We are such a blasé, well-travelled bunch these days that most of us have long given up on Europe's ability to surprise us. The truth is, though, that there are pockets of even the most tourist-trampled countries — France, Spain, Italy — that remain unexpectedly pristine.
Take Cilento, for example. Never heard of it? Neither had I. But now I've experienced it.
Cilento is a protected Italian region — much of it a national park and a Unesco World Heritage Site — that sits not far south of the teeming holiday centres of Naples and the jet-setting Amalfi coast. Its interior is all sun-baked hilltop villages and undulating, tree-clad mountains. Its coast is of the twisting Mediterranean variety, adorned by riotous bougainvillea and little resorts.
Uniquely enchanting
It is all wonderfully authentic and uniquely enchanting.
We went, my wife and I, for a week. Our first base was Le Favate, a stately farmstead hidden within the green folds of interweaving valleys that roll back from the blue Mediterranean. It is part of the agriturismo chain, a nationwide affiliation of rural estates that also provide upscale hotel accommodation; its buildings date from the early 17th century and are as natural to the ancient terrain as the surrounding olive groves.
The views to the haze-shrouded coast are bewitching. It is an almost hypnotically peaceful spot. The high Sun, ablaze even in May, holds the place in a kind of trance; the nights are silent, inky black. You sleep like a child.
The place is popular with walkers — a rather earnest lot, we found — who spend their days criss-crossing the hot, green slopes and their evenings sitting outside their apartments obsessively cleaning their expensive-looking boots. That wasn't really our thing, so we got in the car and explored.
Although these days Cilento might not be the name on everyone's lips, the ancient Greeks and Romans were quicker on the uptake than us — both civilisations left their traces everywhere.
Down near Ascea are the remains of Velia, an astonishing, mazy ancient metropolis dating back to 535BC, stretching over a few acres and up a hill; just a couple of euros to get in and no crowds. If it were anywhere else, it would be thronged with T-shirt sellers and probably have its own airport.
Actually, Pompeii itself is within comfortable striking distance of Cilento. But leave that for another day and go to Paestum instead (it is to the north of the region). This is the Pompeii for the cognoscenti — much less overrun and just as striking. Wonderfully preserved temples rise magically into the sky.
Then it is back to Le Favate, perhaps stopping for a refreshment in one of the villages nearby, watched by an inscrutable bench of pensioners.
Part of the charm of driving around here is wondering exactly when a farmer will come swinging around one of the blind corners in his one-seater Piaggio truck and into your hire car. We nearly came to grief on a number of occasions. But we survived.
At the hotel, there was a pool and more of that fabulous, tranquillising stillness, and soon it was time for a refreshment; on the terrace, in the dying sun, watching the lizards scuttle in and out of the masonry, you wouldn't want to be anywhere else in the world.
Richly satisfying
And then dinner. It is a set menu every evening, devised and prepared single-handedly by Le Favate's cheerful cook, and it is the real deal: authentic, faultlessly executed and richly satisfying. The olive oils and the refreshments come from the hotel's own estate — in fact, from the dining room you look out on to the very trees that the olives are harvested from. Stupendous.
A few days of this and we were blissfully rested and refreshed — and ready for a bit more action. So we headed for the seaside.
Our home now was to be San Marco di Castellabate, one of a number of unassumingly pretty resorts along the Cilento coast. We stayed at La Corallina, a pink-hued building right on the seafront. La Corallina was a simultaneously unpretentious and swish place, excellently appointed and confidently purveying all the comforts of international travel, from supercool air conditioning to jugs of kiwi juice on the breakfast buffet spread.
San Marco manages to be different things at different times: A true-to-life fishing village in the mornings, an agreeably drowsy sun-trap in the hot afternoons. Then after nightfall, you'll find just enough funk at its handful of bars and restaurants to keep the evenings interesting.
There is a pleasant walk too, along low cliffs and a wide beach, all the way to its Santa Maria di Castellabate. Here you will find more restaurants and intriguing shops.
One overcast morning, we drove inland for the steep mile or two that links these little resorts to indomitable Castellabate itself, the fortified medieval town atop an ascent that seems to stretch halfway to the clouds.
We had planned only to stop for coffee. We ended up spending hours getting happily lost in a labyrinth of rising, looping alleyways, hidden recesses and teasing dead ends. It is a tremendous place: splendidly preserved.
No trippy dross
A number of things struck us, all of them joyous. First, we could park easily and safely, and for nothing. And although the town is aware of its history and magnificence, it remains a working community rather than a touristic treadmill.
Best of all, there was a cherishable absence of trippy dross — the living statues, the pavement artists drawing the useless likenesses of Michael Jackson.
Yes, Cilento's great — but how to get there? Well, by air into Naples, obviously, which was how my wife travelled. But if at all possible, try doing what I did — go by train. Of course, it is a long way. But it is great adventurous fun, an unparalleled way to get a feel of Europe and a clever way of having what amounts to two holidays for not that much more than the price of one.
It was made possible for me by an InterRail Global Pass. The one I got — there are various types, catering to different requirements — allowed me unlimited travel on ten days (of my choosing) within a period of 22.
You get official-looking documents and maps, not to mention a rather smug and altogether enjoyable feeling of freedom. Actually, the only problem with the scheme is that you have to decide where not to go.
InterRail encompasses 30 countries. A glance at the map reveals routes stretching from Portugal in the west to Norway or Finland in the north and then all the way east through Serbia, Bulgaria or Turkey. In fact, you can go right up to the Iranian border.
There are the ferries chugging around the various European seas and these are often included in the deal.
I should mention that attached to the pass is a quite complicated set of conditions and surcharges — you have to do your homework before taking the plunge.
Unplanned stops
But my outward route was relatively straightforward — Paris, Lyons, Milan, Naples. I did it over five days. And because part of the joy of the idea, at least for me, was the room it left for spontaneity and improvisation, I made unplanned overnight stops at Brig up in the Alps and then beautiful Stresa overlooking Lake Maggiore.
The trains were clean and fast. I was lucky enough to go first-class but the second-class accommodation is perfectly comfortable too, even long-haul. And nothing prepares you for the beauty of your journey through and around the Swiss mountains and lakes.
On the way back, I mixed things up by stopping at Milan and Geneva. Two unforgettable cities — particularly Milan, which celebrated its success in the Champions League in as berserk a fashion as possible.
How lucky I was to be at the party, I thought — rather than be flying ten kilometres above it.
