news? [Wifi was patchy in the bedrooms.] There’s to be a general election on 8th June.’

Well, that determined conversation over our meal – fortunately and not surprisingly we were all committed Remainers, so there was no falling out.

The afternoon’s programme was a visit to the nearby large town of Taormina. On being dropped, we made out way to the Greek/Roman amphitheatre.  Taormina is to host the G7 for three days at the end of May, so it is being spruced up everywhere.  I counted four separate work sites in the amphitheatre, each of them seemingly driven by a very noisy generator.And sadly the iconic (sorry!) view towards Etna was restricted by clouds over the volcano.  Oh well, I had had a good view of it in 1975…The views north and south from the spot were wonderful. Francesca, testing out security, then marched the five of us into a very posh hotel nearby.She so much wanted us to see its gardens.Next it was the Parco Duca di Cesaro, created by the Englishwoman, Florence Trevelyan, two centuries ago. However, Britain, as it seemed to me, had been once of the few large powers before the nineteenth century never to have ruled Sicily.  Evidence of occupations of Sicily was to be seen everywhere.

Greek

Roman

French

And then it was time to visit the ‘best place in Taormina’ for granita.

Eating Granita is a serious business

All around the town we had seen wonderful paintings on external walls.  I regret not having taken more photos of them.  But  we stopped to have a particular look at these, which actually were not in the same style as the others.  Francesca called on the owner of the house they ornamented, whom she knew to be the author of all these paintings, and chatted to him for a while.There were not only paintings everywhere we went but wonderful balcony decorations.  Here is one near the painter’s house.But this had been my favourite, a feast for my eyes while my mouth was feasting on my granita.There was one more place to be visited.  Geoff was very keen that we should see Fontana Vecchia, the former house of D H Lawrence.  We had to tramp a bit for this, and we had some difficulty finding it. My ankle was troubling me and I was feeling very tired, so at one point I stopped, and sat on a low wall as the sun started going down, while the others continued searching. They were gone for what seemed to me a very long time.   But I was delighted on their coming to pick me up to learn that not only had they found the house, but they been invited in by the current owner.  One very happy group returned to Edoné – and I had managed to buy my amaro to take home.

 

Sicily 3: Good Friday Procession

Tags

amaro, Castiglione, Good Friday, Religious custom, Sicily, Venerdi Santo

Sicily 3: Good Friday Procession.  For 2500 years, Sicily has been a melting pot of Mediterranean and other cultures and conquerors, : Greek, Carthaginian, Roman, Byzantine, Arab, Norman, German, Spanish, French, before finally acceding to unity with the Italian mainland in the nineteenth century.  Olive has already commented (Sicily 1) how Good Friday processions in Spain are spooky.  I think therefore that the procession we saw on Venerdì Santo must date from the Spanish era.  We had been told that the processions – the make up of which varied greatly between towns, though all would include statues Christ and the Virgin Mary, and often guild banners – were essentially about the Sicilians’ relationship with death.  And, my, was this mournful.  Very long faces, no chatting, to begin with anyway, and the band playing very solemn music, including at one point Chopin’s Funeral March.

We were driven to Castiglione. After we had parked, I limped along with the others in search of the procession, and after a short while we saw it coming towards us.  We went up some steps, and I managed to get these pretty impressionist photos.

People in various uniforms, including clergy, a choir of female voices, the band and large numbers of the general population. “That’s it” said Francesca, as the last went by.  “But where is the statue of Christ carried by the four virgins?” I asked.   It had been there she replied.

We moved along by the side of and near to the front of the procession.  This time I saw the Christ figure.  It was much smaller and  less obvious than the Virgin Statue.  Very odd, I thought. (And I’m not sure how I managed to miss it first time anyhow.)

From time to time the priest intoned prayers, and processors sometimes joined in

Very young and very old were there…

… though this push chair is carrying a loudspeaker so that the priest may be heard.

 

This was the only person I saw looking from a balcony, though I reckon most of the town was taking part.

