We arrive at the Hotel Splendido, Portofino, to find the place in a flap. The Sun has just revealed that Rod Stewart is to marry Penny Lancaster here later this month, and he will be inviting Jagger, Clapton and the rest of the 1960s rockocracy to the party.

It was bad enough when Madonna visited, jogging through the Splendido gardens with her minders as the paparazzi crawled among the jasmine bushes and fought running battles with hotel security. But this will be insane.

Still, it comes as welcome news for Vladi Gatto, the Splendido’s urbane lounge pianist, who tells me the last time Rod visited, the whisky-voiced, wrinkly rascal danced barefoot on the terrace while Gatto played Do Ya Think I’m Sexy.

According to Gatto, pop stars are always popping in. “I was playing the Beatles’ Lady Madonna when Ringo Starr passed by on his way to dinner. He didn’t break stride; all he said was, ‘That’s a good song, Gatto.’ ”

You learn to expect this kind of name-dropping at the Splendido. It was the Duke and Duchess of Windsor who started it all. They signed the visitors’ book in 1952, while calling on Rex Harrison and Lilli Palmer at their pink-washed villa in the hills overlooking Portofino. To a grey, austere, food-rationed, postwar Britain, reports of movie stars and royalty dancing on tables in this Ligurian hideaway provided a desperately needed shot of escapism.

Portofino’s reputation as a perfumed ghetto was sealed tight in the 1960s, when Richard Burton proposed to Elizabeth Taylor over clams at Puny’s restaurant down in the port, on a break from filming Cleopatra in Rome.

In those days, the local fishermen drank rough red wine at tables next to celebrities. Today, all the butchers, bakers and pasta-makers have been swept away, replaced by chic boutiques catering to the super-rich yachting crowd. Armani, Dolce & Gabbana, Zegna, Dior – it’s like Bond Street sur la Med. And it’s not just the stores, it’s the actual couturiers: several of them have villas here.

There are still a few fishermen, but they need special permits to trawl the bay, which is now one of Italy’s protected maritime parks. Their catch is not cheap. “My God, you need a mortgage just to buy a fish,” says Maurizio Saccani, the Splendido’s director.

Antibes, St Tropez and Marbella were once wrapped in this monied allure, too, but are now overrun by coach parties in replica football shirts. Portofino survived because it declined to go for the quick buck. The town authorities allow only 300 cars into the port at a time, access being strictly controlled by police waving red and green ping-pong bats on the only road in from Santa Margherita.

And if you do get held up in traffic, there’s no better place. The road is lined with bell-towers, churches and lemon-painted Mediterranean villas rented by Milanese industrialists and politicians. Silvio Berlusconi has a seaside home that drops straight onto the rocks, crenellated like a medieval fortress.

No helicopters are allowed, nor wetbikes. There is no swimming in the port, and no music outdoors after 10pm. Not one new building has been permitted in 40 years. Houses command €20,000 per square foot (about five times the price of Belgravia), Maurizio tells me.

This tight control has kept Portofino exclusive and perfectly behaved, its theatre set of a harbour nestling into a horseshoe of hills among tumbling olive terraces, without a smudge of litter or graffiti to be seen.

The Splendido is a former monastery but now looks more like a pink palace, lording it from high up on a winding private road. Its views command the ink-blue bay and the honey-coloured church of San Giorgio, where the bones of St George rest, according to the tourist board. England’s dragon-slaying patron is said to have died here on his return from the crusades.

“Can that be true?” I ask Maurizio.

“Well, you know, St George’s bones are said to be in a lot of churches in Italy,” he says with a wink. “He must have been a very big man to be spread around so much.”

The Splendido trades on its celebrity status, with black-and-white photos of famous guests lining the walls. On my way to the pool I pass Clark Gable, Jimmy Stewart, Brigitte Bardot, Michael Caine and Michael Winner. Maurizio says Winner usually makes such a fuss about the orange juice not being fresh, he has to be taken into the kitchen to be shown it being squeezed.

Michael may sometimes be a little demanding, but nothing is too much trouble when you’re paying €2,000 a night – as I myself discover when I arrive at the saltwater pool early one morning. Steam forms a low cloud above the water and I ask the pool girl what the temperature might be. It is 30C, she replies, “But if it’s too cold I will turn the heat up for you.” Now that’s Alist.

Travel brief

Getting there: British Airways (0870 850 9850, www.ba.com) flies from Gatwick to Pisa from £79. The Hotel Splendido can collect you from the airport by Mercedes. The Hotel Splendido (020 7960 0500, www.hotelsplendido.com) has 64 rooms and suites, most with a balcony or terrace overlooking Portofino’s bay. There’s a heated sea-water swimming pool, tennis courts and a wellness centre. The hotel also offers a private motorboat service to fishing villages such as Camogli; two nights from £1,289pp, B&B, including one à la carte meal. Its excellent outdoor restaurant, La Terrazza, has panoramic views of the port and coastline.

Also try the Chuflay Bar Restaurant at the boutique-style Splendido Mare (same contact details), its sister hotel. Again, most have balconies; doubles from £380, B&B. Tour operators: try Carrier (0161 491 7650, www.carrier.co.uk) or Elegant Resorts (01244 897777, www.elegantresorts.co.uk). Best guidebook: Lonely Planet Italy (£15.99).

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