Here a Palace, There a Palace:Special treats in Madeira and LisbonBy Pamela Windo
Maria is Portuguese through and through; her husband, Frédéric, the genius behind the restorations, is French, and was in Paris at the time of my visit. When I mentioned to Maria that I’d just arrived from Madeira, she smiled and nodded. Although she’d only been to Madeira once in her life, her grandfather was put in charge of the defense of Madeira during World War II. Her grandmother had lived in a villa in the gardens of Reid’s Palace, where I had just recently blissfully wandered. What a small world it is, when you start traveling.
The first thing that struck me on entering each sparsely but richly furnished suite were the views from their windows and balconies: on the third floor, they overlook the medieval Alfama district and its maze of burnt sienna tiled rooftops that descend towards the wide River Tagus. Some suites have private gardens or terraces with similar panoramic views, while the ground floor windows frame the vibrant greenery of the secluded garden—cedars, orange, lemon and pomegranate trees, jasmine, lavender and rosemary bushes. In the middle of the garden, lies a small black marble pool, and the Palacio even has its own tiny chapel. Maria left me in my suite with its large firm canopied bed draped with golden-amber raw silk, so that I could recoup from my early morning flight from Madeira. Small baskets of herbs and spices perfumed the room, antique candlesticks, dressers and a huge tarnished 18th century gilt-framed mirror conspired to make me feel I was adrift in a century long past. But the pristine white marble bathroom, with the barest but best necessities brought me back to the wonders of modern plumbing. After a foam bath and a stretch on a bed fit for a princess, I dressed to go out and explore the streets of Lisbon.
Both of the days I walked around Lisbon there was music, classical and popular, wafting along the pedestrian sidewalks that lead towards the River. Here and there, accordionists played for clients in the outdoor cafés. And then I began to notice that every other woman in the streets was carrying a brightly-colored long-stalked daisy in her hand and I wondered how this could be, until I discovered a company promoting a beauty product was handing them out all over the city. By the time I had climbed slowly back up to the Palacio—no need for a map or a good sense of direction: all you have to do is look up at the castle ramparts on the hill and aim your feet in that direction—it was time for tea and a quiet half-hour in the salon. After a while, alone in utter silence, I noticed a large black TV set in one corner of the room and approached it, thinking to find out the latest news on the war in Iraq. Of course, there wasn’t a zapper anywhere to be seen, and there didn’t even seem to be an “on” switch, so I simply went back to reading, thinking the set was perhaps a modern sculpture, or there just to test the strength of your addiction. On the first evening of my stay, I followed Maria’s recommendation for dinner and headed down the cobbled street a few hundred yards to Café Restô (also known as Chapitô)—a stylishly casual Soho-like arts and restaurant complex clinging to the side of the hill, and consequently boasting an extraordinary view both day and night. The menu is bistro, and my good lamb chops and half carafe of Portuguese house red came to about $17. On my return to the Palacio, and before I turned in for the night, the evening receptionist asked at what time and where I would like to take my breakfast? I replied at 8 o’clock in the garden.
