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Only God could have made Portofino, the exquisite flick of stone and affluence on Italy’s Riviera di Levante. And only the rich and the spendthrift could afford to sleep here - or so I had thought.

Portofino, or Port of Dolphins as it was called by Pliny, has attracted tourists since long before de Maupassant sailed into its cupped harbour to ‘find peace for his unquiet spirit’. The shadows of Onassis, Sophia Loren and La Lollobrigida still fall across the cobbled quay. The rich and the trendy have flocked here for generations. It’s said that the magnificent Splendido, one of the finest hotels on the Italian Riviera, charges extra for towels at its pool. Most guests don’t bat a tinted eyelash. But not everyone who visits this exclusive little port considers it prudent to spend the equivalent of the cost of a second-hand Fiesta on a single night’s accommodation - no matter how lovely the en suite hydromassage baths.

My wife and I walk a dozen steps inland from the portside piazza, along a narrow street of mellow coral and apricot lime-washed houses, to a wrought iron gate. There, in an old garden of lush bougainvillea and magnolia grandiflora, is the Eden. After the war this rambling, mustard coloured villa was turned into an hotel by the Ferruccio family. For over fifty years father, then mother and now son have uncorked prosecco, trimmed jasmine and made the beds of its eleven rooms. In a town full of fabulous splendour and pretence, the Eden aspires to be nothing more than a simple, family-run hotel.

The manager, Osta Ferruccio, is a kind, attentive man who is happiest when being useful.

‘There is no real relationship between quality and price in Portofino. You just pay a lot of money,’ he tells me, polishing his decades-old tortoiseshell spectacles across the table linen. ‘I could put my prices up to any level and the tourists would still come. But visitors should be able to find value for money in Portofino. That is why I am here.’

The hotel’s plumbing bubbles and spurts through the night. The mock art nouveau bed heads have little in common with the melamine furniture and beige wallpaper. And looking for a lost earring reveals one or two things that we would rather not see, including the ugliest carpet in all of Liguria.

But from the balcony of room number 7 none of this matters. The Eden helps to keep values in proportion along the Italian Riviera. Unlike Portofino’s restaurants. Come dinner time, the thrifty have no choice but to bankrupt themselves - or to get out of town. My wife and I chose to ride the hopper-bus the three miles to Rapallo to eat exquisite seafood at a quarter of Portofino’s prices.

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