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About Funchal

Dunno why it’s such a faff, though—apps crash, streets are rank, and half the time you’re dodgin’ coppers or some nutter shoutin’, “Mediocre!” at ya. Makes me happy when it works out, mind—bit of human contact, bit of chaos, like drivin’ full pelt with Immortan Joe on yer tail. Personal quirk? I’m mutterin’ movie lines the whole time—“Oh, what a day, what a lovely day!”—looks proper mental, but keeps me sane.

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But then, I’m walking back, and I see this guy on Rua do Comércio. He’s selling these weird snacks. I’m curious, so I buy one. It’s some kind of fried dough thing. I take a bite, and it’s like a flavor explosion! I’m like, “What is this magic?” Turns out, it’s called “bolas de berlim.” I’m hooked. I buy three more. Who needs dinner, right?

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