Italian Riviera by Mario Borgoni* Memories of my first visit to Portofino linger like a favorite scent. We were driving from the south of France and across the border to Italy, ducking in and out of tunnels which stretches on for miles, when we got stuck inside one due to an accident that snarled traffic along the coast of Genoa. It was a big relief when the line of cars finally started moving and we could breathe fresh air again. Today it’s different. I’m taking a public bus for the short ride to Portofino from Santa Margherita Ligure. Along the way, the driver honks the horn just before a blind curve and he repeats this at every bend to warn oncoming cars of our approach. It’s important that he sounds the horn often on these hairpin turns so drivers can stick to their side of this pencil-thin road. After the driver deposits us behind the Piazetta, I walk to the dock to get a good view of the sheltered cove. It is as I remember it. Waterfront cafés and restaurants, boats bobbing in t
“If you reject the food, ignore the customs, fear the religion and avoid the people, you might better stay at home.” - James Michener