We were up in the clouds at the Fanal Forest on Madeira where it doesn’t just feel mythical—it feels to me almost haunted. As Sam and I stepped into the mist, it was like crossing into another realm, one where time drips slowly and shadows have stories to tell.

The laurel trees—stand like ancient, gnarled creatures with moss-draped limbs, twisted from the earth like they were frozen mid-scream. The fog was alive, curling between limbs like ghostly fingers, revealing eerie shapes with each breath of wind. One tree looked like a screaming face, another like a banshee reaching out from a grave, and yet another, a hunched old man whispering secrets to the soil. It was beautiful, yes—but with a pulse of eeriness.

And then came the rain—not falling, exactly, but hovering in the air, clinging to us like the forest’s cold breath. It was eerily quiet except for the beating rain, the slow groan of wood above us, or the sharp, sudden cries of unseen ravens slicing through the gloom.

If you’re the kind who thrills at the idea of wandering into a fairytale that’s taken a turn toward the spooky, this is your forest.
Just remember to leave it better than you find it. It’s been here longer than all of us and future explorers will thank you.