The environment: What a choice! On the “Riviera dei Fiori” - Flower Coast, or as the locals say, “di Ponente” or Western Riviera, near Montecarlo and San Remo, every little hamlet is a jewel to see. The little flowered windows alone, nestling in the crooked, arched-over Ligurian alleys or “Carruggi”, lend a typical Mediterranean air. If you’re the adventurous type, you’ll want to linger in every village. The friendly locals – if you can properly prime them and grasp their lingo, will be happy to retell their elders’ tales about savage Saracen marauders since 900 a. C. on their coasts, brave wartime freedom fighters in the mountains (there’s a unique museum in Carpasio), and Genua’s old seafaring glory. Small “trattoria” inns everywhere offer delicious local snacks. Even the ancient Romans and Napoleon lingered here.
It's what you can see and do...: And the big time: Genoa’s aquarium, tops in Europe, with a panoramic lift and crisp little fish restaurants all around. The famous spots, old Englishmen’s paradise: Rapallo, Portofino, Bordighera, the Hanbury Gardens, Groc’s Villa, Montecarlo just a hop over the near border, or just a stroll over Imperia 12 km away and its quaint shops, the “Parasio” top of the hill in the old town quarter, and the fine Olive oil museum of the Carli family - if you’re staying in our original old “frantoio” oil mill, you owe it to yourself!
Frantoio: Your holiday home is made from a century-old wheat and olive mill built of massive reddish-gray stone over three floors, in the midst of the olive groves of the Cervo streamlet. Just like awaking from a deep slumber in a thorny rose garden, as we carefully rebuilt the mill in its ancient truth but modern comfort. Heavy stone steps, forged Ligurian railings, quaint copper rain pipes, sunny cotto-tiled terraces among Mediterranean groves. The sea is hidden just beyond a shall hill, but enjoy the faint sea breezes swelling up to us, listen to the voices of nature, birds chirping nearby or buzzards crying high above in the early morning, or after sun-soaked days, listen the Cervo stream rustle deep in the rock bed below the mills, over its little rapids and ponds with their playful little trout-alikes and frogs, occasional wild ducks, whispering tales of long ago…. to us and to the ruins of our own little chapel San Martino, where our many millers and farmers shared joys and hardships.
