Dicing with death in Cristiano Ronaldo’s birthplace, Madeira – island of soaring peaks, perilous drops and scary roads

Landing at Cristiano Ronaldo International Airport is not for the faint-hearted. Strong crosswinds result in two aborted attempts, but just when it looks like we’ll have to detour to Lisbon, the plane suddenly thumps onto the runway. Next to me an elderly lady smiles serenely throughout the entire white knuckle episode. It turns out she’s an old hand.

“I used to come here on the flying boat in the 1950s,” she says, with a glint of nostalgia. “We were well strapped in because you would hit the water with quite a bump. Then little rowing boats ferried us ashore.” Sometimes I feel I haven’t lived.

The Portuguese island of Madeira attracts an older, predominantly British clientele who lend the capital, Funchal, the genteel air of a Miss Marple mystery. Silver-haired sightseers stroll around parks and gardens discussing the relative merits of fuchsias and begonias, pausing every so often for a refreshing cup of tea. Heritage hotels hold dinner dances and bridge evenings – even Winston Churchill once stopped by, looking for somewhere “warm, bathable, comfortable and flowery” to paint and work on his memoirs.

Christopher Columbus also spent time on Madeira and neighbouring Porto Santo before sailing off to America, where riches awaited. But in the eyes of some, the Italian explorer’s achievements are no match for those of a local lad who found riches of his own, on the European mainland. Funchal boasts a Cristiano Ronaldo museum and hotel, two statues and the aforementioned airport, which was recently renamed in the footballer’s honour. (I wonder if he gets caught up in the crosswinds.) Not everyone is impressed with the rebranding, though.

“They’ll be calling it Ronaldo Island next,” my hotel receptionist grumbles.