Bookends of Cinque Terre offer depth beyond picture book villages

Portovenere and Levanto are the towns on either side of the string of five picture postcard fishing villages known as the Cinque Terre. And while the five may draw tourists from around the world, it's the bookends I'd recommend as the anchors for any extended exploration.

Portovenere is an exquisite little town on a tip of land at the entry into the bay of La Spezia. The views from the tip of the peninsula are extraordinary. To the north spreads the steep terraces, bays, mountains and crashing surf of the Cinque Terre coast. To the west stretches the open Mediterranean. South lies series of islands encircled by the boats of sailors who love to test their skills by circumnavigating them, while back east the view takes in the town, the remarkably lovely bay and the Tuscan coast. All can be viewed from the porch of an ancient Romanesque church gripping the cliff's edge.

It's no wonder that the Romans called this place the "port of Venus", its heart-stopping beauty is a natural inspiration for love. (Sadly, the man I wanted to be seeing it with was back in London, sharing via Facebook photo postings. There's modern relationships for you.) The Romantic trio of Byron, Keats and Shelley loved the area and their legacy has given the local water its alternative name of the Bay of Poets. At the same place from which I described the panoramic view you'll find a place called Byron's grotto, a dark and brooding hook of black slate cascading down into the boiling surf, from which the mad, bad and dangerous to know celebrity used to take his regular swims.

Portovenere is a small place, easily covered on foot as long as you don't mind a climb. It ascends steeply, with three parallel streets stretching its length. The buildings are classic Italian riviera: tall, gracious and painted in festive colours. The lowest street runs along the harbour, lined with restaurants and a few shops. The middle lane, perhaps two stories higher, is lined with shops and charming restaurants, and terminates at the promontory with the church and Byron's grotto. Higher still is an even narrower path, this one mostly residential, that leads to a hilltop church and, even higher, a late medieval castle. It is a marvelous place for a wander and, when exhausted from all the climbing, you can retire to the port for a fine meal. We followed an Italian colleague's recommendation and settled in to Elettra, with a glass-walled dining room hanging over the harbour. Terrible service, but fantastic food. If I were anywhere within 90 minutes of Portovenere I would make the trip if only for their trofie in creamy clam sauce, without doubt the finest single dish I had on this trip.

On the northern end of the Cinque Terre is Levanto. Probably only 30 minutes by speedboat (if we'd had one), it's more than an hour from Portovenere by car because you either need to navigate the hairpin-rich, hair-raising coastal roads or go through the industrial port town of La Spezia ... home of the Italian navy and its museum ... and up the motorway.

We chose to base ourselves in Levanto this trip and were delighted with our choice. As with everything on this coast it's a pretty place, in this case filled with fanciful 19th architecture of the wealthy holiday retreat variety. There's a wide, curving beach of striking greenish-black sand, a colour derived from the local stone that features as the black banding in all the striped medieval churches around here.

We stayed at the Villa Margherita, a delightful place I will definitely book again should I return to this area. The family-run B&B (descendants of the people who built the place in 1906) is set in lovely gardens, has sweeping views over the valley in which Levanto sits and is just a five-minute walk from town centre and beach. The rooms are high, airy, comfortable and spotlessly clean, though not particularly luxurious. We were within the main house; should I ever return with The Man I'd opt for the apartments that open onto the garden, which are a bit more expensive but clearly newer and more picturesque. A continental breakfast is served in a pretty dining room that doubles as the guest lounge, and the place has both parking and free wireless. It's a real find along this coast, where other options seemed to be either extremely basic, or hugely expensive.

Levanto itself proved a wonderful base for exploration. Unlike the Cinque Terre towns, it has an abundance of restaurants, most of which are very reasonable and all of which dish up local specials like pesto and seafood. There are also a handful of lovely gift shops and galleries that appeal to the shopping tastes of the tourists, and some lovely winding lanes to explore. Turns out Levanto was actually quite a big port in the Middle Ages, though the river that once enabled this has long since silted up. However, it does mean there are a couple of good churches from that time period, a striking (and still privately owned) castle and a big market loggia. The most interesting artifact from this era is a recently-uncovered wall painting that experts believe was a form of advertising, immortalising on the outside walls the faces of the people who drank at the establishment within. The faces are clear, individual and remarkably human, building a tangible bridge across the centuries.

Like the rest of the Cinque Terre, Levanto was exceptionally quiet outside of tourist season, with many shops and restaurants closed. I suspect that all of these places would be a completely different experience in the summer; perhaps uncomfortably so. The owners of the Villa Margherita suggest a return in either May or October. It's certainly on my wish list.

