Soothing sights of San Marino

As a lad of six or seven 30-odd years ago, I was the proud owner of a big red stamp album. It had pages for every country in Europe and was soon filled with stamps from every corner of the continent - Greece, Portugal, even Romania and Poland.

But one page remained blank. No one ever seemed to visit the Republic of San Marino - a country as mysterious and elusive as Tibet.

It wasn't until last month that I finally received a card from San Marino. And, to my surprise, I got a tingle of excitement when I saw its colourful, shiny stamp. For if this strange little country is known for anything, it's for stamps.

Philatelists used to go wild about these highly-prized rarities, even if they had no idea where to find San Marino on the map.

It lies 50 miles to the east of Florence - a pinprick of a state that has been independent for 1,701 years. Founded by a solitary monk called St Marino in 301 AD, it is the oldest republic in the world.

It must also be one of the smallest. So small that its annual Grand Prix - being run today - has to be held at Imola in neighbouring Italy.

Being just eight miles across at its widest point, and served by neither an airport nor a railway, it'll take the best part of half-an-hour to do a complete circuit of San Marino's borders. Allow a further 15 minutes if you wish to visit the post office.

It comes as some surprise, therefore, to discover that San Marino is dominated by a truly gigantic mountain - Mount Titano. You can see this looming hulk from miles away. As you drive towards this mountainous country from Bologna - one of the nearest airports - you slowly become aware of a bluff of white rock. Perched on top, half obscured by clouds, is the ancient and historic capital, also called San Marino.

From afar, the city makes for an impressive sight. Bedecked with crenellated battlements and crowned by three monumentalwatchtowers, this impregnable-citadel stands almost 2,500ft above the surrounding countryside. It looks too perfect to be real - a toy-town model complete with arrow-slits and cannons.

If you come here in April or October, for the twice-yearly state ceremonies, it's even more unreal. Half the population dresses up in 19th Century costumes, with shiny brass buttons, gilded epaulettes and extraordinary feather-covered helmets. After marching, drilling and blowing their brasses, the assembled throng heads to the battlements to fire crossbows into the thin mountain-top air.

This diminutive state is altogether more eccentric than its Lilliputian cousins, Liechtenstein, Andorra and Monaco. It has steadfastly refused to join the European Union, yet is allowed to issue its own euros. It's entirely surrounded by Italy, yet has its own foreign policy. And it has two joint heads of state - called Captains Regent - who spend quite a lot of their time dressing up in fancy clothes. Imagine two Queen Elizabeth IIs, both decked in feathers and florals, and you'll get the general picture.

San Marino's eastern border with Italy is marked by a river. Well, more of a ditch, really. It's about two feet wide and only slightly deeper. I'd hoped for some frontier formalities or, at the very least, a ceremonial salute. I was disappointed. No entry requirements and no stamp in the passport. Just a small concrete bridge to mark the international border that separates Italy and the Most Serene Republic of San Marino.

There are two ways to the summit of Mount Titano. Either you place your life in the hands of a local taxi driver and prepare for ten minutes of high anxiety as you're flung around the tortuous bends of San Marino's only dual carriageway. Or, you put your trust in Italian engineering and allow a precarious cable-car to glide you gracefully up a terrifying rock-face. I chose the and clung on for dear life as a dizzying patchwork of fields and vines spun around before my eyes.

I am met at the top by the impeccably dressed Mauro Maiani, adviser to the Minister of Tourism. Mauro hopes to persuade me that tourists should come here for slightly longer than the customary trip, arguing that his (tax-free) country makes the perfect base for exploring central Italy.

He tells me, with considerable pride, of his hopes that the country's new bingo hall will prove a real draw. Bingo? 'Yes, yes,' he says with fiery enthusiasm.

Bingo is very popular and up-market in San Marino. Not at all like in England.'

The stone-built capital is a gem - stack of fine public buildings with fabulous views across the craggy contours of the Apennine mountains. There's a grandiose parliament, a handful of ministries and oversized cathedral. This contains the mortal remains

St Marino, which are paraded around the city on his feast day. It's another opportunity for the locals to dress up.

Most visitors head straight for the city ramparts, which ring the craggy cliff top of Mount Titano. These monumental walls are perched on the edge of a sheer precipice. The views are simply breathtaking. There's an unfolding succession of mountains to the west, while to the east - lost in the midday haze - is a pastoral landscape of smallholdings and fields. In the distance, I can just make out the seaside resort of Rimini. On a clear day it's said that you can even see the coastline of Croatia.

