EUROPE Discover the seaside town the Italians keep to themselves

The small resort of Santa Maria di , close to Naples, is a slice of secret

Louise Roddon March 3 2018, 12:01am, The Times

Santa Maria di Castellabate

It’s Sunday evening in Santa Maria di Castellabate and along the pedestrianised Corso Matarazzo families are showing off babies while they chat with neighbours. Old men sit outside gelato parlours, licking impossibly elaborate ice creams, and Eighties pop music blasts from shop doorways. Then the young priest is spotted and the atmosphere changes. He strides down the road, handsome and smiling in his plain black cassock, and the communal radio immediately switches from Bananarama to a solemnly chanted Benedictus.

No, I am not kidding. I watch bemused as the fishmonger genuflects and a young couple break from embracing to shake the priest’s hand. It’s a pure Fellini moment: a little slice of Italian life that is rare to find in popular tourist resorts. And it is partly why I love the place so much — this small southern town where English is rarely spoken and simple pleasures prevail — and why my husband and I have kept returning since our honeymoon in 1994.

Has Santa Maria changed? Not one bit, and that’s pretty unusual for a seaside town with a string of blue-flag beaches, an interesting old quarter and decent restaurants. This is a place that Italians keep under wraps. Even better, since our first visit a motorway has been built that whizzes you south from Naples in two hours, so there is no need to endure the stomach-lurching bends and bottlenecks along the Amalfi coast.

Santa Maria di Castellabate lies below in , a province of , an area that, despite its relative accessibility, also remains surprisingly off radar. And that’s a shame, because here you find not only great beaches and towns, but a national park as well — alongside the top- notch archaeological site of .

More of those later. Let me unravel the town through a typical weekday scene. Italian holidaymakers flop under beach umbrellas by day, then join the locals for that evening passeggiata. First though, it’s Piazza Lucia that draws the crowds; seats are set for a puppet show and tiny satin curtains are swished back from a candy-striped box to reveal the angry features of an Italian Punch and Judy. Near by, older kids play table football, their cries piercing the darkening square, and a well- groomed white husky rests as he always does, day and evening, sprawled on the low stone wall next to his elderly owner. Later, by the town’s main beach, mums and dads queue for cuoppi di pesce (paper cones of mixed fried fish) at Lo Sparviero, and their offspring take to the sands for a messy game of football.

And for my husband and me? It’s to the terrace of the bar L’Ancora, where we sit over Camparis, watching the setting sun bronzing an ink-blue sea. Capri is hazed on the horizon. To our left is the castellated silhouette of the Norman-Aragonese Torre Perrotti, erected to defend the town against Saracen invaders. Our evening ends with a beach-view meal — fabulous, foil-wrapped sea bream with clams and shrimp at Perbacco.

Our week unfurls as lazily as for those holidaymaking Italians: always coffee at L’Ancora, then a trip to the local deli for picnic stuff, its interior fragrant with cured hams, the size of rugby players’ thighs, and bright green olives; and, best of all, squeaky fresh mozzarella bufala di Campania that actually tastes of cheese.

Mozzarella is the region’s speciality, hailing from the countless buffalo farms that dot the fertile plains around nearby Battipaglia. We had passed several on our drive from Naples, their shops often shouldering statuary stores where giant Christ figures face the road, arms held in benediction over the passing traffic. Yet as our week progresses the hire car is swapped for the bus and a network of interesting local towns, including Paestum.

What a joy Paestum proves: a corker of an archaeological sprawl, where we wander alone through huge temples — pristine remnants of the ancient Greek settlement of Poseidonia — and picnic, warming our backs against grand limestone Doric columns. Poseidonia was founded by the citizens of the Sybaris settlement farther south, whose indolence gave birth to the term “sybaritic”. It’s a mindset I later adopt on the shady terrace of the Ristorante Museo, where we sit lazily spooning up delicious granita di limone.

Yet the museum calls — a fine one too, whose highlight is a series of tomb paintings culled from the site, some of the rarest Greek murals found. In one serene scene an uncannily modern-looking young man — albeit minus swimming trunks — is captured on the point of diving into a pool.

