Susan Buckland: Going downhill fast on a taste of Madeira

COMMENT

The campaigns thought necessary to encourage New Zealanders to eat sensibly and exercise are certainly not needed by the sledge drivers of Madeira. I watched as they took loads of tourists down a steep road on the Portuguese island. Every muscle of their bodies was taut with concentration. Some drivers were in their teens. Others in their 60s. Not an ounce of podge among them.

A couple on the ship I sailed in on were hell-bent on riding on a carro de cesto. They planned to go early to avoid waiting in line - the ride has become a star tourist attraction.

It's true that the Atlantic Ocean island of Madeira is better known for the fortified wine named after it, of which the English grew particularly partial.

The Duke of Clarence is said to have drowned in the stuff, although some would say there are worse ways to go. It would take a few bottles to topple the sure-footed sledge drivers of Madeira.

My shipboard friends had done their homework. They knew that the last emperor of Austria, Charles I, lived in exile in Madeira and was buried on the island in 1922. His fine old house and garden still overlook the ocean.

They knew also that Madeira, known as the Flower of the Ocean for its splendid, subtropical vegetation tumbling down the mountain slopes, was beloved by Winston Churchill.

I waited for these amiable informants to tell me that Madeira lies closer to Africa than to Portugal, 1000km away to the northeast. But they were distracted by the gutsy little tug boat guiding our 50,000-tonne cruiser into shore.

Winter attracts a fleet of cruise ships to Madeira. The temperature hovers around 20C and masses of vibrant flowers open under blue skies. Much better to arrive at winter's end with few other ships in dock.

And a carro de cesto was waiting at the top of the hill.

The drivers hardly gave me time to climb in and clench my teeth before they were leaning down the narrow, winding road, gripping stout ropes over their shoulders.

They belonged to a proud tradition. Since the mid-19th century, generations of sledge drivers have been racing the local people to market with their fruit and vegetables, navigating the slopes from about 750m above sea level down to the main town of Funchal.

My drivers were dressed in whites and straw boaters and looked as if they could go straight to a game of cricket. How did they keep spotless while doing battle with tourist-laden wicker sledges? I didn't speculate for long. The carro de cesto was accelerating downhill and the drivers had sprung to the back of the sledge to steer it.

We careened downhill for about 15 minutes as I tried to take in views of fertile gardens, vineyards, banana plantations, terra cotta-tiled houses and cliffs plunging to the ocean.

But for most of the ride I was consumed with the fact that my drivers were human brakes. Dexterously they zigzagged us around corners, skidding on their soles when we caught up with other sledges or came close to shaving roadside hedges.

Little wonder everyone wants a sledge ride in Madeira. Mine was over too soon.

Who knows if Sir Winston ever rode in a carro de cesto? He came to the island to paint and stayed in what is now known as Churchill's, a hotel that looks out over Camana de Lobos Bay filled with brightly coloured wooden boats.

I think he would have admired the industry of the local people. The farmers still think nothing of walking their produce to the main road for transport to the market. Like the sledge drivers, they eat well and exercise often.