Located between Cinque Terre and the Gulf of Poets, Portovenere is an ancient seaside town favoured for its mild climate and scenery. Portovenere is an ideal location for scuba diving thanks to its clear waters. The famous Church of San Pietro (1277) and a monastery dating from 1600 are the sights to see here. Shelley is believed to have authored Childe Harold's Pilgrimage here.
   The panorama also made Portovenere a good fortress against naval attacks.
   Some have called Portovenere the sixth town of the Cinque Terre; indeed, the www.5terre.com site has a webcam there. As a result of being the "sixth", it is relatively unspoiled by tourists.
   The Festival of San Pietro, the town’s patron saint, is held on August 17 and does attract more tourists than usual.
   Further information can be found at www.portovenere.it.

Finding Portovenere
From Milano to Genova, take the A7 south. Either follow the coast road from Genova to La Spezia or take the A12 or route 1. Exit at La Spezia and follow signs to Portovenere. Note that it is not well signposted: you are better off finding signs to Cinque Terre in La Spezia, which will take you toward the coast—drivers with a keen sense of smell may be able to detect the scent of the sea. The roads should be taking you westward. Signs for Portovenere eventually become apparent after leaving the centre of La Spezia for the coast.
   Mediterranean cruises are available. One site we found was www.silverseaships.com, another was www.cruisemates.com.

continued

HE ROAD from Milano to Genova, the A7, has to be one of the most entertaining, and, fortunately, it is not greatly spoiled by the sight of toll booths as frequently as other stretches of autostrada. When you first depart Milano—not a difficult task, considering you can easily go against the signs that point toward the city centre—there are numerous ways to head down toward a town close to the famous Cinque Terre, but the A7 gets my vote.
   I had filled up at a station where I was mistaken for French—my 94-district number plates from France were recognizable, even if I didn't have the little blue strip down the left that designated which European nation I had come from. An Italian said in broken French that he was out of money and tried to flog me some bad-looking jewellery; I neglected to tell him that I worked sometimes in the fashion publishing business and humoured him for a while as he did his Italian Job with his gold before tiring of the charade and declined naming a price for trinkets I neither wanted nor cared for.
   As I neared Genova, the roads became delightfully narrow, there were increasing numbers of thousand-foot drops to my right and the two lanes that went toward the ancient seaside town suddenly were the delight of any Italian driver obsessed with playing the stick shift. I joined them, racing my Opel Astra Turbo Diesel with Golfs and Focuses bearing number plates from nearby Italian towns. Gone are the days when one bought the local brand; the taxi drivers I met in Milano, with whom I had interesting chats about women (the only topic we had in common), drove Opels, Citroëns and other foreign makes. Fiat is hæmorrhaging millions a day, and the amounts still sound a lot to the locals even after euronating, so confidence isn't particularly high—before long they would be taking the piss out of their own cars.
   Italians hate automatics. About two per cent of automobiles have automatic transmissions. There is something about being in control continuously, and that includes seat belt usage—an informal poll of the "next 10 cars" I saw in Genova put the figure at 30 per cent—something the automatic transmission does not allow "real" drivers obsessed with Ferraris and Maseratis. And rightly so, as I shifted down to third to maintain pace with the Focus Turnier driver but keep the pace up at 90 km/h round the corner. Accustomed to the pace of German autobahnen, I attempted to keep my average at 140 km/h. They are good at speed; further north nearer the Swiss border, drivers had had trouble staying in their lane.
   These Italian Riviera routes, the old motorways, are too short and to die for, much like the Moyenne Corniche which I would later sample. The Corniche has been filmed often so the A7 is already a more enriching driving experience and far more entertaining. There should be more of these roads, but the must-be-there yesterday crowd in campervans and trucks have seen to the advent of the autostrada and with it, tolls. There are plenty in Italy nearer the cities, but thankfully someone remembered that A roads should not be all dull and sterile. This stretch of the A7 was perfect for the driver and it was with some disappointment that I got in to Genova. It would not be as much fun going the opposite, less risky direction.

   Keen to maintain my pace and enjoy the eye-candy of blue sun reflecting off the Mediterranean Sea, I took the coast road and refrained from rejoining the Italian freeway system where the toll booths would begin again. The pace was poor but the sights were plenty, with nice, winding roads to challenge the best drivers. But as I drove, following signs to La Spezia, I came across Portovenere, a seaside town that was not too far away from the Corsican ferry, an Italian naval base and some of the most delightful seafood restaurants that I had found on the Italian west coast. Further south, it was better than Cinque Terre, because it is regarded as the "sixth town", escaping much of the tourism that had spoiled the other five.

continued: in Portovenere