We continued, accompanying the procession.

And I stopped to record the band.

The procession ended up at the church.  I didn’t enter and the others just hovered at the door for a few minutes before we all went off to find refreshment.  I discovered amaro, the bitter but tasty drink.

Yes, that is a conspiratorial look from the proprietor as Francesca takes her drink

 

Saturday: Mount Etna

An orgy of exhibitions, concluded

Tags

Ardizzone, Bacchus, Camley Park, Cézanne, coot, Courtauld Gallery, Daumier, Granary Square, Gtand Union Canal, House of Illustration, Imperial War Museum, Kings Cross Development, Oradour-sur-Glane, Pissarro, Rodin, Somerset House, St Mary le Strand, St Pancras Station, World War 2

Ardizzone and Rodin.  Neither of us had before heard of the English illustrator, Edward Ardizzone (1900-1979).  But when I had read of the exhibition at the House of Illustration devoted to his work, I realised that I, like probably everyone else of my age who had read storybooks as a child, must have seen so many of his pictures.  And how familiar his style turned out to be!  And how delightful!  However, Ardizzone was also an official war artist in WW2, and in due course worked for the magazine ‘Punch’ .

But I’m getting ahead. The House of Illustration is on Granary Square, part of the Kings Cross development  project, and has been open there for a couple of years.  Mary and I stopped for coffee first at the café of a well-known supermarket housed in a very attractively converted old industrial building.

“A cappuccino and a flat white please.”

“We don’t do a flat white. Would you like a coffee?”

Well, that was a first!

Photography was not allowed, and they had run out of postcards.  I have picked these images up from internet sources (and will of course remove any subjected to protest that they are copyrighted.)

Illustrations for children.

Illustrations for adults

Many of his enticing book covers, for both adults and children, were exhibited.

War pictures

But this next really got to me.  (It is owned by the Imperial War Museum and is definitely in the public domain.)  It is called ‘A Drunken Dutchman in a Street in Bremen’.  So much more poignant than any photo.  And it reminded me of my visit to Oradour-sur-Glane a few years ago, that town sacked by the Nazis in 1944 as they retreated from western France, killing almost every single inhabitant, man, woman and child, many of them after they had been been herded into the church which was then set on fire.  The town was left as it was in 1945 as a memorial and is now a tourist ‘attraction’.

Outside once more, we walked around the Kings Cross development, not yet finished.  To my delight I found that it abutted, over the Grand Union Canal, the Camley Park nature reserve, which I have yet to visit.

St Pancras Station in silhouette

This coot was almost literally under our feet, on the ‘wrong’ side of the canal.

A short bus ride took us round to the sunny side of St Pancras Station, where we changed routes.

We were heading for the Courtauld gallery, housed in Somerset House, which has a very varied history.

Our view at lunch, taken in their café, would have been more interesting a few days either earlier or later.  Today they were clearing away the ice skating rink which had been there from mid-November to the middle of this month.

St Mary le Strand peeping over to the right

 

Making our way back to the Courtauld Gallery entrance, we heeded Bacchus’s warning.

Photography in the Rodin and Dance exhibition was not allowed, so here are scans of a couple of the more publishable exhibits.  Most of the others were studies (for sculptures) much too explicit for a nice girl like me to share. Rodin himself shared them with only a few friends.

 

The exhibition was small and quickly viewed, so we completed our visit to the Gallery by looking at some of the many other wonderful, well-known, exhibits. These are my photos.

Cézanne, The Lake at Annecy

Cézanne, The Card Players, one of Mary’s favourites

Pissarro, Lordship Lane, Dulwich

Rubens, Landscape by Moonlight

 

I had only visited the Courtauld Gallery once before, decades ago when I lived in London.  I had fallen for and bought a postcard of this picture of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza by Daumier. I still have it, very dog-eared from years of use as a bookmark.  So I treated myself to a new one:

Many, many thanks to Mary for her company and hospitality over this couple of days.

