Madeira, a Portuguese island that comes almost straight up out of the Atlantic, is walked along its water supply. Some 2,500 kilometres of narrow channels, the levadas, were dug by hand from the sixteenth century on, to move rain from the wet north to the dry south. Each one has a maintenance path beside it, and because water has to run level, so does the path. That is how you get deep into country this steep without a climber's legs. They lead into the laurisilva, the moss-hung laurel forest that once covered southern Europe and survives here at its largest anywhere. Ferns crowd the path, water slides along at your elbow, and the canopy closes into a green half-light. The Portuguese who landed in 1420 called the island Madeira, wood, for trees too thick to land among. At Fanal the forest opens into meadow, where laurels five centuries old stand broad and gnarled in the drifting fog.
Above the forest the island is rock. The classic walk links Pico do Arieiro and Pico Ruivo along a ridge of rock-cut stairs, tunnels and ledges, with five hundred metres of air on both sides. Most of its length is above the cloud layer. You start before sunrise, and the light comes in level rather than from above while the cloud in the valleys turns pink underfoot. At Porto Moniz old lava has hardened into pools that fill with clear Atlantic water, the sea breaking white on the black rock just beyond. Mountain bikes drop from wet laurel forest to banana terraces, a thousand metres in one run. Above Funchal two men in white with straw hats still push a wicker basket on wooden runners down from Monte, braking with their boot soles, as they have since 1850. The easy, level path under your boots was cut the hard way: men lowered on ropes over the ravines, chipping out the channel and the ledge beside it by hand.