But it was the second evening that really did it: I went to Clube de Fado, also a stone’s throw from the Palacio. And there, as I sat at a table right beside a group of Fado musicians—Portuguese guitar, bass, acoustic guitar and a woman singer—over a warmed glass of local brandy, I lost myself in the powerful, melodic but melancholy songs they performed. The singer held a scarf in her hands, and twisted it as she sang; her face full of passion and pain. Fado means “fate,” and the songs express what is called saudade, which means “longings.” But whatever it was, when midnight came around I didn’t want to leave the Clube, as I knew the musicians would play and sing on into the early hours of the morning. Reluctantly, I dragged myself away and climbed back up the hill, feeling like Cinderella, and when I opened the big red front door with the palace-size key the receptionist had given me, I knew I would have liked to stay on in the Palacio for quite some time too! In Madeira, Reid’s Palace standard double rooms range from $280 low season – $550 high season; junior suites from $657- $836 low/high; buffet breakfast included. Also reserve in USA through Leading Hotels of the World: 1-800-223-6800 Restaurants for authentic Madeiran food: Ca te espero, up in the mountains of Funchal. For espetada, try Casa Santo Antonio and As Vides, both in Estreito de Camara de Lobos—a few miles along the coast from Funchal. In Funchal, try Arsenios and Doca do Cavacas, good fish, very informal. In Lisbon, Palacio Belmonte suites range from $350 to $2000, full breakfast included. Clube de Fado, restaurant & bar, open from 7:00pm to 2:00am. Pamela Windo Images by: |
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If you didn’t know about it, you would never find the beautiful Palacio Belmonte. It lies at the top of one of Lisbon’s seven hills, tucked inside the ramparts of the Castelo de São Jorge, behind plum-red portals in a narrow cobbled passage. Friends had told me about it after they stayed there last year and fell so in love with the Palacio’s graceful simplicity that they’re going back again this year. As a special treat, I decided to stay there for two days on my way home from a short vacation on the island of Madeira. 
So let’s start in Madeira. I had stayed at Reid’s Palace (I really did have a good reason to be treating myself to “palaces” right, left and center!), the classy century-old favorite retreat of the British gentry and Europe’s royal families. These days, although you might do, you don’t have to belong to either group to lap up the hotel’s genteel service and the relaxed island atmosphere. Once upon a time, visitors made the pilgrimage by steamboat, and then by seaplane, and finally, in 1965, by airplane. It’s an hour-and-a-half flight from mainland Portugal to the tiny island in the Atlantic Ocean that is fortunate enough to have a semi-tropical climate, with an average temperature of 60ºF in winter months and 75ºF in summer months, with the occasional 80-90ºF when the Leste wind blows. Reid’s was built on a cliff overlooking the blue Bay of Funchal, and is best known for its tiled tea terrace complete with wicker chairs, and its lush gardens, as well as for its swimming pools. One is on a ledge in the cliffs, the other at the level of the Ocean, among the volcanic rocks, reached either by winding steps or by a small discreet elevator! 
While wandering through the pretty black and white cobbled streets in the heart of Funchal, the mini-capital of Madeira, I discovered the colorful flower and vegetable market—Mercado dos Lavradores—in the oldest part of town, by the rue da Santa Maria. In this street, and Avenida do Mar, that runs parallel to the Ocean, are a plethora of small inexpensive sidewalk cafes serving good local fare. I followed a Portuguese family into a tiny 8-table one, where I ordered grilled sardines served with a salad and boiled potatoes and carrots (these were fresh and tasty, but seemed to be served with almost everything!). With a delicious warm homemade bread roll spread with butter, herbs and garlic, and a good local beer, my bill came to $7. Reid’s have several restaurants, not least of all The Dining Room, a classically elegant restaurant that requires suit and tie. As I was alone, I chose instead to dine at their Cipriani restaurant. Before dinner, I sat at Reid’s bar, mesmerized by the panoramic view of Funchal from its huge windows.
