Who knew a wicker basket could move so fast? We scream down the hill, two of us seated in the box – which, here in Funchal, they call a “toboggan” – while two strong guys in straw hats pilot us precipitously through city streets. We slide around corners and zip fast down the straights. This is not a closed course. We’re careening through the heart of the CBD. My blood is pumping as I anticipate what’s ahead, just around the next blind bend.

In an attempt to calm my nerves, I try a little ill-advised chitchat with one of the straw-hatted drivers, whom I later learn are called carreiros. “Is this your first day?” I ask, in a feeble attempt at a joke. Ha ha. The man doesn’t even smile. “Yes,” he responds, from his perch standing on the back of the sledge. No further comment. But, soon enough, we glide to the finish, safely at the bottom of the two-kilometre route. It’s both a relief, and, somehow, a triumph, despite the fact I’ve done nothing but sit there in that traditional wicker basket sledge. Getting out, riding an adrenaline high, I’m ready for the next big adventure.