Funchal, Madeira - Yes, it’s true. He, the magician, was born here, dribbled, took his first steps, side-footed his first goal, screamed for his first penalty and pleaded for the other toddler to be sent off.
I speak, of course, of Cristiano Ronaldo dos Santos Aveiro, arguably the greatest footballer in the world.
His birthplace was Funchal, capital of the Portuguese island of Madeira, a volcanic island in the North Atlantic.
Forget its historical visitors – Christopher Columbus or Captain Kidd the pirate, Napoleon (en route to exile in St Helena) or Winston Churchill, or Mrs Thatcher, for that matter, who honeymooned here in 1951. Today, Ronaldo puts Madeira on the map.
His face shines from holiday guides; waxworks adorn his museum.
The street markets are piled high with posters of the pecs of the player whose brilliance promises to light up this month’s World Cup.
Will this attract the wrong sort of holidaymaker, Europe’s yob-ocracy, decanting from the clubs of Tenerife 400km away to this peaceful little sub-tropical island? Not likely.
Throughout its history, Madeira has got by through being largely overlooked.
Over the centuries, it has been plundered by pirates and exploited by entrepreneurs for the products of its fertile soil, but they always moved on – like the cruise ship visitors who dock overnight, invade in their thousands and then disappear.
For those who take the time to explore this island, its climate is Mediterranean-warm with cooling winds, its people friendly, its countryside rugged but inviting. It is a cosy reminder of what Europe used to be.
Above all, what Madeira has is class. And that class is unashamedly of the middle variety. The retired-but-still-young can be seen putting hard-earned pensions to good use in quiet, but fruitful, pleasure and leisure.
It is peaceful and exciting to wander Funchal’s tropical gardens, aglow with exotic flowers from Africa, the Americas and the Far East. I am here as spring breaks into a mass of dazzling reds and yellows, the air heavy with the scent of wisteria and hibiscus. But almost all year round Madeira is as spectacular a palette of blossoms as any gardener might wish to see.
Venture into the island’s 777 square kilometres of high country and you encounter one of mankind’s lesser-known triumphs over nature – ancient irrigation channels and aqueducts cut through rock by generations past to syphon rainwater from the mountain to drip-feed the banana and sugar cane plantations on the coast.
These levadas wind gently – all 1 360km of them – round the contours of the rain forest and now provide spectacular walks of all grades of difficulty.
There is serious hiking country for pole-wielders with backpacks, or gentle strolls accompanied by spectacular views for the less physical.
A 4x4 safari takes me into the heart of those forests, with the fearless Osvaldo at the wheel as we hurtle off-road along loggers’ tracks and down near-vertical slopes, all to a running commentary often drowned out by roller-coaster screams of fear and pleasure from my fellow passengers.
Eventually, we roar through the mist to a mountain peak and a view over clouds rolling away into the distance beneath us – an ethereal experience that makes you glad to be alive.
It’s the same out on the Atlantic, ploughing through waves to the aptly named Desertas Islands, a smudge on the horizon 48km off shore and home to wild goats and tarantulas.
A lady with a PhD in animal conservation hopes to catch a glimpse of Monachus monachus, a seal so rare they are almost extinct. Just 30 cling on to life in these waters.
Sadly for her, not an endangered whisker breaks the surface – though there’s compensation in the thrilling pod of dolphins that sweep along in the bow wave as we head home.
Madeira is full of simple joys such as these, along with its famous wine and wonderful food. It’s also upped its game for the discerning visitor and while I’m here, the enterprising Porto Bay hotel group is putting on its annual gastronomic festival with a dozen chefs from all over Europe showing off their skills.
This takes place partly in the yo-ho-ho atmosphere of 200-year-old Blandy’s Wine Lodge – all low ceilings, huge barrels and age-blackened timbers – whose every candle-lit corner tonight offers a wandering buffet of bite-sized treats of oysters, truffles, raw fish, rare beef and the like.
At this foodie heaven, Madeira shows off the flavour of cooking at its very best.
I am billeted in the smoothly-efficient Cliff Bay, a luxury hotel perched high above the sea and so solicitous of its guests that a falcon and falconer patrol the breakfast terrace to keep marauding seagulls away.
After dining on exquisite turbot in a champagne and caviar sauce at its Michelin-starred restaurant, I am going back for seconds, believe me.
But, then, that’s one of Madeira’s hallmarks. It draws people back, as its impressive repeat-business record shows.
For all the pull of his mega-millionaire lifestyle, Ronaldo, I am told, makes sure he holidays here with family and friends every year. – Daily Mail