The hilltop town of Castellabate

We, however, eschew swimming, as tempting as the sea looks. Instead we explore this lovely Cilento region further by car, taking in views of spartan mountain ranges, then softer hills covered in neat olive groves, nets draped beneath the trees to stop the fruit from rolling downhill. The narrow roads twist and turn, occasionally offering sightings of remote hill towns or, to the west, glimpses of the glittering .

There are stops in unpretentious towns including near Paestum, dominated by a Byzantine castle overlooking the bay and sheltering one of the bestpreserved old quarters along this coastline. It’s even lovelier farther south, with fishing villages spotted from the steep squiggly road, the coast craggy all the way towards the headland of Punta Licosa in the Cilento National Park.

Donkey tracks and paths zigzag seawards above wide bays sheltered by a canopy of pine and carob trees; the sliver of the tiny Licosa Island, its lighthouse and ruins interrupting the blue-green expanse. We stop for coffee at Agnone, with blond sands and pleasure boats, then rejoin the narrow road to .

Ernest Hemingway stayed in this harbour town after writing The Old Man and the Sea, celebrating its completion in the seaside bars and cafés. The village today appears barely changed — and perhaps he should have stayed, because its citizens are a healthy lot, still gloating from scientific findings that uncovered an unusually high proportion of healthy centenarians. All those steep streets perhaps. And the delicious Mediterranean diet.

For us, though, it’s back to the car — and then our sat-nav lets us down. Our goal is , which is reputed to be very pretty, with olive groves leading to a fine beach and a small marina where fishermen employ centuries-old moon-and-star techniques to haul in their nightly anchovy catch. Up and up we go, round endless switchbacks, passing cacti so enormous they look steroid- fuelled. The road sheers away, turns to gravel, our wheels protesting — then we encounter a concrete block and can go no farther. Even turning round feels hazardous. The heat outside the car expands to the amplified rustle of cicadas. There’s no wind. Only later do we discover that we should have taken the dual carriageway farther inland.

We manage a 50-point turn and head “home”, stopping at Castellabate, a medieval hill settlement that overlooks Santa Maria. It’s a gorgeous place, a real Walnut Whip of a town, with honey- coloured narrow streets and skinny houses spiralling upwards until you reach its 12thcentury castle. The views tumbling down to Santa Maria and along the coast, then inland over fig trees and farms towards sparse humpy mountains, are glorious.

And it’s a fitting stop, because Castellabate was the former stronghold of the Granito Pignatelli di Belmonte princes, and we are staying in their Santa Maria hunting lodge, the 17th-century Palazzo Belmonte, still owned and inhabited by the charming Prince Angelo. It is Italy’s only seaside palace, built around a fine stone courtyard where chic apartments and airy hotel rooms come with original features, then villas dotted throughout its high-walled dreamy parkland. It even has its own tiny strip of beach, accessed by wooden steps beyond the pool.

For old time’s sake (we stayed at this place on our honeymoon) we opt for an apartment, our bedroom overlooking Torre Perrotti, with the sea beyond. We fall asleep to the swish of waves, cook simple meals in the kitchenette, watch the sun set over the sea from the Belvedere garden bar, then, if the town and its chatty families don’t lure us, dine by candlelight in our spacious living room.

It is honestly hard to top Santa Maria di Castellabate, and I really should keep it a secret — but if you go I ask only one thing: don’t tell anyone else.

Need to know

Where to stay Palazzo Belmonte (00 39 0974 960 211, www.palazzobelmonte.com) has double rooms from £145 a night and apartments from £273, breakfast included

How to get there Easyjet (easyjet.com) flies from Gatwick to Naples from £62 return. British Airways (ba.com) has Gatwick returns from £90

Car Hire A week’s car hire, collecting at Naples airport, costs from about £110 with Avis (avis.co.uk)

More information Lonely Planet’s new Italy guide (13th edition), published last month, is one of the best handbooks with hotel and restaurant suggestions (£17.99, lonelyplanet.com)