Madeira is wonderfully lacking in Scrooges

My wife and I arrived in Madeira for a week’s peace and quiet, but the driver from the airport had other ideas and was soon telling us how difficult it was to own a taxi these days. Cars are much more expensive to buy than in Spain, for example, and there is a lot of red tape involved in running a cab. He was happy to be out of the Madeiran capital, Funchal, where the police were busy doing spot-checks. Sure enough, his pal soon called to complain that he’d just been fined for some minor breach of regulations. Then we were on to Portuguese politics. The Prime Minister, Antonio Costa, had recently resigned following corruption allegations. Parliament would be dissolved and a new election organised, or else the Socialist party would be asked if they wanted to appoint a new PM. Our driver shrugged, that most expressive of gestures, while I worked out whether I could use any of it in my next novel.

We were in a hotel near Funchal’s cathedral and soon learned the rhythm of the day. When a cruise ship arrived, the streets became busy, not only with visitors but with locals setting out their stalls. One day all three of the Fred Olsen fleet were in port at the same time. This seldom happens, and as they prepared for their evening departure, a tugboat pirouetted alongside, spraying water jets into the air. Horns were sounded and, as darkness fell, we were treated to an unexpected fireworks display. Perhaps this was a rehearsal for the festive season. Lorries full of strings of lights arrived in the city each day and soon no immovable object was left unadorned. I wondered how the grid could cope, but was told that much of the island’s energy comes from large-scale solar panels covering many of the hillsides.