Le Sirenuse

By the old story the sirens lived on Li Galli, a scatter of islets off Positano, and sang passing sailors onto the rocks. Sirenuse, the sirens, is the islets' other name, and it went over the door in 1951, when four Sersale siblings turned the family's summer house in the middle of the town into a hotel. It had been theirs since the eighteenth century, and they run it still; John Steinbeck was among the first guests, in 1953. The walls are red, and the pool on the terrace is a mosaic of blues and pinks ringed by lemon trees. At La Sponda, the restaurant, vines climb white walls above a floor of emerald tiles, and the arched windows hold the tiled dome of the church below and the boats at anchor beyond it. At night 400 candles do the lighting, a quieter lure than singing.

Recommended for couples, and for families with children of six or over who are sure on their feet: nobody younger is taken, and there are steps throughout. Families can have connecting rooms and a babysitter. Fifty-two of the 58 rooms face the Tyrrhenian, and the other six are the ones to talk your way out of. Spiaggia Grande is three minutes down on foot, but the better way onto the water is the Sant'Antonio, Aldo Sersale's old fishing boat, restored, which goes along the coast and across to Capri with breakfast at sea. The pool shuts at six, in time for Franco Bar on the roof and then La Sponda's spaghetti al pomodoro, made with tomatoes grown on Vesuvius. The Speakeasy stays open until one, under Martin Creed's neon Don't Worry, which at that hour in Positano is easy advice to take.