Saturday 8 October: We hired a car and drove across the island from Funchal to the little resort of Porto Moniz on its north-west tip, where we checked into a rather nice hotel.
The hotel overlooks Porto Moniz's main attraction, a large sea pool. This has been created by constructing a low protective wall just inside a ring of rocks, flung there at some point in Madeira's volcanic past.
In this pool Jones and I swam each day, along with a lot of other people of all shapes and sizes.
Young "braves" would seat themselves on the sea wall to see if they could resist the occasional waves that came crashing across it. Bigger waves would sweep them exuberantly into the water. This always caused me to laugh aloud.
Jones was not a wall sitter. After completing a number of lengths, she would sun herself against a rock.
Once or twice, when the wind and swell were up, the authorities shut the pool, which all but vanished under the angry seas.
The spray kept the hotel window cleaners busy.
On such occasions we either went walking or touring. The coastline is spectacular, dotted with little towns and villages.
These communities are now connected with scores (literally) of tunnels and viaducts. Previous to their construction, the settlements must have been virtually isolated.
The tunnels vary in length from a few dozen metres to several kilometres. The suicidally-inclined can still walk along old coastal roads, dotted with fallen rocks from the cliffs above.
The next village along from Porto Moniz is Seixal, which has its own spectacular rocks and sea pools.
These pools are somewhat less popular, possibly because one has to descend (and later ascend) 600 steps to reach them.
Even so, we thought it well worth the effort.
One outing was to the volcanic "tubes" at Sao Vicente, half an hour along the coast to the east.
These tubes were created by the outpourings of molten lava through vents in the walls of the volcano.
The dried lava looks like old porridge. A path has been cut along one side of the lava flow to allow visitors some headroom.
Water drips steadily through cracks in the basalt rock, collecting in pools.
After visiting the caves, visitors are shown films on the origin of volcanoes and of Madeira. They are okay although we liked the garden more.
Another visit was to the cable car at Achadas, constructed originally to ferry agricultural workers down to their plots at the bottom of the cliff, several hundred metres below. That's the lower cable station centre-right.
En route we gave a lift to two French hitchhikers who turned out, somewhat to my surprise, to be interns from Nantes hospital.
Jones decided that descending in the cable car was not necessary to her happiness - even though it's a modern replacement for the original container. Instead, she took the pictures.
So here I am at the bottom, polishing up my French. Bon jour les mumwoeselles!
From the coast the road rises steeply to inland communities such as Ribeira da Janela.
From the number of crumbling houses it's clear that their best days are behind them.
Madeira has exported a great many of its people. Those young folk who remain behind, tend to migrate to Funchal. So there's lots of property for sale in the hills.
And many of the steps, constructed to give access to agricultural plots, now lead only to bramble thickets.
Still, the flowers are as beautiful as ever.
And the coffee tastes as good.
The drive back to Funchal snakes its way up the mountain side. Caution is the watch word. Corners are blind and often hide an oncoming bus.
For those in a hurry, there's a short cut, straight up the mountain.
We spent our final night at the Albatroz Hotel, just below the airport.
It is built on the site of an old quinta that boasts wondrous gardens.
It takes decades for agaves to reach this height.
Steps lead down to the hotel's private sea pool.
Bye bye Madeira. It's been a lovely holiday!
Sunset over the Deserted Isles, lying just off Madeira.
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