Madeira 8

Tags

Funchal, Kapok fruit, Lonely Planet, Maeira, Monarch butterfly, Museu de Arte Sacra, Quinta das Cruzes, sperm whale, VMT Madeira catamaran, whale breaching, Zarco

Madeira 8. Plans were for culture in the morning and a boat trip in the afternoon. Slightly thwarted before lunch, and a huge (literally!) bonus in the afternoon. I was intending to go to the Museum of Sacred Art in the morning.  A short walk took me to the Plaça do Municipio.

(The city hall is the lower building on the right).

And I arrived a few minutes before 10.00 when, according to my guide book, the museum was due to open.

It didn’t.  I was astonished at this fundamental error in the book, and sat on a bench nearby to study what I could do instead.  After a few minutes, a couple arrived, looked at the opening times, studied their guide book, and looked puzzled.  I saw them later – they had decided the same as I had for an alternative, the Quinta das Cruzes museum, which was originally the home of Joâo Gonçalves Zarco, the Portuguese captain who ‘discovered’ Madeira.  It promised to be filled with priceless antiques from all over the globe.

This had involved a steep climb.  If you go south to north in Funchal that is inevitable, and there are limits on what you can do by just strolling east-west.  When I got there, the receptionist told me that the sacred art museum used to open on Sunday mornings until recently, (so you are forgiven Lonely Planet).  She also told me that today this museum was free.  What she didn’t tell was was that only the ground floor was open.  But I did see some priceless antiques.

And then wandered around the garden, not taking many photos.

After much needed refreshment at a nearby café, I wandered back down north to south, aiming for the municipal gardens where I had had my first meal six days previously. But first I went to right to the seafront to book my passage for the afternoon.  Again I took not many pictures in the garden.

I’d seen a kapok tree in flower earlier in the week This is one in fruit.

I took time over my lunch, and rejoiced in seeing at a great distance a gorgeous butterfly I didn’t recognise, on the extreme leaf of this tree.

It was only on arriving home that I was able to identify it.  A Monarch!  That’s the butterfly that in its thousands flies all those thousands of miles between, say, Canada and Mexico each year.  I didn’t know that it was found outside North America!  Wow!

In due course, it was time to join my fellow passengers for the boat trip.But no, I didn’t go on this ship in the event.  A little bird in the group had alleged to me (I’d better be careful) that it had not passed all of its latest safety tests.  I was already tempted to go on the whale- and dolphin-watching catamaran trip, (run by VMT Catamaran) and that decided me.  How glad I am that I did, for reasons that will becomes apparent!

There were only about 15 passengers, and a crew of four, which made moving around very easy.  Very good commentary in (always first and quite right too!) Portuguese, and then English.

It was this sort of boat, looked identical to me.

We set off eastwards, on water that was very blue because very deep. The island of Madeira being only the protruding top of a volcanic complex that is six kilometres high, the land falls off immediately to the depths at the water’s edge.

After a short while the sails went up. First the mainsail,

and then the jib. (I think it’s that).

And then they came down again.

We were into the serious business of watching whales and needed the manoeuvrability that the engine would give. No dolphins, but Sperm whales!  A first for me.  Some were fairly close. I took literally hundreds of photos, and many would say that these selected results are not that wonderful if so.  But the fact is that whales stay largely below the water surface, and are not easy to capture on ‘film’!

First sighting

and the obligatory…

 

… disappearing tail flukes

The head is one-third of the length of the sperm whale, and contains, in a space the size of a small car, the very valuable spermaceti, oil so sought after by the whalers.  Sperm whales are now of course protected.

Not a small fin but a very large vertebra

 

Blowing

I reckon we must have seen and sailed alongside about five different whales before I thought I saw at a great distance, on the other side of the boat, the characteristic splash of a whale that had just breached – that is, completely jumped out of the water.  I just couldn’t be sure of my identification, so I kept my mouth shut and my eyes peeled, and did indeed see the whole action, once or twice, by which time the crew had seen it too. (I hadn’t liked to draw attention to the initial splash for fear of being proved a fool, though I am quite used to trying to spot distant cetaceans.)

