From the August issue of The Sunday Times Travel Magazine

If Portofino put the Italian Riviera on the glamour-holiday map, it was (ironically) all down to its workaday simplicity.

Here was a self-effacing fishing village, its cobbles swamped in nets under repair by housewives – until stars of the Ingrid Bergman/Elizabeth Taylor division fell for its unscrubbed authenticity in the ’50s.

Superficially, it’s unchanged, with its wonky russet-and-vanilla homes curled around a horseshoe harbour, but in truth, it’s now the essence of luxury. Not the naff/pricey variety (although Portofino has its fair share of shiny WAG boutiques gazing upon the boats bobbing at anchor).

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No, the luxury is in the isolation: a coast road dead-ends here, complicating summer access – you really need to be in a local hotel (or a sleek Sunseeker yacht).

The good news is, for peanuts you can arrive by ferry. More importantly, Portofino is just the start. Pan back for a bigger picture of the coastal stretch, round from France, via Genoa, to La Spezia, and you’ve panoramas of picture-book beauty that even jaded travellers go ga-ga over – all every bit as rarefied as Portofino’s.

Headlands of palms and billowing parasol pines cut silhouettes against the pewter sea and crimson sunsets. Olive groves and vineyards clamber up mountainsides scattered with unaffected villages.

There are classic, easy-access resorts evocative of Mario Lanza, abuzz with scooters and ice-cream parlours, and there are wilderness ways where the air smells of thyme and pine.

There’s also history, laid down by Greeks, Romans and the feuding forces of patchwork Europe – none of it taxing, all of it atmospheric. Shadowy city quarters, stranded hilltop sanctuaries… How better to fill the time between breakfast, lunch and that first pre-dinner cocktail with sunset view?

PICTURE-BOOK

San Fruttuoso, a thumbnail cove of pebbles, feels preserved from a more exclusive age. It’s west from Portofino around the promontory that’s home to Messrs Dolce & Gabbana – go there by ferry (£9 return), or persuade an old sea-dog and his boat in port (£60ish). The voyage skirts savage cliffs for 30 minutes – wind and spray in your hair – before turning into San Fruttuoso, home to a listing Benedictine abbey and deep, clear waters where you can dive down to a statue of Jesus on the stony bed.

On from San Fruttuoso is Camogli, a butterscotch-coloured town that’s both holiday honeypot and utilitarian port. People still live from the sea, and the Sagra del Pesce (second Sunday in May) is a thanksgiving festival – a silvery catch is fried in a gigantic pan by the harbour and distributed free. Even on a dull day, there’s real atmosphere to this place as you walk the sea walls, watching boats and grey waves coming in.

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