Back in Italy, thank God, and ready to discover the Cinque Terre

We have established on this blog that I am never going to work for the French tourism board, despite last year's fabulous outing in Burgundy. My heart lies further South. And yesterday, with every mile I left the border behind me and drove down the Italian Riviera, my heart soared. The colours were brighter, the mountains higher, the people more cheerful, the words on the radio more comprehensible. (Just.)

Although I've never been to this part of Italy, I couldn't help thinking: It is good to be home.

My colleague Tania and I have three days, roughly, to relax, explore and unwind after the grueling marketing event we've just completed. Last year we swore we should take advantage of our presence in the region and stay the weekend. This year, we carried through. We've come down to Levanto, a charming small town on a lovely, c-shaped bay. A port in the Middle Ages, its feel these days is more of a late 19th century beach resort of the type Puccini or Rossini might have retired to when trying to lift composer's block. It's certainly punctuated by some extraordinary architecture, notably the mock castle that sits next to our more traditional B&B. While the Middle Ages have mostly faded, there's a picturesque real castle above the beach, an exquisite little church in striped green and white marble with a remarkable Gothic rose window, and some recently revealed caricatures of 13th century residents that experts believe served as an advertisement for the tavern that once operated behind those walls.

Levanto turns out to be a perfect base for exploring the area. It's about 20 minutes off the autostrada, an hour from both Portofino and Portovenere (both top destinations) and linked by local roads to the five famous villages of the Cinque Terre. But unlike the Cinque Terre names, Levanto is big enough to have a variety of restaurants, a bit of nightlife, some interesting shops, a mix of B&Bs and parking. There's also a beautiful sand beach of quite a remarkable blackish-green colour, which would be a big draw in the summer. It took us about 4 hours to get down here from our starting point at Nice Airport and almost every minute of the drive was filled with exquisite views. (If you were coming here directly, it would make more sense to come from Genoa, Pisa or Milan.)

We devoted our first full day to exploring the Cinque Terre, making it to two of the famous five. Vernazza is known for being the most beautiful and certainly ticks all the boxes. Tall houses in festive colours, a fleet of small fishing boats pulled up in the town square, ancient church tucked between harbour and cliff, defensive tower above, remarkable views to each side. Frankly, it's not a village ... it's a stage set. We managed to get here for some remarkable weather, thus a good bit of our sightseeing was actually spent stretched out on slabs of black slate jutting into the Med, contemplating the pounding of the surf and the beauty of life.

One surprise is just how tiny this is, and in fact, all, of the Cinque Terre are. The tourist bit of town (and, really, most of the town itself) is just one street that runs about 200 yards down a steep valley before turning out into the square and harbour. There are a handful of shops, a few restaurants and a few B&Bs. Given the fact that about half of everything was closed at this time of year, you had to work hard ... or laze on sunny rocks ... to find much to hold your interest beyond an hour. If you find yourself here, do take time to go into the church. Its ancient Medieval foundations, its sombre gloom and its location right on the water are wonderfully evocative of the past trials this village must have undergone when it had to harvest its living from the sea and the steep hills, rather than the tourists. Also noteworthy is a shop called Gocce di Byron, selling locally made perfumes and beauty products, and a jewelery and clothing shop just to your left when you enter the town with the train at your back that has a great variety of stuff at reasonable prices.

A warning: Vernazza's car park is 800 yards up a very steep road from the village itself. Part of the charm of the Cinque Terre is that there's no motorised traffic within them, but it makes sightseeing here challenging if you're not accustomed to exercise. Bring good walking shoes and be ready for a workout.

Our second village was Monterosso which, to be brutally honest, was a lot more attractive viewed from above than when walked through. Its location in a wider valley than Vernazza means it's spread out more and has a bigger population. It has a fine beach but, unfortunately, that's been separated from the rest of the village by train tracks, so you don't get the architecture-on-water punch of Vernazza. The shops tend to be of the tacky beach item variety (with the exception of one clothing place that had some beautiful knit items). There's another Ligurian-style striped church, and another photo-worthy defensive tower on a hill, but on the whole Monterosso wasn't worth much time.



It is most notable, therefore, for a fantastic restaurant in the hills above it. Highly recommended by my Terroir Guide to Liguria, La Ciliegie sits 200 metres above Monterosso and has remarkable views up and down the coast. It's a family run place where La Nonna (the grandmother) whips up delicacies in the kitchen while you watch through a huge hatch. We were the only people in the place in this deep off season time, until a bunch of family and friends trooped in to join us. Nonna was cooking, then popping out to join the party. I was vexed at myself for letting my Italian get so rusty, because we clearly could have joined this gang and had a fabulous time. I did manage to understand that the maker of our lunch time wine was sitting with them, and they were delighted with our presence. We started with a plate of little tarts made of cheese, pastry and seasonal wild greens. Then on to a massive, steaming pot of spaghetti with clams and mussels so fresh they had to have been pulled from the sea that morning. Next came a platter of local anchovies, both deep fried whole and filleted, breaded and fried. Fantastic. And, you will not be surprised to learn, we were far too stuffed to take them up on their offer of dessert.

