What comes into your mind if somebody says the number 1066? Me too. Until today that is. Keep that number in mind for later.
Monday morning and we are meeting up with family friends for coffee. They are passing through, cruising, and have a six hour stopover in Funchal so we have arranged to meet up for a chat over coffee. I realise that it is nice to chat freely in your own language without the challenge of searching for vocabulary. A couple of hours later we are on our way up the Ribiera Brava valley gaining height towards Encumeada. We continue up onto the Paul do Serra taking the road towards Janela. We are heading to Fanal to do a four hour circular walk which is part Levada walk and part ramble, but as we gain height the clouds have dropped and there is barely any visibility, with the clouds creating swirling mists around us. Also, because of our trip to Funchal, we have left it late in the day and it is already 2pm. Fanal is an area of Porto Moniz, a volcanic cauldron 1120 metres above sea level, with lots of walks to be enjoyed under the canopy of the hundred year old ‘Til’ trees, a type of Laurel also known as 'stinkwood' in reference to the essential oils which give an unpleasant odour to the wood. Following the winter rains, this area becomes a beautiful lagoon, but we are walking at the end of summer time so it is fairly dry; although once under the tilo canopy it remains damp year round with mosses and ferns clinging to the trees and covering the rocks.
When we reach the parking area we have risen above the clouds, which are now swirling below us in the valleys. We decide to continue with our plans and leave the car to follow a path, the two metre high broom immediately immersing us in nature. After a short while, the path descends steeply into the ravine by way of rough steps and a clay path; the canopy extending higher and higher above us so that we can no longer see the sky, only the dense foliage of the ancient forest. After twenty minutes we reach the levada and follow it clockwise. It is old and narrow, as is the path beside it, and the surroundings give the illusion of a dense jungle rising high and plunging to unknown depths below us. When we stop there is absolute silence, even the levada trickling forward without a murmer. As we proceed along the path, the light trickles through to dance on the foliage creating shadows and movement in a multitude of shades of green.
Occasionally, the trees part to provide expansive views of the Ribiera Janela to our left, glorious verdant woodland as far as the eye can see. The path underfoot is narrow and slippery, the soil clay beneath the rocks. Sometimes it is reduced to muddy puddles and we have to walk along the levada wall. At one point the water passes through a narrow gully, the walls of which are coated in a thick emerald moss, and just beyond that - nothing.
A landslide has brought down the trees and rocks above the levada, completely destroying the path and leaving a deep rocky void below. It is unpassable. Regrettably, we have to turn back and retrace our steps along the levada, our walk cut short.
And remember that number? 1066. That is the number of steps we had to climb back up to the road as we retraced our original descent, just two hours earlier. I know because I counted them.
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