Dennis and Rosamund Knill explore the history, stunning beauty and pleasures of Italy and leave wanting more.

SOMETIMES EXCITEMENT IS FOILED BY THE REALITY.

After 27 hours aloft all we yearned for was to get to our hotel and crawl into a comfy bed and sleep. Venice arrivals terminal and dozens of tour guides are holding name cards. Panic turns to euphoria as, after some searching, we spot a handsome young man running into the terminal clutching a EuroVista Tours sign.

Whisked off to the adjoining jetty we board a water taxi and are just settled into the deep leather seats when the high-pitched whine of a powerful motorboat cuts across the choppy water. It's almost on top of us before our helmsman twists and planes away in a shower of spray. Some 20 minutes later, we arrive at St Marks Square.

We pinch ourselves. We've finally made it to Venice, a city built by ingenuity, a city famed for the finest art and music, but also a city whose foundations are eroding as rising sea levels push high tides to flood levels several times a year.

Our guide, Luce, insists it's only a five- minute walk to our hotel, so with bells chiming, violins playing and pigeons flapping we push, squeeze and edge our way between thousands of dawdling tourists to the sanctuary of our hotel lobby.

Throwing open the bedroom shutters we gaze down at the rows of bobbing gondoliers and the scores of tourists willing to part with $250 for a 20-minute must do experience.

Staying with the local time zone and deciding some exploring on foot would be exciting we venture out into the labyrinth of narrow alleys, admiring the Venetian-Byzantine architecture, exotic hidden gardens, piazzas and numerous elegant bridges until we were hopelessly lost. Finally defeated by fatigue, we soon figure out by following the arrows pointing to St Marks, we will eventually find our hotel.

Reinvigorated next morning, we set out at daybreak, eager to see St Marks without the hordes of tourists that will follow later and happy to share the world's greatest drawing room with street sweepers. In the half light, the Basilica di San Marco and the adjoining Doges Palace (Palazzo Dulcale) cast an air of mystery, but with the water starting to lap at our heels, it was time to withdraw.

"THESE GORGEOUS, TINY VILLAGES HAVE REMAINED LARGELY UNCHANGED FOR CENTURIES AND ARE SO BEAUTIFUL WE ALMOST DIDN'T COME HOME".

Day three marks the beginning of a leisurely routine of driving most days to a new destination. Slipping into coach life is made easy by Fred, our obliging tour leader. Handling small groups is not without its trials and tribulations, but Fred's amazing Italian vocabulary, along with his good humour, smoothes the way. After a couple of days Fred's observation of us, "I don't know why it is, but you New Zealanders and Australians hit it off so well".

After a lightning tour of Verona, we head for Stresa, a stunning lakeside resort on Lake Maggiore. Our Mercedes motors along like a dream and Nino, our Italian coach driver, conducts proceedings like most Italian drivers, tooting the horn at slow drivers, a certain amount of fist waving, and an evil eye for any who dare to make a wrong turn.

Stresa exudes elegance and wealth, with its exquisite classical villas and graceful hotels. From the balcony of our hotel, the drop-dead gorgeous views stretch across the manicured gardens and Lake Maggiore to the Swiss Alps in the north, south to the Borromean Islands and the privately owned Isola Bella and Isola Madre, each with mansions filled with priceless artwork and spectacular gardens.

Of course, most of us have heard of Cinque Terre, a rocky, rugged coastline with its bays and quaint fishing villages, the clusters of stone cottages teetering on the edge of the steep cliffs. After a few hours exploring Milan and skirting La Spezia, the historical naval port, we arrive at Portovenere.

The hotel that will be home for the next two days comes with the most stunning views overlooking this quaint seafaring village. Originally a nunnery, the hotel was built as part of a medieval settlement whose narrow lanes, populated by busy boutiques and cafes, all lead to the remains of a magnificent castle resting on the cliff top.

The easiest way to access the surrounding hamlets and coastal walks is by ferry. We spill out at Riomaggiore and wander through the pedestrian lanes and jumbled villas until we join a walkway carved into the cliff face with heart-stopping views of the sea below. Suddenly we're bedazzled by the glint of hundreds of padlocks that hang from the handrails and wire netting. Couples pledge their love to each other and then attach the padlock before throwing away the key - how romantic is that?

Back on board the ferry, our voyage of discovery includes three more stops, Comiglia, Vernazza and Monterosso. These gorgeous tiny villages have remained largely unchanged for centuries and are so beautiful we almost didn't come home.