With eating like that (and did I mention the local wine?) it's a damn good thing there's so much walking down here. On to Portovenere tomorrow.

Hotel Splendid shows a warmer, simpler side of Cannes

One of the nicer perks of being a European executive is the location of our regional trade shows. Americans tend to get shipped out to Las Vegas. We find ourselves in Cannes. Believe me, even if you're not a fan of the French, there are far worse places to spend a hard-working week. Especially in early November.

It's Gartner IT Symposium week once again, thus I've been sparkling with exuberance for my employer, working the crowds and blogging and twittering for all I'm worth back on to the corporate web site. The majority of my time has been spent in the basement of the unlovely Palais de Expositions, a lump of '60s era concrete that does this gorgeous stretch of coast an extreme insult. Except that its vast size and great functionality means that I tend to get down here for one reason or another every year or so. And for that, I owe its brutalist architect a vote of thanks. Because every morning, before reporting for duty, there's a chance to take a brisk mile-and-a-half walk around the bay-side promenade known at the Croisette.



This part of the world has been famous for the quality of its light for centuries, but especially since the Impressionists flocked here. There is no arguing with that. In the early morning as the sun crests the horizon, everything lying beneath seems sharpened and defined, yet also softened in a pastel glow. Quite a trick. The buildings of Cannes ... subtle pink, the lightest mustard yellow, rich cream ... sparkle with the same lustre as the inside of a clam shell. The skies behind are a delicate, watercolour blue, and stretching away beneath them are green mountains punctuated by vivid white escarpments of limestone. It is remarkable, soothing, and a scene to make even the greatest philistine wish he could paint. Because no camera will ever really capture the subtlety of these colours and the calm they evoke.

Of course, subtlety ends with the fading of the morning light, and certainly does not carry through to the shops or residents of the town. This place was "bling" long before anyone thought of the term. We may be in a recession, but the shops along the waterfront still bear the names Hermes, Gucci and Prada, and carefully made up mutton dressed as lamb carry tiny dogs wearning those same brands in handbags that cost my take home pay for the month. That's the part of Cannes I find distasteful, and try to avoid as much as possible. Fortunately, the shops on the main street just one back from the beach, the Rue d'Antibes, are filled with stylish items for more normal prices. I only got one quick shopping break from the show floor, but it was a good one.

I have no great finds to report on the restaurant front. As with previous years, we've rolled into spots that were convenient and available. Food is average and prices are shocking: 23 euro for a small and unexceptional main of prawns provencal (I've had better in London) and 8 euro for a glass of wine was typical. Undoubtably, they can get away with these prices because everyone is either on expense account or too rich to care. Certainly I can't imagine anyone ever coming here on his own money.

Our best meal by far was 12 miles up the coast in Cap D'Antibes, where an Italian friend (yes, the same one who initiated last year's giddy dash to Monte Carlo for pizza) found a small Italian place run by immigrants who delivered the quality and flavours we would expect over the border. Great value, fantastic pizza and ... to the boys' delight ... TVs tuned to the Milan-Madrid football game. Next year, Enrico is considering an outing to San Tropez, so we can complete a Trifecta of pizza on this snooty coast.

Worth noting by name, however, was the Hotel Splendid. The team divided vehemently on this. We are used to staying 100 yards up the Croisette at the Majestic. Which is, granted, a testament to the gold-gilt luxury that Cannes does so well. I've had exceptional rooms here with exquisite views, and been amused to drink in the over-the-top bar, decorated like a 19th century Parisian brothel, watching prostitutes work the convention crowd who look like they've been around since Picasso took his first painting trip down here. The Splendid didn't have a prostitute in sight. No red velvet, gold gilt or oversized statues. It did have a cozy lobby, friendly staff who actually recognised you as a guest and a resident cavalier King Charles spaniel. The rooms were homey, French country blue and white, and came with a welcoming bowl of fruit and a sachet of fresh lavender sewn up in a Provencal-print bag. Breakfast came with the room rate (as opposed to the 30 euro or so we'd rack up in addition before), featured eggs as well as the standard Continental fare and could be consumed on a sunny terrace overlooking the yacht harbour.



Don't get me wrong. I like my luxury. But luxury without charm leaves me cold. This place had a warmth that the Majestic will never match, despite its four stars. The Splendid is still almost 200 euros a night, so don't expect a bargain. But if I were forced to stay in Cannes on my own money, I'd book here.