Relaxing in Finale Ligure

Living in Nice, we have the privilege — in normal times — of being able to casually cross the border to Italy. The nearest town, Ventimiglia, is just 40 minutes away by car (about an hour by train) and, though it’s a little rough around the edges, it seems there is no Italian treat you can’t find there with a little digging. I love visiting the honey vendor who comes to the market only on weekends, and also sells roasted hazelnuts, olive oil from his own land, and delicately honey-scented face creams. I have my favorite gelato place, which looks like the décor hasn’t changed since the 1970s, and never visit the food market (which is closed only on Sundays) without stopping for a cappuccino on the sunny terrace of Bar Canada, which I’m drawn to for obvious reasons.

After six months of being deprived of these simple yet luxurious pleasures, I couldn’t wait to set foot in Italy again now that the borders have reopened (under certain conditions), along with outdoor dining. This time, since I had a few days, I decided to travel by train further down the coast to one of my favorite Ligurian towns, Finale Ligure.

Each town between Ventimiglia and Genoa has its own personality, and I would characterize Finale as “sporty”, since the rugged surrounding landscape makes it a mecca for mountain bikers, road cyclists and rock climbers. The roads are filled with happy, mud-splattered cyclists who gather in the main piazza for Spritz and gelato at the end of each day. If nearby Alassio has a chic and glamorous image, Finale is more down-to-earth and family-oriented, though if you want to drop a few hundred euros on some stylish clothes, the opportunity is there.

The focus of this mother-son trip was not cycling but relaxing, so our first stop after checking into our AirBnb was, naturally, for coffee. Founded in 1872, Pasticceria Caffè Ferro has terraces on both sides, with the sunniest tables facing the cathedral. I’m partial to an expertly frothed cappuccino, while Sam prefers the concentrated essence of ristretto, and neither of us was disappointed — so much so that during our stay we did not find another café that equalled this one. Caffè Ferro is also known for its crescent-shaped almond biscuits called chifferi, apparently a 17th-century Viennese creation to celebrate victory over the Ottoman Turks. If I hadn’t known this, I could have mistaken them for North African cakes with their melt-in-the-mouth almond filling.

Our next mission was to find the squid-ink pasta Sam had been dreaming of since his last visit — the restaurant was closed the day we arrived, so we went for the ever-reliable spaghetti allo scoglio at Alle Vecchia Maniera, a favorite among locals for its homey, no-frills fare. Just about any Ligurian coastal restaurant does a good job of this dish, which usually involves clams, mussels and shrimp, with plenty of tomatoey juices.

A day in Italy would not be complete without gelato, so we headed to Gelateria Carlin, where my faltering appetite allowed only for frutti di bosco (mixed berries) and lemon, while Sam opted for stracciatella and pistachio. As in any Italian town, gelato is everywhere in Finale, but the only serious rival we have found to this shop was Il Dattero. After serious taste tests at both, we maintain our slight preference for Carlin.

Waking up to blustery weather the next day, we ruled out the beach and decided instead to walk 30 minutes inland to Finalborgo, a medieval fortified haven that is now something of a hipster paradise for outdoor types, with cool coffee shops, boutiques and bars. This part of town does not really wake up before lunchtime, but we enjoyed wandering the narrow, cobbled streets, with the mountains rising up in the background.

Squid ink pasta was still on Sam’s mind, and happily our favorite pasta haunt, Spaghetteria del Vicolo, was now open. While Sam savored his inky pasta, I went for a plate of fried squid and anchovies, a popular combination here. Crispy and salty, they would have been even better with a bowl of aïoli, but maybe that’s the southern French cook speaking.

After a leisurely afternoon that included a food-induced siesta and a stroll through the Wednesday afternoon food market, we joined the lively crowd at the Van Gogh café for an aperitivo that felt all the more festive since terraces had only recently opened, with distancing measures. I chose a local white wine made with Vermentino grapes, which have a fruity, rounded quality, while Sam went for a classic Negroni. Pizza seemed like the most obvious conclusion to this day, and at the nearby beachfront restaurant Il Grotto, the Dinamito, with spicy salami, hit the spot without blowing our minds.

The next day, I had booked us an outing on a sailboat from Imperia in the hope of spotting whales and dolphins in a marine sanctuary. Arriving in Imperia by train, we took a small bus towards the train station — or so we thought, until it turned around and headed far, far into the hills, on narrow roads winding their way up between olive groves.  As anxious as I felt at the increasing distance between us and the sea, I was also fascinated by the landscape and grateful for the free tour (the bus driver had let us on without tickets). A kind passenger assured us the bus would eventually turn around, and with more help from friendly Italians we eventually made our way to Porto Maurizio.

We were the only passengers on a beautiful sailboat dating from the early 1980s, and as our captain Alberto regaled us with stories of his most colorful passengers — including the population of a nudist colony — we learned about this stretch of sea and its capacity to restore balance even when subject to abuses such as overfishing (Alberto said the presence of jellyfish is a sign that the fish population has diminished too much). We didn’t spot any whales or dolphins as the sea was choppy, making it more difficult, but Alberto let us steer the boat, something I enjoyed more than I would have expected.

Coming off the boat, the lively bar Il Chioschetto was the perfect place for cocktails and snacks before walking back to the bus station (we weren’t taking any chances this time). We weren’t hungry enough for dinner, but had accumulated focaccia from different bakeries around Finale, including one that was black with ash, and another topped with rosemary and melting stracchino cheese.

After a few days of pasta, pizza and focaccia, I’ll admit I was craving fresh produce, so on the way home the next day we took the opportunity to jump off the train in Ventimiglia and stock up on asparagus, cherries and peaches at the food market. I’m thankful that Italy and all its delights are within easy reach again, at least for now.