Either far away or really close up
My number one travel tip for visiting Italy
My all-time travel tip for Italy is to either view it from far away or really, really close up.
Really close up you get to see the extraordinary miniature details. The doorway with paint peeling off in layers, the intricately carved three-dimensional marble rendering of the last supper above a doorway, or the little sign-offs made by a craftsman centuries ago, left for nobody but God to see. I’m obliged to say that you do this best on foot with your eyes open.
Far away there are the gob-smacking vistas, the rocks tumbling into the sea, the soaring mountains. Even more, there are the hilltop towns, teetering on crags out of reach of 10th century North African slavers, balcony upon rooftop upon ancient stone wall, working up to a steeple or a belltower. Or a village like Portovenere, a palisade of brightly coloured houses on the harbour, beneath the fortifications of the Castello Doria, with the black and white form of San Pietro’s church on the end of a rocky spit, sticking out beyond the cliffs into the sea.
I mention Portovenere because, like the hilltop towns that lose the magic of their settings when you are in the windy streets strung up with grandma’s washing, you really don’t want to get any closer to this little tourist hotspot near La Spezia.
I’m staying on the island of Palmaria, just across from Portovenere, and I can hear the thumping base of its bars from the garden where I’m typing. We popped over to explore it yesterday. The little church was fabulous, both in its (far away) setting, jutting out above the crashing waves, and close up: the carved marble head of Jesus, half hidden in an alcove, the patterns of brick in the vaulted ceiling. It was austere and simple, a church that suited those hard and cruel years when Genoa came out fighting and turned itself into a maritime superpower. I loved the church, but I hated Portovenere.
Its undoubted beauty attracts stumbling masses of tourists from across Italy and beyond, like a second Portofino. The tourists in turn attract shop after shop after shop of tourist tat, backed by bars and fried food joints with loud music. I imagine I sound like a snob or (more accurately) a grumpy middle aged man. But it’s simply not for me. My advice is to stick to seeing Portovenere from far away.
Luckily for me that’s exactly what I did today. I went for a little hike around Palmaria, past the goats and lizards and a loud peacock, up its rocks and slopes and above beaches and battlements. There are lots of old fortifications and gun emplacements, as befitting an island that guards the approaches to the Naval base at La Spezia. Not all the pillboxes suggest the Italians are good at taking their military as seriously as JD Vance would like.
The return leg of the trip back to where we are staying worked its way down the edge of the cliffs on the south of the island, and the view was spectacular. It was the distilled essence of Liguria: the black and white San Pietro at the head of a jagged and brutal coast that disappeared into the distance as a wall of rocks and churning sea. That palisade of tall, coloured houses dotted with tiny windows was beautiful. You could sense the little vicoli and runs of steps, working their way up through the bustle of the houses towards the Chiesa di San Lorenzo, and the Castello Doria above that.
It was a grand, theatrical scene. It was lovely. It was best viewed from far away. And I wish they would turn the music down.