And – poor things, but mine own – I managed to get these photos!

Once we had sailed on – the time you can stay by a group of whales is limited, in function of the number of boats there are around, and there were two today of course – I had to share my excitement at my pictures.  The main commentator insisted I show them to firstly the captain, and then to the professional photographer on board.  Then a young German couple asked me to email them to them in due course.  And bought me a drink.

We sailed on further eastwards and I got this very zoomed shot of the airport runway extension. Tomorrow!On the way back westwards, this half volcano tip was pointed out to us, the rest eroded by the sea.

Setting off for her next destination.

Late afternoon views of the coast, around Funchal,

To the west

To the east

 

And we arrived back just a smidgeon too early to get the perfect sunset shot.

What a fantastic end to a most enjoyable week.  Madeira may be a little too built up for my liking, but I think I have been spoilt previously by some far-off wildlife holidays where there are no buildings or any signs of humans for tens of miles at a time.  I see that one of my favourite holiday companies does three consecutive and different trips here in June each year.  It is certainly my hope to return to Madeira in the fairly near future, and may well do one of even two of those trips. I’d really love to go back.

Madeira 7

Tags

Baia d'Abra, Brocken's Spectre, Cristian Rinaldo Airport, elephant, Faial, Funchal Airport, Glory, Hibiscus, Islas Desertas, levada, Machico, Madeira, Monk Seals, Pico d'Arieiro, Ponta da Sao Laurenco, porta da Cruz, Radar station, Ribeiro Frio, Santana, trout farm, Wordpress

Madeira 7. Saturday 19th November.  A grand tour of the East of the island, certainly my favourite organised day.

We set off along the new roads towards and past the airport, which has recently had it runway extended – by building over the sea.  I managed to get a shot of how it works as we whizzed past.

We were soon passing Machico, said by Lina to be the second largest town on the island, Wikipedia says third.  Whatever – at some 22,000 its population is only about 8% of that of Funchal.  It does boast one of only two yellow sandy beaches in Madeira – sand imported  since the island only produces black volcanic stuff.

On to the easternmost accessible part of the island, the Ponta de Sâo Laurenço and the Baia d’Abra.

Looking back westwards

Looking eastwards. I love the way the spray frames the cliff.

For the second time in the week we observed a photoshoot going on. Madeira’s a good wheeze!The tour continued.

Porta da Cruz

Faial

 

Hibiscus, Santana

There used to be many houses like this all over the island. These at Santana are kept for tourism purposes

Cats just love drinking anywhere but their bowls.  Is this a mini levada I wonder?

After lunch in a very nice restaurant back near Faial, I had a little wander,

Faial village

before we moved on to Ribeiro Frio, where the main point of interest is a trout farm – though it looked as if there was some great walking to be had from there as well.

It was grey and overcast at this last stop, so as we then climbed and climbed to the Pico D’Arieiro we feared that there would be no views because of the cloud cover.  No need to have worried.

Supermoon?

No, a military radar station

Remember I said something previously about no elephants on Madeira?

 

It was fabulous, above the clouds

But this was the best of all.  A ‘glory’! A phenomenon that can occur when you have the sun behind you and cloud below you. Amazing and wonderful, (and much clearer than it seems in this photo, as I think the camera probably had problems focussing on the cloud).  There was in fact a very clear second rainbow around the first.  The whole thing was just spectacular. (It may or may not have been a Brocken’s Spectre, when you see your own silhouette against the rainbow, but I think that in that case your silhouette is dead centre.  I think this was the shadow of a radio mast which was behind me and slightly to my right.)

(Here I am looking at it – photo again by Charlie.)

Yes, it was near a precipitous edge, but not as close as it appears.

