On the 500th anniversary of Vasco da Gama’s discovery of the sea route to India, the writer does a Vasco in reverse – she goes off to discover Portugal. Described as a “dusty patina of faded grandeur”, Portugal is a traveller’s delight. Imagine quaint somnolent little towns, architecture from Moorish to surrealist, languorous beaches,
a gentle sun-warmed people, evenings of wine and music. Fado, songs of yearning and love, inspired by 16th century sailors, float into the night air to mellow the crustiest souls.

It was rather peculiar, I must admit, to discover that the boys and girls I grew up with belonged, in effect, to a menagerie. I went to a school in Santa Cruz, which means Holy Cross, in Mumbai, and a number of my friends were originally from Goa, once a Portuguese colony, and so bore Portuguese names. It was only when I did a reverse Vasco da Gama this year – going off to discover Portugal – that I learnt what their names signified. Peter Carneiro was a sheep. Jean Coelho was a rabbit.