Posted on Tuesday, 11 July 2017

Leticia Steele and her friend visit the remote San Fruttuoso and rent a tiny fisherman's cottage, with only monks and a few wild pigs for company.

It's dusk and the bay is empty. The mighty bell tower is silhouetted against the fading Italian light as we follow the rocky path to the monastery. Fragrant mint is underfoot and birdsong envelops us. Suddenly, out of nowhere, loud grunting issues from the tall grasses: the sound is from a wild piglet, out for its evening feed.

Not exactly the glamorous Tuscany experience – but maybe not everywhere is like San Fruttuoso.

A delightful monastery in Camogli and chi Portofino, all tired pinks, superyachts and expensive clothes shops. A stretch of pebbly beach boasts a trattoria at each end, a scattering of fishing boats and a population that 'surges' to around 30 in high season – up from the handful that live here all year round.

Accessing San Fruttuoso by land requires a serious hike no matter which direction you come from. The best alternative is boat, namely the Golfo Paradiso ferry, which plies this route numerous times throughout the day.

When the ferry departs at 5.30, the accoutrements of tourism have been put away: sun loungers and umbrellas disappeared, making way for the toads and geckos.

My friend and I have the luxury of staying at La Giovanni and so watch as the day-trippers depart, leaving us to nibble at our tiramisu.

Strolling back to our own place is where we encounter the wild boar piglets.

The pretty fisherman's cottage is on the edge of the village, where the settlement proper gives way to olive groves and all the quintessential sights and sounds of the Med.

Our small abode boasts a balcony with cane chairs, along with commanding views over the Golfo Paradiso – the village's octagonal bell tower.

The owners have kindly left a supply of pine nuts, basil and Pecorino Sardo – a suitably Genovese blend of ingredients – and far superior to anything I can buy back home. Simple, but utterly delicious.

Other comestibles must be supplied by us, since there are no supermarkets or convenience stores of any kind.

Fruttuoso is a genuinely remote place, located in Portofino national park. If the weather gets too rough, the ferries are cancelled. If one found oneself marooned in this place, costly marmalade and biscotti from the monastery gift shop would be the only means of survival!

There isn't a great deal to do in Fruttuoso, except perhaps relax on the balcony with potent Italian coffee and observe the various activities in the harbour. Groups of elderly visitors are disgorged from the ferry and make their way to the monastery. A group of chattering school children are released in much the same manner, only they, after being compelled to visit the monastery, are more interested in splashing around in the sea.

San Fruttuoso is built on a water spring and dates back to the 400s. For most of those centuries the monks have been the prime residents, alongside the occasional Barbary pirate. In the last hundred year's fisherman have arrived, in search of anchovy hauls.

Not far away is Santa Marguerita, where Taylor and Burton famously anchored and later had their drinks interrupted by paparazzi. Further off is Cinqueterre. But what my friend and I really came for is Portofino. We take the late boat there one afternoon, then traipse back to our fisherman's cottage before darkness envelopes the coast at around 10pm.

Spilling out on to the harbour in nothing but flouncy dresses and flip-flops, we're soon disheartened by the lack of signage showing the way to San Fruttuoso. A grumpy woman in a convenience store directs us to the requisite path and we pass a café where a gaggle of Australians enjoy buckets of champagne – as loudly as possible.

Pausing at La Gritta (where Burton and Taylor enjoyed potent imbibes with the likes of Rex Harrison), we begin the walk home. We soon rise up the cliffs and into a wood, the shimmering sea to our side. Red marks on the rocks tell us we're still on the right track, as yellow butterflies flutter around us and birds swoop for their nightly bonanza of mosquitoes.

We emerge from the woods and descend into San Fruttuoso, just as the light begins to fail. This is where we encounter our little piggy friends, before seeking out our favourite trattoria for some pigging out of our own.

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