Wednesday 17 June 2026 – One day of our week in Liguria was designated a non-hiking day. There were many options open to us, not the least of which would have been well-earned sloth. One of our group actually headed off to get to Genoa, about an hour and a half away if you catch the right train, but a world of pain if you don’t. We were not so interested in art galleries and museums, which are definitely Genoa’s strengths, and instead Tomaso had strongly recommended Sestri Levante as a place to visit.
The name’s something to conjure with. People are familiar with “The Levant” as meaning the Middle East, based on the meaning of “levante” as “rising”. The sun rises in the east, hence The Levant. However, Sestri Levante is on the west coast of Italy and emphatically not in the East. Unless, that is, you are of a Genoese persuasion; in that region, “Riviera di Levante” means the eastern riviera, with “Riviera di Ponente” meaning the western riviera, all defined in relation to Genoa. So Sestri Levante means, by implication, Sestri in the eastern riviera, as opposed to Sestri Ponente which is, you guessed it, to the west of Genoa, albeit only just. “Sestri” in this context might means “sixth”, which I can’t find a credible reason to explain, or it might mean “a quiet place”. Depends on which AI you ask. In any case neither I nor any AI that have consulted on the matter understand whether all this has any bearing on the name of Bonassola’s neighbour, Levanto,
Anyhoo…
Sestri Levante is a half-hour train ride north-west from Bonassola, so seemed a good option and six of us decided to head there so that we could go for a walk around it. Obviously.
There are ticket machines at each station, but Trainline works well and obviates the risk of falling foul of Italian engineering*, so, tickets in our Google Wallets, we headed for the station and caught a 10.30 train heading north. This meant that we would arrive at 11am which (Tomaso jokingly told us as a matter of Italian law) is the very latest time you are legally allowed a cappuccino. So we left the station
and headed into town;
Jane had identified the Caffè Centrale as a promising destination, and so it proved, serving decent coffee that was almost hot. The heat of the day hadn’t fully developed and so we were able to sit outside as we supped, and opposite us was a wonderful, if somewhat bonkers, piece of architecture.
It is the Palazzo Fascie Rossi, and houses the city’s archaeological museum, library and historical archives. The “Rossi” means “red”, which is pretty self-explanatory just from looking at the colour of the building; and it’s named for one Vicenze Fascie, (interestingly described on the website as a “Cavalier”, whatever that means – maybe a cowboy builder?) whose legacy funded its construction in the early 1900s. The tower is distinctive, both in shape and, frankly, its jarring architectural discontinuity from the rest of the building. On its four corners are braziers which can hold beacons to be lit on festival days. Looking at it from a different angle
one can see the spiral staircase that enables access to the roof for placing and lighting of beacons. Over the main door is a decoration celebrating love, work and hope.
To my complete lack of surprise, Jane had spent some time investigating the possibilities of the town, and everyone in the group seemed entirely happy to follow her suggested peregrination. Thus, coffee over, we wandered off towards the seafront.
There is some very fine trompe l’oeil on view decorating the buildings,
so convincing that I had to go and brush the surface to assure myself that it was painted. Some of it was very ornate.
Tomaso had mentioned a specific patisserie that was worth a look in, so we found it and, erm, looked in.
It’s a wonderful interior, and, even more wonderfully, the lady behind the counter was entirely unruffled at a bunch of tourists leaning in, taking photos and departing without buying anything.
As you head for the seaside, there are some ritzy buildings, not the least of which is a very fancy-looking four-star hotel, the Grand Hotel Villa Balbi,
which does it best to be difficult to photograph by hiding bashfully behind a bunch of trees. (The Cross of St. George atop the place is nothing to do with England – St George is one of the principal patron saints of Genoa.) A neighbouring building has on its walls a colourful tribute to the maritime nature of the place,
not dissimilar in style to a boat on the beach nearby,
though, this being the med, if they’re waiting for the tide to come in so they can float it, they’re going to be there a while.
As far as seaside is concerned, the town has a distinctive and unusual shape,
which gives it two seasides (the boat in the photo above is not far from the capital S in Sestri). The bay to the north is called the “Bay of Fables”, in honour of Hans Christian Andersen, who lived here at one point, and so I wandered out to see if it was pretty.
Not really, is my verdict, although overlooking it are some very fine houses on the lumpy bit that stick out from the mainland.
I found the juxtaposition of crowded beach umbrellas and fine mansions rather amusing. Some of those villas on the headland are very handsome.
At the neck of the headland is a church, the Basilica of Santa Maria of Nazareth,
which, like so many others in the area, has a sumptuous interior.
with beautifully painted surfaces all over.
Having looked around the church, we headed for the southern bay, the Bay of Silence, which was altogether a more attractive proposition.
All beach life was here, with kids and adults equally splashing around and generally not being silent at all. In the water was a sculpture of a fisherman
and among the folks cavorting on the beach (or, frankly, slumped in the heat) moved a hopeful entrepreneur.
We didn’t see her successfully sell anything, and she must have been rather warm, but one infers (and certainly hopes) that she must make enough to be able to stay in business.
Apart from anything else, the bay had a perfectly decent café/restaurant which offered some nice focaccia and many varieties of cold beverage,
so we refreshed ourselves and then split up. Some of our group wanted to do some shopping, but Jane had identified a punto panoramico on the opposite shore, so we went to take a look. It was worth the slog in increasing temperatures.
You can clearly see the headland and the neck that divides the two bays. in order to reach the viewpoint, we passed the Convento Frati Cappuccini, which incorporates the church of Santa Maria Immacolata,
and was open (albeit not selling any coffee) so we went in. It was rather lovely, with some striking painted decoration,
and wonderful mosaics on the floor.
The choral music of (we think) Palestrina was gently playing in the background as we walked in, which made for a very calming interlude.
We walked back through the very elegant old town towards the station,
and discovered that we had time for another coffee at Caffè Centrale before hitting the station. An uneventful rail journey had us back in Bonassola in time for the evening drinkies and briefing – and even the lady who’d been to Genoa managed to make it back in time for that.
During the rest of our time here we had two more walks to do, and neither of them were in the actual Cinque Terre park, as we’d covered that on walks two and three, as far as one can given that the path from Manarola to Corniglia is closed. The next day’s walks were south of the park, in the area of Porto Venere, with the return to Bonassola involving a scenic boat ride. The walk could potentially involve a hideous amount of steep and tricky downhill walking, we heard.
Stay tuned to find out if we managed to engineer a way around that ghastly prospect.
* I’m probably not being fair, here. In many cases, the Italian train network is more joined-up that ours in the UK. For example, when you buy a ticket at a machine in Italy, assuming your train is in transit at the time, the ticket machine will tell you whether it is on time, or by how much delayed, which would be helpful in the UK. Roll on nationalisation of the UK rail network, anyone?