Porto Moniz, a quiet little town on the most north eastern end of the island Madeira. In this little town one of the famous levada trails on the island finds its head. The trail takes you along an amazing irrigation channel leading water from high up in the mountains through the valley down to the people in this little town. After my girlfriend and I completed the trail we hitchhiked back to the little town and stayed in the local youth hostel. The hostel found itself next to a charming little church with a little square and drinking fountain in front. Next to the church there was a cafe similar to those you would see everywhere on the island. They would all have a few men inside, and one in the doorway, each quietly stirring their espresso and staring to whoever that is coming by.
The hike had exhausted us to the level that every step hurt, the more the sense of euphoria I felt when I saw where we would spend the night. We were welcomed by an impeccable looking man that seemed to be equally happy with our arrival. After writing something unreadable on a little paper he showed us our room and went back to watching the old tv in the corner of the living room that seemed to have been playing uninterrupted for over 20 years. We made dinner with the last potatoes and onions I could find in the local grocery and fell asleep to the sounds of the ocean.
The next day we went swimming in the natural Piscinas, the reason why most people visit Porto Moniz. We decided to stay another day and in the evening there was another man to keep the night watch. He was clearly less interested in the TV and asked us where we were from. Almost before we were able to tell him he started laughing. It was clear he had had this conversation before and it seemed as if he needed to be reassured that in Belgium too, the weather was worse than on Madeira. Then, all of a sudden he told us he was in terrible pain from his shoulder. I didn’t quite know how to react and told him I felt sorry. “People don’t like people who are in pain.”, he continued, and went back to watch the tv. After dinner he came to sit with us again. We were enjoying the sunset from the balcony as he said, “I’m a bit sad, my brother died”. He told us how his brother had been working in South africa, how he had been able to afford himself an apartment in Funchal, the main city of the island. He had everything a Madeiran ever dreams off. But then he wanted to reassure himself again, he had all he dreamt off, he inhaled his cigarette one more time before going back inside and said, “The people in the city, they work for nothing.”.