Madeira: Chapter One — Fanal Forest (Without the Fog)
The Part Before the Part Where Anything Happens
The idea of escaping to Madeira did not arrive with any great fanfare. There was no epiphany, no cinematic moment of clarity, no dramatic slamming of a laptop shut. Instead, there was me, sitting at my desk in late December, tapping my fingers and muttering at an empty diary that seemed to mock me with every blank page.
I had spent over two years living in my late parents’ house, waiting for the slow machinery of the property market to grind its way toward a sale. The place had become a sort of emotional holding pattern - familiar, functional, and faintly suffocating. The winter only amplified the feeling.
So when I realised I had no obligations, no plans, and no compelling reason to remain in England over Christmas, the decision made itself. I would go somewhere warmer. Somewhere dramatic. Somewhere with mountains, forests, and the possibility - however slim - of photographic redemption.
Madeira, as it turned out, was all of those things. And so, with three days to prepare and a sense of mild disbelief at my own impulsiveness, I began packing.
This is the story of what happened next.
A Winter of Discontent
It had been less than two months since my photo trip to Slovenia. In the meantime, I’d been slogging away at work, ploughing through the usual chores and doing my best to keep a stiff upper lip through the grotty winter weather.
As Christmas approached, I surveyed my empty diary. There was precious little in the way of social events to look forward to. I was still living in my deceased parents’ house - over two years now - waiting for it to be sold so that I could finally move on with my life.
Something had to give.
The Irony of Solitude
The irony is that I never feel alone when I’m standing in the middle of nature. However vast the landscape, however far the next living soul may be, I’m never lonely. Yet put me in a crowd - a busy street, a noisy party - and I can feel completely isolated.
So a last‑minute photo trip felt less like running away and more like returning to something familiar.
A Hasty Escape
This was probably the most last‑minute journey I’ve ever arranged. I still spent hours researching, deliberating, and procrastinating before booking my accommodation and flights. But once everything was confirmed, I had just three days - including Christmas Day - to prepare for a Boxing Day departure.
The destination choice can be credited entirely to two landscape photographers on YouTube: Thomas Heaton and Michael Shainblum. Both had recently shared videos from Madeira, and the place looked extraordinary - dramatic coasts, ancient forests, and awe‑inspiring mountains.
Settling in São Vicente
My research suggested that the north coast was less touristy and had an excellent road system. I settled on a house in São Vicente — a 15th‑century town surrounded by mountains. The centre is modest: a handful of shops, a couple of groceries, a few bars and restaurants. Perfectly adequate.
The house itself was pleasant, spacious, and generally comfortable. The cockroaches detracted somewhat from its appeal. And while the days were warm — low twenties — the nights were chilly. There was no central heating, only a single electric oil radiator and a log fire.
A Night of Domestic Farce
My first evening was one in which my extremities were at serious risk of frostbite. The logs were either unseasoned or had a high water content. There was no kindling, only a small pack of firelighters, which I rapidly exhausted in my attempts to get the fire going.
I vaguely recall achieving a decent level of heat at around 2 a.m., as I hugged the portable radiator for warmth. I did, however, enjoy an exceptionally nice bottle of Portuguese red wine, slept well, and awoke ready for my first photo trip.
I had already chosen the location: the ancient Fanal Forest.
Fanal Forest: A Fairytale Without the Fog
High in the rugged mountains of Madeira lies Fanal Forest — a mystical pocket of the island’s ancient Laurisilva, a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Its centuries‑old, gnarled laurel trees, often draped in moss and shrouded in fog, create an atmosphere that feels like stepping into a living fairytale.
Except, of course, when there is no fog.
A Masterclass in Photographic Inadequacy
Despite all its beauty and mystique, Fanal served only to expose my inadequacies in woodland photography. I wandered around pretending to enjoy the scenery, but in reality I was hopelessly lost compositionally. Fanal is famous for its ancient laurel trees — twisty, gnarled, centuries old — and they provide incredible photographic opportunities, especially when shrouded in mist.
The skies were clear blue. Not a hint of fog.
I arrived around 4 p.m., the sun beginning its descent but still strong. After several laps of what is, in truth, a relatively small area, the light began to change. Earlier, my failure to find a composition had been exacerbated by flat light. Now, warmer colours and softer shadows graced the scene and invigorated my imagination.
My camera began to click.
The Results: Not Bad, But Missing the Magic
The images I captured that afternoon — the 28th of December — were, as I said in the accompanying video, “not bad”. But they missed the mist. And once you’ve seen what Fanal looks like in fog, you know exactly what you’re missing.
So while I was satisfied enough with the day’s work, I was already planning a return visit. I would have time to come back.
Onwards to the Coast
In the meantime, feel free to watch the video from this outing via the link below — and look out for my second instalment from Madeira, where I visit one of its most iconic coastal locations: Ribeira da Janela.
See you out there.
Last words, for now…
Looking back, it’s clear that this trip was never really about escaping the weather, or the empty diary, or even the house that no longer felt like mine. It was about movement — the simple act of stepping out of the holding pattern and into a landscape that asked nothing of me except to look.
Fanal didn’t give me the fog I wanted. It didn’t hand me a portfolio of masterpieces. But it did something quieter, and perhaps more important: it reminded me that creativity isn’t a switch you flip. It’s a thing you coax back to life by showing up, even when the conditions aren’t perfect.
Especially when the conditions aren’t perfect.
And so, as I drove away from the forest that evening, camera bag full of “not bad” images and fingers still thawing from the night before, I realised something. I would almost certainly return to Madeira. I would almost certainly chase the fog again. And I would almost certainly find myself muttering at a diary at some point in the future.
But that’s the rhythm of it. The farce, the frustration, the fleeting moments of magic.
And honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.