How has San Marino achieved the seemingly impossible feat of avoiding invasion for more than 17 centuries, I ask Mauro. 'The mountain is one reason,' he says. 'But it's also due to the cunning of her people. We've played a very clever game over the centuries.'

They have indeed. A succession of generals have marched their armies past San Marino, yet few have ever dared to turn their guns in her direction.

Even Napoleon declined to invade this hilltop state. He paused near the coastline, took one look at the formidable flanks of Mount Titano and decided to continue his drive to the south. Locals will tell you that he was scared by stories of the fearsome inhabitants. A more cynical explanation might be that he was far more interested in plundering the riches of Rome and Naples.

Whatever the truth, San Marino has skilfully charmed many potential enemies. Napoleon himself - having decided not to invade - developed a bizarre affection for this tiny republic. He was so flattered by the smartly dressed emissaries who greeted him that he offered to roll back their frontiers and enlarge their territories. San Marino could have been enormous but the Sammarinesi nervously declined his offer. They liked being small and insignificant. It meant that no one bothered them.

Even Giuseppe Garibaldi - the architect of Italian unification - didn't meddle with San Marino. Its citizens had once offered him refuge while he was in flight from the Austrian army. His reward was to allow them their continued independence.

These days, the Sammarinesi are desperately worried that their 17 centuries of freedom might be about to come to an end. Brussels' less sympathetic bureaucrats have been asking awkward questions about the tax-free shops and private banking. Could this eccentric nation state survive, they wonder, if it was no longer allowed tax-free shops?

They could start producing more stamps. Each year, dozens of new sets are issued and all are eagerly snapped up by collectors. They represent a significant slice of San Marino's economy. There are stamp shops at the corner of every street. The country invented the first commercial postal service in the world, in 1607, and it has produced stamps in every conceivable shape, colour and size. No excuses for not sending a postcard home.

Although San Marino has (so far) survived without ever having had to fight a war, the country has a peculiar obsession with weaponry. All the shops have window displays of guns and daggers. Many also sell pikes and halbards, chain mail and arquebuses.

Do tourists really buy these as souvenirs? The idea of walking on to a plane carrying a full-size crossbow wasn't my idea of a hassle-free return to England, so I turned down the chance to acquire a head-to-toe set of medieval combat gear. I also declined the offer of a porcelain rifle filled with grappa, or an arquebus containing brandy. They were all made in Italy. I wanted something Sammarinesi.

Also I wanted to see something of San Marino's rolling countryside - all 231/2 square miles of it. Day trippers from the beach resort of Rimini tend to spend their time on Mount Titano where the air is cool, even in the sultry heat of midsummer. But there's more to San Marino (the country) than San Marino (the city).

The republic boasts no fewer than eight villages - called castelli - which are perched on small mounds of rock. These ancient little citadels, built in the lee of Mount Titano, are rather beautiful - minuscule versions of the miniature capital.

They're not exactly crowded. In fact, I didn't see a single person during my countryside tour. Perhaps-that was because it was approaching lunchtime. The Sammarinesi disappear into restaurants at the chime of one and don't emerge for a further two hours.

After a long day spent puffing up and down San Marino's vertiginous alleys, Mauro is anxious for me to sample the local cuisine. With a flamboyant sweep of his arm, he shepherds me into Righi's restaurant, a local institution.

Don't ask to try one of the country's national dishes - there aren't any. The food here is resolutely Italian, with lashings of pasta and plenty of fish.

And the Sammarinesi eat long and well. They start their meals with an antipasti, followed by pasta, followed by a main course. Then, if you're still hungry, there's cheese and dessert.

I plump for traditional, freshly caught anchovies served in a creamy cauliflower puree. Next comes a fabulous, oven-baked lasagne. We pause for a moment to taste a few glasses of the local rosso - produced and bottled (hooray) in San Marino. It's called San Giovese - a gutsy wine that tastes of the land. Then, out comes a huge plate of suckling pig, simmered to perfection in a rich, wine-vinegar sauce.

After several more glasses of wine, and quite a few of grappa, Mauro ceremoniously hands me a present - the ultimate souvenir of San Marino. 'It's what we're famous for,' he says with a sigh. It's a largish book, bound in blue and embossed with gold. Inside, adorning each page, is every philatelist's dream: dozens and dozens of San Marino stamps.

I might have to find that old stamp album.

Getting there

Sunvil Discovery Europe offers a three-night break staying at the Hotel Cesare from £447. This includes return flights from London, car hire and B&B accommodation. Departures from Manchester cost an additional £100 and from Glasgow £105. Call 020 8758 4722 or visit www.sunvil.co.uk.