As we head south, the Amalfi coast stretches from Positano to Salemo and the 25km drive provides one of the world's most spectacular scenic drives. The terrain slopes vertically to the crystal-clear waters of the Tyrrhenenian Sea as the road winds around blind curves and traverses countless sheer cliffs. Cameras click madly capturing crumbling fortifications and buildings carved into the rock face. We are based in Positano for the next three days, from where we explore Amalfi. Each morning, we set off to explore the narrow cobbled streets and indulge in some retail therapy, but let's just say that the seductive Italian fashion is not wallet friendly. Down at the beach, we discover the rich pay to sunbathe in their own roped-off areas, while the free part is a narrow gravel strip with just enough room for a beach towel.

Local guide Alexandria; looking snug and fabulous in tight white jeans, a Gucci leather bag slung over her shoulder, is waiting in the lobby to escort us to Capri. Tourists have been coming here for centuries. As the ferry spewed out another boatload on this enchanting island we find our mini bus is ready and waiting. Just one road winds and twists its way from the marina where we left the ferry, to Anacapri on the far side of the island. The road is so narrow that vehicles have barely inches to spare when passing. On the seaward side, the drop is sheer and we all display a look of horror.

At the Blue Grotto, we gingerly descended down a narrow track to the water below to find a line of boats discharging visitors into small dinghies to enter the grotto itself. "Lie down until we are inside," shouts our helmsman, and with waves crashing over the boat, we enter the cavern. Peering through the darkness, we are drawn towards the iridescent blue pool where a small shaft of sunlight pierces the water. We sit cramped and spellbound for two minutes while our helmsman lamely sings a line of That's Amore. It's the islands biggest con. A German couple in the front tell us they paid three times, first for the tour, then for the helmsman to enter the cave, then a tip for the guide.

But for the masses of tourists that converge on the island every day Capri is still a delight to explore. Fashion boutiques with wares to die for, jewellery shops display emeralds as big as golf balls, innumerable cafes to sit in, the narrow flower-lined streets, to sparkling ocean views, so much beauty, so much to see. Midday in Minori brings the realisation that there are still some things that we don't understand about Italy.

Our convivial bunch of nine has been invited to lunch with an Italian family and as Gennaro emerges from his charming villa, loud joyous greetings are followed with the traditional kisses - left cheek, then right, then is it back to the left again? A minor embarrassment, but who cares, as they treat us as long-lost friends.

Glasses of chilled wine arrive and Anna, the grandmother, offers us her delicious crunchy, zucchini-flower fritters. We toast each other and can't believe that we're finally enjoying an Italian home-cooked meal.

Food, Italy, and the simple joy of eating. Each course is "bellissimo" - "molto bene" as the scrumptious food just kept coming. Gennaro, the proud, affable padrone, urges everyone "mangiare, mangiare" - "eat, eat" until finally, the piece de resistance, a bottle of sweet, heady limóncello arrives as the final digestive - we all drank to that

Fred had forewarned us. "As we leave Sorrento and make our way through Naples to Pompeii prepare yourselves for a shock. After the beautiful and charming places we have visited you're now going to experience some of the worst urban ugliness in Italy."

And so it is, grey concrete apartment blocks scrawled with graffiti, festering rubbish piles on every street, chaotic traffic, more than enough reasons to send any novice traveller speeding towards the motorway exit. Vesuvius sweeps down to the long arc of the Sorrentine Peninsula. This is an area with a volcano that erupted 2000 years ago and is no place to forget mortality.

Upon reaching the entrance gates at Pompeii along with thousands of tourists we hoped our guide would quicken her pace to avoid being squashed in between other tour groups having to listen to their rhetoric in various languages. Having visited this excavated site many years ago we remembered how oppressively hot it was, and smugly produced umbrellas while our fellow passengers sweated profusely and reverted to fanning themselves with guide maps.

Walking along the cobbled streets we discover the secrets of Pompeii. The amphitheatre and noble villas, a bakery still with its oven intact, Roman baths, plaster casts of victims, bodies frozen in time at the moment of death and a pillar with a stone engraving of a penis, pointing the way to a brothel where frescoes are explicit about what was on offer. Eventually, the heat leads to exhaustion and we are happy return to the comforts of our air-conditioned coach.

Departing for Rome Airport for our flight home, our young, chatty taxi driver tells us that life is very difficult in the city. "I can't get a proper job, I can't get my kids into a good school, I can't get a decent flat without having to pay, everybody wants money, everybody is corrupt. It's always been like this, even since the Romans."

Well, maybe so, but that won't stop us from coming back.

As part of their Italian holiday, Dennis and Rosamund Knill joined a EuroVista Holidays' small group tour.