I don’t consider myself a particularly spontaneous person by nature, but after a long New York winter, I decided on a lark to book a spring trip to Italy on my own. Though I had done some solo domestic travel, I found myself eager to test my self-reliance on foreign soil, keeping at bay any concerns around not speaking the language or knowing anybody. It turns out, it’s nearly impossible to feel alone or unwelcome anywhere in Italy, given the warmth of the people—even my most halting attempts at Italian phrases were met with encouragement.
This was especially true at the newly renovated Grand Hotel Bristol Spa, Resort, where I had booked myself a room with a view to end all views. A word of caution: Once you check in, you might never want to leave. Presiding over the Gulf of Tigullio just a stone’s throw from Portofino, the storybook pink 1904 Art Nouveau grand dame appears seemingly out of nowhere just off Rapallo’s main drag and could be mistaken for the Grand Hotel Budapest—but for the inescapable 180-degree views of the Mediterranean Sea visible from the countless floor-to-ceiling windows throughout the property.
These are the same views you see from pretty much everywhere and perhaps most dramatically from the outdoor terrace at La Veranda, one of the hotel’s two full-service restaurants, where I had my first meal. As I sat in the warm summer breeze with my Aperol spritz in hand, all but licking up the last of my trofie al pesto—the classic Ligurian tiny twists of pasta enveloped in a vibrant green and herbaceous fragrant sauce—I understood why la dolce vita was the province of Italians. They really do do it better.
Even after a short time at the hotel, I could see that there was no sensory note that hadn’t been carefully considered. Such as the sound—namely, as I later learned, songs adhering to a certain number of beats per minute, according to the time of day (faster at aperitivo time; slower in the evening, to wind down your day). And also the scent, which, in this case, picking up on the region’s copious lemon trees, was a light citrusy fragrance created specifically for this R Collection resort location.
Grand Hotel Bristol / oprah daily
And then there was the understated luxury of my seaside bedroom, where it felt somehow as if the Italian sun shone a bit brighter just for me. Or maybe it was the warm wood floor, neutral walls, and crisp white linens, all supporting cast members reflecting the light and the shimmering blue sea framed through the double doors leading to a private balcony. While I had planned to hit the town after a good night’s rest like the dutiful adventurer I’d always been, I couldn’t resist the Erre Spa: multisensory areas, custom treatments, private spa suites, and an herbal tea room. Honestly, I could have spent an entire day exploring all 21,500 square feet of the hotel spa, which, as it happens, is the largest in Liguria. The only stress of my trip was deciding what to do first: sweat it out in the Finnish sauna, dip in a Turkish bath, walk through a Kneipp path of alternating hot and cold foot baths, make my way through seemingly endless showers spraying hot or cold water (some scented!), cool down with pebbled ice that falls from a spout, or opt for one of their many massage treatments. I felt my shoulders drop almost instantly once I decided on the Lomi-Lomi Massage, which followed the Polynesian tradition of slow and flowing movements that mimic ocean waves. The therapist had me pick one color from a wheel that would set the intention for the massage treatment. I chose a shade of aqua blue called purezza, then fell into a kind of trance as I inhaled the scent of papyrus and cedar. In keeping with my chosen palette, cool blue lights illuminated the wall to complete the sensory immersion of the treatment.
After a few hours of self-care, I was ready to venture 15 minutes by foot into the charming town of Rapallo, which is much more low-key and under-touristed than its glitzier neighbor, Portofino. It’s an enchanting seaside town of sunset-colored buildings, stone pathways, tiny shops, and restaurants. In the heart of town, just past the painted rotunda of the Chiosco della Musica, there is a traditional Italian deli-store ParlaComeMangi, which is filled with a highly curated selection of Italian wines, olive oils, spreads, and pastas. The Rapallo shop opened in 1997, and you’re in luck if general manager Guido Porrati, a 55-year-old charmer with an encyclopedic knowledge of the region’s food history, is bopping around the shop. I learned more about pesto alla Genovese and regional extra-virgin olive oil than I ever thought possible during our pesto-making class, like how there’s no single recipe for pesto, and every family has their own version passed down orally through the generations, and how herbs were used because spices were more expensive back in the day. Guido walked us through the narrow, winding carruggio to watch through the window as Ligurian pansotti (cheese-filled pasta with market-fresh herbs) was being handmade at Pastificio Dasso. We then got to sample freshly made pansotti in a creamy walnut sauce at the cozy restaurant Hostaria Vecchia before finishing the afternoon at Randazzo Panifici Pasticcerie with another specialty of the region, focaccia al formaggio, which is served hot with melted stracchino cheese.
Grand Hotel Bristol / oprah daily
Nothing, however, feels more appropriately Italian Riviera than the aperitivo ritual, which I partook of most evenings at the hotel’s Silk Lounge Bar. While an Aperol spritz is still my go-to, I got to sample some of their inventive cocktails, like the Flamingo Spritz—a refreshing mix of basil, champagne, and elderberry—while walking through the Nuar Gallery, which is housed in the hotel and showcases a rotation of local, national, and international artists.
On my last night I had dinner at the rooftop restaurant Le Cupole, so called for domed ceilings. With its low ceilings and large semicircular windows overlooking the sea, the restaurant is at once intimate and dramatic. The multi-course meal included gossamer-thin ravioli stuffed with pesto and buffalo mozzarella glazed in red to look like tiny tomatoes, and for dessert, a lip-puckering lemon sorbet encased in a delicate corn crisp.
My only regret is that I hadn’t done a trip like this sooner. I learned firsthand the thing I always heard but never believed: I could be as comfortable by myself looking out at the sea as I was sitting on an outdoor terrace with strangers who would become friends. I can’t wait to take myself back.