Black-sand beaches, volcanic peaks and surfer towns — I found serenity in the gorgeous ‘Hawaii of Europe’

The four-island archipelago of Madeira is an autonomous region of Portugal — it’s been nicknamed “the Hawaii of Europe” — though it lies closer to Africa. Located about 700 kilometres off the coast of Morocco, it’s wild, rugged and isolated, with landscapes that are uncanny yet accessible.

Funchal, Madeira’s capital city, is just a short, non-stop flight from Lisbon (an hour and 45 minutes), making it an easy add-on after a European holiday. The cliff with the unreal sunrise view? It’s a 40-minute drive from the city’s downtown. You can circle the entire main island in four hours.

I hadn’t been dreaming of going to Madeira. But one recent night, my partner and I stayed up late, searching the internet for vacations that offered our preferred holiday trappings: beaches, hiking, and a nice restaurant or two. Amalfi, Italy, felt overpopulated on my Instagram feed, as did the Greek isles.

Then my partner pulled up photos of Madeira on Google: a geographic anomaly, crowned with massive peaks and grounded with craggy volcanic shorelines, honed by wild winds and years of rough Atlantic tides. Black-sand beaches were flanked by trickling waterfalls and moss-covered cliffs, as idyllic as images from a screensaver.

While the pictures seemed almost too good to be true, standing on Pico do Areeiro, I’m awed by the reality. Some visitors just come for breakfast — sit on the cliff, enjoy the sky’s show at dawn — while others come for the daunting 11-kilometre Pico-to-Pico hike that connects this mountain with Pico Ruivo, the island’s highest point.

We set out on that route, weaving through steep staircases carved into rock and tunnels dug out of volcanic tufts, once used to house sheep and goats when tumultuous weather hit. I’m terrified of heights, but ascending 3,000 feet, above the clouds, feels so captivating, my fears drift away.

That’s not to say the hike is a breeze. We climb up and down stairs, ladders and switchbacks for hours, surrounded by a backdrop suited to “The Lord of the Rings.” When we make it to the end, we discover an improbably situated clifftop café, Cafeteria Pico Areiro, offering pizzas and poncha, a local rum punch with honey and citrus. It’s traditionally a sailor’s brew — citrus quells scurvy, and, to our relief, the rum eases aches and pains.

While there are serious hikes, Madeira’s terrain offers much to explorers of all levels. Days later, we walk the footpath of Ponta de São Lourenço, a trail that hugs the coastal east end of the island. It’s about 6 kilometres out and back, but there’s no rush; along the way are a few beaches to rest your legs or brush off the heat. Halfway, there’s a small café serving pastries, pints and hot coffees.

The final push is a short, steep half-kilometre straight uphill, offering one of the most dramatic views of the island. After five days of exploring, I know I won’t make it. “Go on ahead,” I tell my partner. He texts me from the top with a photo. I text him back a photo of the beer I’m using to ice my calves.

Of course, you don’t have to hike at all. We book an Airbnb on the shores of Seixal, a small beach town cut into a cliff on the north shore. “You can pull fresh fish right from the sea!” the host promised. That’s no exaggeration; the town pier is dotted with fisherfolk in the early hours.

To the right of the pier, the small but scenic Seixal Beach offers deep maroon sand and a waterfall on the far end. Turn left and you can dive almost directly into a natural pool. The days we aren’t hiking, we spend jumping into the cool Atlantic waters.

We grab lunch from a local butcher, Talho Seixal, who prompts us to pick a cut from his case. He’ll skewer it for you and direct you to grill it yourself on a barbecue out back. I watch as my partner makes us lunch over a live fire. I sip a glass of the owner’s own delicious wine, poured out of an old Fanta bottle.

Afterwards, we walk down a steep flight of stairs to a handful of cliff-hugging natural swimming pools, carved from volcanic rock over time. We set up towels on the dark rocks with books and snacks. While the Atlantic is rough and wild, the pools are still, making it easy to break up chapters by swimming among the coral.

For cautious dippers who want the thrill of a seaside swim without the worry of rogue waves, Porto Moniz, one town over, offers human-made pools of varying depths, replenished with water from the Atlantic.

In the 1500s, Madeira was a way-stop for pirates and adventurers to refuel on their way elsewhere. Even now, I begin to feel its magical power for reviving. In the mornings, clouds drift down from the mountains and float a few hundred feet above the coast. In the evening, they make their way back up the mountain; one evening, a lonesome cloud followed us to dinner on a hill.

As the sun sets, the pools clear out, and visitors and inhabitants settle into spots on the beach or on patios, glasses of local Verdelho in hand, hypnotized by the quiet presence of the moon. Outside of Funchal, there’s little to do at night, except enjoy the outside and each other’s company.

I’ve never slept better than I do on the island. Even after I head home, my dreams are fuelled by Madeira’s shiny screensaver memories, full of vistas, pools and waterfalls.