STAY > Reid's Palace, Madeira Portugal (18/20)

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Perched dramatically atop rugged cliffs, where Madeira’s balmy breezes mingle with the salt-sweet tang of the Atlantic, sits Reid’s Palace—a vestige of an older, more gracious world. Arriving, one is met by a sweep of subtropical gardens, their riotous colours tumbling toward the blue below, and the unmistakable hush of history. Indeed, it is a house raised while Her Majesty’s Empire still sailed the earth, the staff in crisp whites, and the hour always “half past tea”.

GETTING THERE >

Journeying to Reid’s Palace is a civilised affair. Most guests arrive via Madeira’s principal gateway, Cristiano Ronaldo International Airport, which welcomes direct flights from various European capitals. From the airport, a car transfer winds along the island’s flower-bright highways, skirting cliffs and tumbling hillsides, before delivering you to Funchal’s leafy heights within thirty minutes. The approach along narrow lanes, jasmine-laden and sun-soaked, is a fitting prelude to the hotel’s storied embrace.

ABOUT MADEIRA >

Madeira, cast like a green jewel adrift in the Atlantic, has long beckoned travellers with its subtropical gardens, dramatic mountains, and old-world villages nestling in verdant valleys. Its air is perfumed with wild fennel and bougainvillea, while the capital, Funchal, hums with crumbling mansions, bustling markets, and the laughter of locals adrift in café life. The island’s famed levadas—moss-edged irrigation channels—offer walkers glimpses of breathtaking ravines and hidden waterfalls, and at the day’s end, the sweet tang of its eponymous wine rounds out the adventure—a delight for all senses, and the soul.

LOCATION >

Set on the edge of Funchal proper, but feeling entirely apart, the Palace gazes over the bay as if holding watch over all arrivals. The journey from the airport is brief—certainly not more than a half-hour’s drive—and yet one feels, on entering the gates, to have been transported entire continents away from the vulgarities of modern travel. Clifftop pathways wind amidst palms and pergolas; discreet sunlit terraces promise both solace and society.

ROOMS & ACCOMMODATION >

It is not the brash modernity of your typical five-star, but rather a dream of what English travellers once called “abroad.” Rooms ring with the echoes of lost elegance—high ceilings, marble bathrooms, French doors opening wide to let the sea’s hush lull one to sleep. Some boast balconies so precariously perched above the water that one half-expects to see a Cunard liner steaming by. The suites, as expected, are spacious and traditional, best enjoyed with a decanter of Madeira and a volume of Gibbon.

DINING & DRINKING >

Here, the hours gather around the terrace, where afternoon tea—still a near-religious affair—proceeds with starched linen and pastries fit for any dowager. Dinner may be taken in the smart dining room, chandeliers aglow, or on a candlelit balcony overlooking the gardens. Amongst the four restaurants, the Italianate “Ristorante Villa Cipriani” stands out, should one pine for risotto and a digestif beneath the moon’s gaze. The cocktail bar, too, is a lively retreat; here, the art of the martini is a local specialty.

AMENITIES & ACTIVITIES >

Three swimming pools step down the cliffs, offering both saltwater and fresh, and the private tidal pool descending steep steps remains a splendid curiosity. The spa, housed amidst blooming camellias, recalls the serene sanatoria of old Europe. Few guests resist a set upon the tennis courts before retiring for a bracing gin-and-it. For the energetic, mountain hikes and garden strolls may be arranged; for the lazy, there is always the temptation of a shaded chaise beside a peacock-blue pool.

ATMOSPHERE >

Reid’s Palace retains its lightly eccentric air—no doubt honed over decades of hosting exiled prime ministers, faded aristocrats, and the odd literary giant. Tales linger of Winston Churchill, hunched above his box of cigars, painting the pinks of sunrise; of George Bernard Shaw, attempting the tango on the ballroom floor. Children chase lizards through the gardens, elderly couples sip port on the lawn, and the hush of the Atlantic is never far.

VERDICT >
Reid’s is, at heart, a refuge for those who know the world need not always spin at full tilt—those for whom a properly chilled glass, an unhurried conversation beneath a rose-adorned pergola, or a promenade at the edge of empire, are pleasures enough. The grand old lady of Madeira remains a tonic for the soul, and a place one thinks, quietly, of returning to before one has even left.

For the well-heeled, and the gentle of pace—a palace in truth, and by tradition, a home-from-home on this sunstruck Atlantic isle

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