The island itself is all breathtaking mountain scenery, green and lush with wild and cultivated exotic flowers, including birds of paradise, many varieties of orchids, hibiscus and jacaranda. The locals grow bananas and their terraced vineyards yield the robust grape that produces Madeira wine. Up in the mountains, you can wander for hours along the “levadas,” narrow irrigation channels with pathways beside them that run all over the island and through some of the last laurel forests in Europe. After a couple of days of fresh Atlantic sea breezes and a very laid-back atmosphere created by the relaxed Madeirans, I found myself feeling exactly how one should feel on vacation: healthy, happy and rested. The vintage Madeira wine might have had something to do with this, of course
And now back to Lisbon. Maria and Frédéric Coustols found and bought Palacio Belmonte when the heirs left it crumbling and forlorn. Once opened up to the light of day, and with the eccentric couple’s excruciatingly long and arduous restoration work, the Palacio revealed its astonishing multi-layered history, stretching as far back as 130 BC to as recently as 1995. The suites of the restored Palacio are built on top of Roman fortified walls and have seventh century Moorish ceilings. One suite is built into a Roman tower, another uses the staircase of a Moorish tower and several of the suites are resplendent with the original Portuguese blue tiles, azulejo, that were added in the 18th century and are still in excellent condition. And not forgetting that behind a sealed-in wall, a perfectly preserved 19th century bathtub was unearthed, its dark blue and brick-red painted designs only slightly washed out by past bathers; it stands alone now on a raised pedestal in a hallway. No wonder the restoration won Britain’s prestigious Royal Institution of Chartered Surveyor’s award for outstanding restoration that was presented to the couple by Prince Charles. I should perhaps mention here that the restoration cost the Coustols in the region of $29 million! 
I learned about the Palacio’s history from Maria as she showed me around—a notable journey in itself. All the floors and walls are of gray stone, giving the feel more of a castle than a palace. Against this stark background are set things of beauty and of color: 17th and 18th century antiques and oil paintings, as well as African and Japanese artifacts, beside ultra-modern sculptures and objects, the whole blending together and expressing the very special taste and vision of the Palacio’s owners. We wandered first through a lofty-ceilinged library containing several thousand books, in a variety of languages, with subjects ranging from ecology, sustainable development to gardening and philosophy. Next came a vaulted hall, its only contents a baronial dining table and chairs, and two huge neo-classical wrought iron candelabras. A door opened from the hall into a cool salon with white linen-covered sofas and armchairs, and Mediterranean blue and turquoise furnishings. From here we entered a long polished-stone corridor, and made our way up sets of narrow stone staircases to the eight suites that comprise the “Hotel’s” accommodations. All are simple, grandiose, and peaceful, decorated with wild silks in organic colors—yellow, orange, apricot, sage green, beige—and each suite is named after a Portuguese writer, artist, traveler, inventor, and scientist-ecologist. Mine was named after a contemporary philosopher. 
There’s something so white, and light, and airy about Lisbon. It’s like a magnet, with its relaxed rhythm, its narrow clean streets of carefully laid-out black and white mosaic-like cobblestones that weave up and down the ever-present hillsides, and its immense sunny plazas that lie at the heart of the old city. There are plenty of ways to get around, buses of all sizes and shapes dart around all over the city, and you can buy a day ticket that can be used on any one of them. But walking is easy and perhaps the nicest way; just walk more slowly when it comes to the hills. I loved the small varnished-wood trams that ply up and down the steep streets, although the one I got on to ride up to the Sé Cathedral stopped and started a couple of times when it was slanting at a quite dramatic angle. Finally, the driver gave up and asked all the passengers to get off. It was all done in such a polite and relaxed way that it just seemed the most natural thing to do, and there were certainly no noisy complaints.
The following morning, I awoke well before my breakfast time and went to sit beneath the trees to wait. My table was already set on a stone parapet, with a view southeast towards the Panthéon Santa Engracia and the River Tagus. Birds chirped the morning news up in the branches as I ate homemade bread with honey, and scrambled eggs, and fruit. For the rest of the day, rather than go “sightseeing,” I had a strong urge to simply walk around the heart of the city again, to feel like an insider, and to ferret out its secret places, squares, stores, and cafés. I ate grilled sardines (mainly because you just can’t get them in New York!) in a family-run restaurant up behind the Elevador de Santa Justa (it looks like part of the Eiffel Tower, and was in fact designed by a follower of Gustav Eiffel). I was the only woman, and the only foreign client in the small working-class establishment. Every customer drank red wine with his lunch, and sat as if time meant nothing relishing the food and lively conversation, and, of course, espresso afterwards. I began to feel as if everyone in Lisbon was on vacation like me.