I pulled the tile out of my handbag, again trying to decipher the writing upon it, but I soon up gave up. What was the use? All I had was a few illegible faded words and a date. A moment in time sitting on the reverse of a piece of triangular stone.

Turning to my laptop to distract me, I looked at my emails and saw a message from the Brazilian publisher I had been working for, whom I’d contacted during the long three-and-a-half-hour wait in transit at Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris.

Dear Senhora D’Aplièse,

We are delighted you have decided to visit Brazil. Our offices are located in São Paulo, so it may not be convenient for you to travel here to see us, but we would be thrilled to make your personal acquaintance if you do. However, we have forwarded your email to Floriano Quintelas, the author himself, as he lives in Rio. I’m sure he would be happy to meet you and assist you during your time in our beautiful country. Please don’t hesitate to ask if there is anything you need.

With best regards,

Luciano Baracchini

The friendliness and warmth of the email brought a smile to my lips. I remembered from my last visit how different the culture was from the far more formal Swiss style. I was in no doubt that if I had a problem of any kind, these people who didn’t know me at all would welcome and assist me in any way possible.

I lay back on the bed, looking out of the window as the sun rose over the sea and the wide road beneath me began to thunder with early morning traffic. The city was waking up.

The question was, after yesterday, should I attempt to dig deeper to discover the secrets Rio was keeping from me?

Given the only alternative I had – returning to Geneva, which I knew was an impossibility for now – I decided to stay on for at least a few more days and play the tourist. Even if I’d already come to a dead end in finding my heritage, I could at least discover the city in which I might have been born.

I dressed, then took the lift downstairs and walked out of the hotel, crossed the road and found myself on Ipanema Beach. It was deserted because of the early hour and as I walked towards the waves crashing against the soft sand beneath my feet, I turned back and looked at Rio from the sea’s perspective.

A mass of buildings – all different heights and sizes – jostled for position along the seafront, with the tops of the hills behind just visible above the city skyline. To my right, the long sweep of the sandy bay ended in a rocky headland, while to the left, there was a stunning view of the twin peaks of Morro Dois Irmãos.

And there, standing completely alone, I felt an energy passing through my veins, and a sudden sense of lightness and release.