Levas, lava pools and jumping lizards. It's already warming in Madeira

I'm standing in the desert, even if this one isn't real. How could she, too, when she is in a place that is synonymous with eternal spring. I stumbled to the very end of the island's promontory, which is otherwise very green. Nearby, an English tourist tells his girlfriend, "This is a place of no return." Actually, yes, it looks like the end of the world here.

This special protrusion is called Sao Lorenco, it is yellow, brown, orange, red and black and measures only a few kilometers, I would say four. Along the way, I saw red sand and sunburned grass. And the paths where lava once flowed. Also a rock that looked like the tail of a prehistoric animal. Here and there a thistle or a flower.

At the "end of the world," I followed a path and about four hundred steps in the sand and rock. I was refreshed by a stop in an oasis where they had solar panels and wanted 2.5 euros for a bottle of water. There were also pitfalls waiting. I fought for an apple with a cheeky lizard that jumped after him from a wooden table. There are not many small reptiles of the lizard family here. They stumbled upon me as a photographer, but I survived. On my way from this warmest and driest place on the island, I cooled off in the Atlantic on Prainha Beach, the only natural sandy beach on the island. So much for the first swim.

The second swim could have been in the hotel's palm-lined pool. Error. I just managed to take a picture of him. I really liked it. But I don't feel like I've lost anything because I traded chlorinated water for salt water in the lava pools in Porto Moniz in the north of the island. I gained confidence in the lava on the way here in the caves near the town of Sao Vicente. Instead of the stalactites we are used to here, they have these black drops here. They look like solidified mud. Or like chocolate.

A few kilometers of rock promontory Sao Lorenco

The lava pools in Porto Moniz in the north of the island are ideal for swimming.

The main theme in Madeira: rain

"It often rains there," my friend warned me before leaving. "We went to Porto Moniz twice and it always rained, you probably won't take a bath." It didn't rain when I got here. Luck. Of all the tourists present, only one girl swam in the rocky pools and looked very satisfied. With a vision of infinite bliss, I followed her into the water, which was surprisingly more pleasant than the wind-cooled air. As soon as I climbed out, the weather decided to make the difference easier for me and it started to rain.

Rain is a chapter in itself. "It's raining for everyone in Madeira, but everyone is still excited and happy," another friend instructed me before I left. I didn't trust her. Until I woke up to a foggy rainy morning on the day I planned the "twenty-five springs" levada. Mysterious word, the levada. But I was more upset that it was raining.

"It's not a problem, feel free to run, it's supposed to rain until the end of the week," they encouraged me at the front desk. In the end, it only rained heavily that day, so I privately renamed this levada "twenty-five thousand springs". Although it ended at a lake, where water allegedly flowed from only twenty-five springs. It didn't work for me and I started to recalculate all those sources. I've counted more of them, the devil knows where it splits everywhere ... Moreover, streams of water were dripping from the sky, it would confuse you.

And what is that levada? I discovered shortly before departure that these are canals that bring water from the mountains, where there is moisture, to the lowlands, where there is fertile soil for a change. It is simply a stream in a concrete or clay gutter, along which the road runs for maintenance, and it also serves tourists.

Where the nuns hid from the pirates

Madeira is interwoven with levadas. The gutters have been dug here here mostly by slaves, and I especially felt sorry for the Caldero Verde levada. It must have been hard work. The path winds along the rock above the abyss, breathtaking as it looks down. At times I balance like a balance beam, even though the levee dam is three times wider.

As a kid, I used to do gymnastics on the balance beam. Here, instead of acrobatic exercises, I avoid tourists who return to the car. A railing with steel ropes runs along the "beam", it is not dangerous here. I go through two longer tunnels where you can't see a step. I shine my headlamp on the road. At the end of the levada is a waterfall several tens of meters high. Weak narrow dickness falls high.

Curral das Freiras, the so-called Valley of the Nuns

The exact opposite of the green wilderness is the levada from Morocos. It wraps around the village on the slopes of the rocks and literally flows under the windows. For me, it's an excursion to an atypical gardening colony. On the terraced mini-fields, the locals grow somewhere, the lost tourist would not die here. Vegetables, vines, banana trees, figs, papaya ... I will also please the eye, sludge grows in the grass, hydrangea bushes are also not uncommon. I know other flowers from florists, they are quite expensive there and they just grow here.

As I drive around Madeira, I already understand why some of the locals did not get to the capital Funchal in their lifetime. Not that Madeira was that big. The island has 57 kilometers in one direction and 22 in the other. But the mountains ... The city was just behind a huge hill. Today it's easier, the hills are drilled tunnels. One of these is going to Curral das Freiras, Valley of the Nuns. The road winds through the eucalyptus forest. It smells like nose drops here.

On the hill, I enter the already mentioned tunnel and descend sharply to that valley. The nuns once hid from the pirates. They could not have chosen a better place, the village with the monastery is surrounded on all sides by extinct volcanoes, the wall of rocks separates the place from the rest of the world. I taste the local sweetened cherry, chestnut and eucalyptus liqueur and with my mouth glued I return up, from where there is a postcard view of the valley from a height of 1,053 meters.

Churchill painted here

These views and the reputation of the island of eternal spring have always drawn. Empress Sissi stayed here, Gregory Peck and GB Shaw liked it here, Christopher Columbus married here and his son Diego was born here. Copies of Columbus' famous ship are moored in the port as a tourist attraction. Santa Maria is much smaller than I would expect from such a famous vessel. I don't see how the ocean could have crossed this cat. Now, equipped with an engine and a group of agitated tourists, they pass a multi-storey Costa Concordia. They look like David and Goliath.

And of course Cristiano Ronaldo was born here. But I'm much more interested in Winston Churchill. In 1950, he painted the port in the village of Cámara de Lobos, making it famous forever. I'm going there now.

It's like time stopped here. There are colorful wooden boats and tan wrinkled Portuguese. They grease the cards and drink the poncho. This local specialty won me over too. They have white rum mixed with lemon and honey in a jar at the bar. The shot is almost blanket. "Medicine," the bartender points to his neck. It's refreshing. But to get more of them, I could hardly unwind on my own. There is a rural atmosphere. One of the fishermen repairs the boat's engine, five of them rock it. Churchill's Restaurant rises above the harbor. Otherwise he "wanted a dog" here. Literally? But no, the wolfhound just fell asleep in the sun ...

Stairway to Heaven

Something is still blooming in Madeira, especially in a place called Monte. It's on the hill too. It is also possible to go to Funchal in a wicker sleigh. They are driven by two men in a straw hat and white clothes, and instead of brakes they have special shoes that slow down the sledge. How long will the soles last?

The congress begins at the famous church, where the last Czech King Charles I rests, who found refuge in Madeira when his power fell apart. It has a nice view from here. I climb the steep stairs to the church and it seems to me that they lead to heaven. I can't see mountains or houses above me, just the church and the sky.

Instead of riding a sleigh, I go to a tropical garden, where I come across a suitor. I love the peacock. It fluffs its feathers and slowly turns around in an exhibitionist style. Then he runs at me. My screaming will amuse other tourists and discourage the peacock from other events. He pulls his tail and grumbles.

I go down the cable car to the botanical garden. In addition to plants, trees and shrubs, they also have parrots here. The larger yellow-green handsome man lets a German tourist talk to him. She patiently repeats his German greeting "hello". As we leave, the parrot greets the other visitors with a cracked voice: "Hello, hello, hello ..."

I say goodbye to him in Portuguese. Tschauzinho!

Madeira is often referred to as the green garden of the Atlantic.