Villa Porto Rapallo

I have an incredibly irritating habit, Mr Smith likes to remind me, of deciding I want to move to almost every holiday destination we visit. By day two, I'm browsing property listings, bandying around the term ‘digital nomad’ and, emboldened by a few martinis, presenting what I'm convinced is a strong case for why we should abandon our lives in London altogether. Needless to say, I remain begrudgingly in situ.  

But in Rapallo, a Ligurian seaside town I've long had my eye on, I finally got to live out my fantasy. Well, the closest I’m ever likely to get, anyway. Two previous visits had already sold me on its charms: pastel-coloured palazzi, gorgeous beaches, oodles of old-world glamour, the holy trinity of fresh fish, pesto and focaccia, and Portofino just down the road — close enough to enjoy, minus the tourist circus and preposterous prices.

Until now, though, I’d always stayed with friends. This time, I had a place to call my own — and a rather fabulous one at that. Villa Porto Rapallo is an imposing, ornate, Liberty-style palazzo right by the harbour, with five apartments, a wraparound garden and a turret that glows after dark courtesy of an enormous, moon-like installation by Italian designer Davide Groppi. The latter is something of a local landmark (our friends knew exactly where we were staying the moment we mentioned it) and, helpfully, doubles as a beacon to follow home after one too many digestifs. 

We arrived on the back of a Vespa — our suitcases following separately for extra glam points — and were greeted by the owner Lisa, who together with her partner Simon, is responsible for transforming the once-derelict villa into the luxurious residence it is today. Her potted history of the place revealed some rather juicy details: in its former life as a hotel and notorious party haunt, it welcomed the likes of Frank Sinatra, Liza Minnelli and Stevie Wonder. Sex, drugs and rock ’n’ roll were par for the course, Lisa told us. Mr Smith needed no further encouragement. 

I’ll admit I was a little miffed not to be led immediately to the turret room, but our apartment, Santa Margherita, came with quite the consolation prize: the mother of all private terraces, complete with a gigantic marble-topped dining table. A suitably debauched dinner party seemed practically obligatory. No doubt the three bedrooms would come in handy, too… 

That’s the beauty of having an entire apartment to yourself: you can actually play house. Never one to miss an opportunity to show off, Mr Smith set about rounding up some friends (and plenty of wine) for the evening while I nosed around. I had half-expected old Italian grandeur and fusty antiques to match the exterior, but was delighted to discover a light, airy, contemporary space with a decidedly chic but laid-back feel. Plus: American-size beds, blackout blinds, books everywhere, Arctic-level air-con and Acqua di Parma toiletries well worth pocketing. 

And as with all good homes made for entertaining, the kitchen was a seriously sleek affair, kitted out with every high-tech appliance imaginable — the work of supremely swanky Swiss brand V-Zug, and a source of endless intrigue for Mr Smith. Unfortunately, he had been too busy dreaming up grand plans for the evening ahead to listen to Lisa’s practical instructions, and so after a good 20 minutes spent tinkering to no avail, he called in the cavalry: a couple of chef friends from his days working at Portofino’s legendary Hotel Splendido. (Lisa and co also have a few chefs on speed-dial for those lacking in such connections.) 

The professionals pulled together a truly epic spread. We polished off the wine then moved on to making cocktails, and I slipped all too easily into the role of grande dame of my very own Italian villa. In my dreams, I’d of course have my own private spa for the inevitable morning-after recovery, but alas, I had to make do with the natural healing powers of the sea. Fortunately, there are plenty of beautiful swimming spots nearby, including the ultra-exclusive, prohibitively expensive beach clubs at Baia di Paraggi, where I insisted Mr Smith mine his contacts once again. I was taking to my new lifestyle rather well.

And practically opposite the villa is Orange Wave, the area’s best boat rental company, on hand to help you explore the whole glorious Italian Riviera — from Camogli and San Fruttuoso to Santa Margherita Ligure and Portofino itself — by sea, with the chance of spotting a dolphin along the way. Not recommended after a hard night’s hosting, of course, but following a more civilised evening at nearby restaurant Ö Magazín and a leisurely morning sipping coffee on our terrace, we were considerably better equipped for a day on the water.

As ever, check-out day found me in a foul mood. Only this time, leaving somewhere that had started to feel like home threatened to provoke a tantrum of epic proportions. Then Lisa made the fatal error of mentioning that she’ll happily look after guests’ belongings between visits, meaning they can return year after year and pick up exactly where they left off. All the pleasures of a second home on the Italian Riviera, without the bureaucracy and stress of actually owning one? Even Mr Smith can’t argue with that…