So we had our race. We had our Champagne Gala. What could be next on the list? A well deserved rest day. We started with breakfast in the dining room.
The staff offered to wash our running shoes, which seemed too dirty to even bother. But they got them good and clean. While they were working, we toured the grounds taking pictures of the exotic flowers.
Soon it was time for lunch. We walked down the street to an Italian restaurant for some pasta.
After we ate there was a little spot of sun, so we decided to grab our chance to jump into the water. The island has no sandy beaches, but the hotel has set up this area for swimming.
We took turns jumping in.
Then we relaxed at the pool for a while.
Soon we cleaned up and walked down the street again for dinner. What a lovely rest day. We needed that.
Comments Off on Day 3 Racer’s Meeting in Porto Moniz
Whatever you do, don’t do what we nearly did. Don’t run out of gas in the middle of a volcanic island where you don’t speak the language and you can’t call AAA. More on that soon.
Our day started with a gorgeous breakfast buffet overlooking the pools and ocean.
After breakfast we had a job to do. That was to accept our rental car in the hotel lobby, then hit the road for a 1 hour drive across the island to the town of Porto Moniz for the Runners’ Check-In for our 25K trail race the following day. You might remember Samantha, our faithful guide on our France and Spain trip–the voice of our Garmin Nuvi 275T who tells us where to go. She did her job well, even through the bajillion tunnels that bore through the massive peaks all over the island. Let’s all take a moment to applaud the civil engineers who somehow made this island inhabitable. Even the airstrip had to be built from scratch on pilings into the ocean, since there’s not a flat spot in all of Madeira. Besides the hills and curves, the hardest part about the drive was the pouring rain. I can’t wait to see it tomorrow in the sunshine.
After our check-in, which involved proving we had all of the required items such as a whistle, a light, batteries, food, and water, we drove all the way back across the island where the rain had stopped and we did a gorgeous hike out on cliffs that looked like the Isle of Skye in Scotland. It was a muddy trek, which will serve us well since I think our 25K trail run is destined to be a Muddy Buddy tomorrow. BTW, John already told me I look like a total tool, so you don’t have to.
From there we stopped in a small restaurant in a small town where we ordered the “Plato do Dia” again. I could only eat about half of it. My goodness it was delicious. The freshest fish you can imagine, in a light flour and egg batter–almost chile relleno meets the ocean.
From there we drove to the far north point of the island to Santana to see the A-framed houses.
This is where it got sketchy. We stopped at a Petrol station only to have the British owner come out and say, “We have no Petrol.” Our plan was to climb up and over the high hill that is near the peak of the island. But we got to about here when our gas gauge started beeping.
Luckily we could coast back down to a town that had some gas. Still, promise me you won’t do what we did. Just gas it up sooner. Why wait? What is that? Fun? No it’s not.
Now we’re back at the hotel. After a lovely dinner, and plenty of hydration, we’re all ready for tomorrow. We’ll be getting up at 5 am to head back out for the race.
I’m not going to lie. I was disappointed that it rained all day in Funchal. Of course. But we can’t complain about anything else, so complaining about the weather seems banal.
We left our hotel in Lisbon at 6:20 am and took a domestic flight on TAP airlines. The trip through security was so civilized. I had two helpers, one who placed all my items into bins for me, then there was another person to help me gather my belongings. “May I see your tripod?” Helper 2 asked. Okay. Now I felt extra crappy about being American, because 1. no one patted me down and 2. no one snarled at me, and 3. this Portuguese man knows how to say tripod in English, and, oh, 4. “May I help you put on your backpack?” he asked.
I learned some Portuguese for this trip, about 100 words. I just can’t manage to put them into any intelligible order. I also can’t use them consistently without adding in some French, English, and Spanish. At dinner last night I was lucky that the waiter spoke all 4, and we managed to converse at length using a ridiculous combination like a Saturday Night Live skit about the Atlantic rim of Europe. It reminded me of the time in Lima when the concierge laughed out loud when I answered his question “¿Dónde comprar el libro?” with “aux Estados Unidos.”
So, it’s raining. We’re at Reid’s Palace in Funchal, which is featured in my book of 1001 Places to See Before You Die, and now I know exactly why it is, although I tend to think the person who wrote it came here when it was sunny. We have walked the cliffs down to the water, roamed the gardens, had champagne and homemade cakes and madeira in the room. We’ve had high tea on the patio with finger sandwiches and petits fours. And my biggest dilemma of the day is which pillow I shall order from the “pillow menu.” There are 10 to choose from. Perhaps I’ll just ask for one of each.