On the way back, this time we stopped near Machico, and got a better view of the town, and of the extreme tip of the island where we had been in the morning.  And of the artificial sandy beach.

These are the Islas Desertas, an uninhabited nature reserve, but full of lots of wildlife, particularly birds and monk seals, and you can go there on a trip.  I might, next time.

Finally, back past that airport, where I snatched these two photos through the windows of the coach.

We were to take off over that runway two days later!

 

Nothing was laid on for the last day. But I had plans…

Madeira 5

Tags

Autonomia, cable car, Don Alfonso, espetada, Funchal, Madeira, Madeiran chaffinch, Monte Palace Tropical Gardens, poncha, Teleferico

Madeira 5. Having been dropped at the seafront, I made my way eastwards to the old town (Zona Velha), passing Autonomia on the way.

This 2014 sculpture (on the top of a pillar, but I found the lower background unattractive) commemorates the granting by Portugal of regional autonomy to Madeira in 1974.

The Rua de Santa Maria seemed to consist only of small cafes and restaurants, and I succumbed to the blandishments of the almost the first.  I had a black scabbard fish sandwich and salad, with passion fruit  juice, and very much enjoyed them.  Having wandered on through the old town, I made my way back almost to the Praça Autonomia  (Autonomy Square) to the terminal of the cable car back up to Monte. (The cable car to the much nearer Botanic Gardens has been out of action since the fire.)

And what a fabulous ride it was!  You step into the very slow moving cabin, which has just disgorged any previous passengers, try not to panic because it looks as if the doors are never going to shut, but they do, and then sit back and admire the view.

What surprised me most was how almost silent and almost vibrationless the ride was.  And it’s a good long one.  I was really looking back to the ride back down.

But first I had a visit to make, to the Monte Palace Tropical  Gardens. The Palace started life in the 18th century as a private residence belonging to the British Consul.  It later became a hotel, and then in the 1980s it was bought by a local businessman who added all sorts of wacky and not-so-wacky items.

It was a hot day, but almost all the time, I was in shade on the two hours + suggested route. I was greeted with a series of ceramic panels giving a history of Portugal. Not of Madeira – the subject of this panel, Don Alfonso, dated 1185-1283, would not even have known about the island, which was not ‘discovered’ until 1419.

I really enjoyed my afternoon here, just regretting that I had no time to visit the museum.

Red admiral, I think. [Later: Bernard , below, says it’s the Indian Red Admiral – and he knows!]

At the furthest point of the ‘red line’ (on the plan) walk. I looked over the parapet and saw this:

I’m not sure the woman was enjoying herself!

This was near the physically lowest point of the tour and I slowly made my way up again.

This life-sized figure, outside the palace, is one I’d love to have taken home for my garden.

Madeira has its own native chaffinch.  Is this one?  I have no idea. [Later: Bernard confirms that it is, a female, the one we know not being present on the island.]

Deferring the pleasure of the ride down for as long as possible – and because I was in need of refreshment – I stopped at the café by the side of the Teleferico,

and bought a poncha, a mixture of cane sugar alcohol, fruit juice and sugar.  I had mine with orange juice, though I believe more authentic would have been lemon.  I loved it, and it went very well with my third custard tart of the week.

For my ride back down, I held back from joining a family in their cabin, and had one all to myself. My pleasure was only slightly diminished by the very clear evidence of the fire.

Though it’s good to see the green returning.

 

But my main souvenir is wonderful. So quiet, so smooth.

A Madeiran evening was laid on for us at a restaurant back near the Pico dos Bartelos.  The centrepiece (literally) was the famed local dish, espetada, sort of vertical kebabs. I usually try to avoid eating red meat, but I didn’t want to make a fuss, and I have to say, the meat was incredibly tender.

So on the one day, and not by design, I had had the two main traditional Madeiran dishes, espada (black scabbard fish) and espetada (beef kebabs).

Entertainment followed, and it was good to see people of all ages joining in, whether as dancer or musician, and sometimes both.

This had been a very full Thursday.