LAST time I went to the Cinque Terre, it was with a crumpled InterRail ticket and a dishevelled suitcase. I arrived after a long journey up the coast, through Nice and Genoa, dusty and elated - and tripping over memories.

I used to go as a child, and had returned as a gap-year teen to a coastline so prolific in its charms (and so inaccessible in parts) that it had managed to preserve its flavours.

I remember parking myself in a dilapidated hotel in Monterosso al Mare, the largest of the Cinque Terre - five “lands”, or villages, that run along the coast to the east of Genoa. It was near the station, yet I could open the windows on the sea, and was swept away by the evocative bustle, from honking motorbikes and boisterous Italian chit-chat to the smell of baking focaccia.

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The route to get there had always been the same for me, whether it was in the hot, haphazard carriages of an Italian train, or in the family car on vertiginous mountain roads. In my mental map, Genoa was an industrial chunk of coast that I always left out, and Portofino a make-believe place of movie stars and high prices that didn't seem worth the detour.

This time I was heading towards the Ligurian coast on BA's inaugural flight from London to Genoa. I was travelling with a bigger budget (yes, even accounting for the stronger euro), but still hunting for the same old Liguria.

I flew in on a clear day, and suddenly saw the dazzling side of Genoa. With a runway that is a strip in the harbour, landing becomes your first tour of the city - we swept in so close that I could see people in their kitchens. It can be bumpy, but, boy, is it breathtaking.

The new route is a boost to an often overlooked city. And even if I had resisted, it would have been futile in the face of Andrea, one of the city's passionate tour guides.

Where I had expected a dingy port, he showed us one of the oldest city centres in Europe, dating back to the 12th century. After leading us through majestic palazzos and museums, packed so tightly that they almost tip into each other, Andrea's tour culminated in the Palazzo Rosso, where an enterprising director installed a rooftop viewing point a few years ago (presumably he didn't suffer from vertigo).

Here the view was sumptuous - palaces vying for space with flats, bursts of green in the shadowy courtyards, and even the harbour, replete with cruise ships and ferries, was shimmering with energy and a splendid blue.

The city stretches along the coast, the mountains and sea forcing it to snake outwards in a dense strip. With a dramatic sweep of his arms, Andrea said: “This is why I get a little rebellious when people say it's just an ugly industrial city.” I said nothing.

Genoa is not the only place I had to recast (and add to my mental map). Under the palm trees of Portofino, they, too, have been feeling the pinch - and their American clientele has been weakened by the falling dollar. Now the city's grandest hotel, the Splendido, is turning its gaze on the Brits. Portofino must have breathed a sigh of relief when it learnt that visitors could now fly from Gatwick and be a 40-minute car journey away.

The Splendido, a former monastery converted more than 100 years ago, gazes down on Portofino like a distinguished uncle - local laws to protect the area forbid changes to its exterior.

But, inside, it's the most modern of hotels, with a saltwater infinity pool that holds you suspended above the old port, spa rooms cunningly tucked away under the terraces, and recently renovated corridors that have been narrowed to make the rooms bigger.

Orient Express hotels, which took over in 1987, plans further changes, however. Their man in Italy, Giulio Gentile, wants to let the young ones loose. His eyes twinkle mischievously as he says that the hotel once had only “Jurassic” clients and it was time to make it younger. The hotel is offering a special family price out of season - with a PlayStation thrown in.

And how will guests cope with the thought of children dive-bombing the infinity pool? “Oh, they'll love it.” It's this generous Italian charm that marks out the Splendido. “Madam's cold?” No problem. “Signor needs a sobering shot of coffee?” Si, si, pronto. “Ah, you're wearing your flip-flops to dinner?” Bellissimo!

Unexpectedly, I found the flavours of those distant summers in Portofino. The croissants with vanilla cream that I used to covet as a child were served at breakfast, the Sciacchetrà (raisin wine) that spiced up many teenage tales laced the sorbets, and the smell of the fruit trees was everywhere. Portofino is a beautiful film set - preserved and pricey - but being part of that is a pleasure, whether it costs you a bus ticket and a cappuccino for the day, or whether you try the Splendido.

I took my flip-flops away to the Cinque Terre at dawn. If you're doing it in a day, work backwards from Riomaggiore - the most beautiful of the Cinque Terre - a multicoloured stack of houses that climb the steep slopes of the harbour and inexplicably avoid tumbling into the sea. From there, you can walk the Via dell'Amore, a well-kept walkway to Manarola that cuts into the mountain to make a beautiful 30-minute stroll.

The walk to Corniglia is a little more precarious, taking you to the highest, most atmospheric of the Cinque Terre. The village clings to the clifftop above miles of muretti, walls that were carved into the fertile mountains to grow grapes and olives.

I ran out of time and took the train to Vernazza and Monterosso, bypassing the toughest bit of the walk (it takes about five hours to visit all the villages). Vernazza is an elegant surprise, but is the least dramatic of the five, and ... how could I wait? Monterosso was just round the corner.

But tourism, unchecked and unsympathetic, had beaten me to it - again, I had to redraw my mental map. The locals say that in the late 1980s a US television show was made about the area, and with the attention came coachloads of tourists. The English signs for hotels, and the testy shopkeepers did make me wonder if things had changed in the Cinque Terre, but it wasn't until Monterosso that I saw the difference.

The village was still ebullient and charming, but prices had shot up, tourists were arriving in droves, and everyone answered my broken Italian in fluent English. I couldn't even find the shoddy rooms by the station. The true taste of Liguria lay in the time capsule of Portofino, not on the well-trodden path to Monterosso.

Surely it's wrong not to want to share - after all, tour coaches bring prosperity where old trades are dying out. But even with its deeply ingrained Italian character, the Cinque Terre should be seen soon before real change takes hold - whether you travel by plane, train or flip-flop.

A TASTE OF GENOA

Try the Paella di Faro, spelt with seafood curry, at Squarciafico (00 39 010 2470823, www.squarciafico.it). A well-hidden restaurant that's worth the hunt.

Culture meets commerce at Via Garibaldi 12, a restored Renaissance palace and luxury shop. Grand designs, with prices to match (00 39 010 2530365, www.viagaribaldi12.com).

Cappuccino, Italian style, at Il Botteghino, Piazza delle Vigne. Try the sugared crema - utter tooth rot, but intoxicating.

Visit the romanesque San Lorenzo Cathedrale. A glimpse back in time, with two twists: the elegant underground museum and the unexploded bomb that burst through the roof in a Second World War air raid and still sits in the nave.

NEED TO KNOW

BA return flights from London Gatwick from £101.50 (www.ba.com). Half board at the Splendido (www.hotelsplendido.com) starts at £440 a night, the new family package costs £2,710. Buy a Cinque Terre train card, covering rail and footpaths between the villages, from £6.50 for a day (www.parconazionale5terre.it, www.cinqueterre.it) Andrea Azzinari offers private guided tours from £110 for three hours (zuggino@yahoo.com)

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