We are starting in the Achada do Gramacho through Quinta Furão moving toward to the pebbles beach of São Jorge, through the royal road, built in the early colonization of the island. It is nothing more, nothing less than a pedestrian acess, a very broad viaduct compared to some of the island's paths that were built as the name suggest by a Portuguese king, roads cobbled with stones that were intended to facilitate the access of populations from one point to another of the island, among the many fiefdoms belonging to the church and the local gentry since other way was not possible, to the pebble beach where there was a small ship that would taking them to other stops, perchance to the capital, Funchal. It is a descent zigzag of about 1 kilometer, which lasts about forty minutes through gray rocks and solitary trees ending when passing the bridge, through St. George's stream, into the ruins of the old fort with it's standing walls and a gate made of stone, on the other side the wild North Sea, mottled with strong rocks. Beside, the path continues, but our last stop is here in front of this blue ocean that before was plagued by pirates who dared to navigate through these rebellious waters in search of treasures to loot. When looking at these ghostly quiet remains is almost hard to believe that life was so uncertain, hard and difficult for the first islanders who lived here, as the only thing I hear is the swinging noise of the stones taken by the waves and feel the salty flavor in my gasping mouth.
