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Wednesday, March 29, 2011
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28th (continued)

up on deck. We pointed direct for Funchal, and reached there about eight. Went ashore, of course. It was so different from Las Palmas! From the ship, wooded hills of 4000 feet, with the white town clustered at the foot and around the bay, and the white red-roofed houses scattered [[strikethrough]] up [[/strikethrough]] along the hillsides in every direction. The town was fairly clean,- no doubt this unusual state of Portuguese affairs is due to the recent outbreak of cholera. The women, against the doctor's advice, persisted in bringing aboard huge bunches of flowers. 

We took a motor for a little ride along the

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Thursday, March 30, 1911
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hillside, and obtained a splendid view of the town below. I immortalized same with me trusty camera. If it comes out good. 

The streets are paved with large highly polished pebbles, between and betwixt which sprouts the grass, and it is too damned slippery for leather soles, as I discovered. The favorite means of rapid transit are covered carriages mounted on runners, pulled by oxen, and which slide over the stones as though the whole thing was greased. Coming down [[strikethrough]] [[?]] [[/strikethrough]] the trip is made on a sort of sledge, on the same odd runners, which coasts down the hills, guided

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