"Ah! No, no!" says the woman waiting for her lunch at a hole-in-the-wall cafe overlooking the marina on the Italian island of Elba.

"You're not in London!"

We blush slightly, for of course we're not in London: we're in Italy, and we subscribe resolutely to the "when in Rome" travel ethos. We've walked along this town's promenade and watched the fishermen mending nets in their bright fishing boats; we've climbed right to the highest point of Portoferraio, past the house Napoleon lived in when he was exiled here, and have viewed from there the lapis lazuli waters lapping this island. Now it is lunchtime. We've worked up a mighty appetite, and are desperate to taste the fruits of the glorious sea in which Elba is cradled.

The woman runs the shop next door. We eye the sandwich she's about to eat but we're not convinced it's quite Italian either.

"I can recommend the food here," she says, as though reading our minds. "It's fresh, simple. I come here always for lunch."

We thank her and go on our way, scouring the menus along the promenade for something that strikes our fancy. But that sandwich has whet our appetites, and so we return to the cafe whose name, we now see, is Tonnina Bistrot Mediterraneo – quite literally, Mediterranean Tuna Bistro. We should have known.

We've no language in common with the proprietor but our order is easily communicated: the same sandwich favoured by the shopkeeper next door. We sit out there on the promenade, shielding our eyes from the water's sun-bright reflection and eating freshly baked bread stuffed with fat, pink tuna fillets and sun-ripe tomato doused with Ligurian olive oil and cracked pepper. It's just as the shopkeeper had promised: fresh and simple and delicious – an honest offering from this sun-baked land and the sea that surrounds it.

We've come to Elba by way of Rome's port hub, Civitavecchia, where we boarded Windstar Cruises' Star Legend on its inaugural cruise from Rome to Barcelona. Champagne and music had flowed as we kicked off into the Mediterranean on the newly furbished luxury sailing yacht – once the property of Seabourn, now rebirthed as part of Windstar's growing fleet of small ships.

Now, after a day berthed in Portoferraio, the Star Legend glides slowly back into deep water. From the deck we can see the retreating pink granite hillsides and white pebbled beaches set aglow by the sinking sun. We observe, from a distance now, Fort Stella balanced on top of the hill, and the scrabble of pink-orange-yellow buildings crowded about it.

Awaking next morning we find ourselves anchored off the Italian Riviera. Land is tantalisingly close: tucked behind the promontory is Portofino, a highlight on this cruise itinerary. The tender that collects us features polished wood and brass accents; we feel like 1940s movie stars as the boat chugs into the jewelled waters of Portofino.

Some of Portofino's most fascinating attractions lie above the water. A path leads us to the 12th-century San Giorgio Church, built high on the promontory so that it was the last thing sailors would see when they set out for the Crusades. Further along is the modest fortress,  Castello Brown, and beyond it, hidden behind ornate gates and high walls, the respective compounds of Italian design duo Dolce and Gabbana. The path leads past these modern-day fortifications through a tunnel of wild oaks and olive trees and Syrian pines brought back here from the Crusades, until finally we reach the end of the promontory and the lighthouse with its view of the Genoese coastline stretching all the way to the far-off village of Sestri Levante​.

It's a shame to leave behind this little gem of a place, but a far grander settlement is calling: Monaco, with its loud, unsubtle centrepiece, Monte Carlo. The city is a mountainside mishmash of heritage buildings, art deco beauties, glass skyscrapers and a latticework of cranes that heralds the inexorable densification of this tiny principality. And sitting at arm's length from the city that drives its wealth is the far more refined royal precinct, set on a promontory known colloquially as the Rock.

The French-Monegasque theme is reinforced that night with an on-board French cabaret show. Dinner is a classic French affair in the yacht's AmphorA Restaurant; entree and main securely under our belts, we leave the boat and repair to the rooftop of Monte Carlo's Cafe de Paris for dessert. Champagne, petit fours and tartlets are served, a violinist strums, caricaturists record guests' facial quirks in charcoal and papercut artists carve their profiles from card. It's like an elegant funfair to which only a select few have been invited. Now we see Monte Carlo by night: the cranes have retreated into darkness and the mishmash buildings have emerged in their sequined evening gowns so that the mountainside is bathed in a blanket of joyful, dancing light.

We're in Provence when we awake next morning, moored off the fishing port of Sanary-sur-Mer. In the town square locals pick over artichokes and asparagus spears and buckets of sardines and anchovies; heritage fishing boats – some of them more than a century old – bob about on the harbour; fishermen sell their morning catch. The local tourism office has set out a table with cups of wine and canapes spread with anchovy and olive tapenade; they're hoping to make visitors feel welcome, and to get a feel for what they wish to see here, a representative tells me.

But there is no need, for Sanary-sur-Mer is an embracing place, bright and friendly and easy to navigate. We visit the Byzantine-style St Nazaire Church then walk all the way up Oratory Hill where the Notre Dame de Pitie chapel sits behind an olive tree. The chapel dates back to 1560, and its front door is gouged deeply with the names of people long gone. It was once inhabited by a hermit who rang the bell whenever he spotted a storm or an enemy ship; he had the perfect vantage point, for the view from here is expansive, taking in the radiant Provencal coastline and its crop of outlying islands.

That night, a fluke technical problem arises on the yacht, and when we awake next morning we discover that we're not moored at our next destination, Sete​, but are still at sea. The delay while dealing with the issue has forced the captain to sail directly to Barcelona instead.

It's a disappointment, but the Star Legend's staff do an outstanding job of producing an alternative program. A revised schedule soon arrives in our cabin, with no shortage of on-board activities from which to choose: cooking demonstrations, cocktail-making sessions, blackjack tournaments, Pilates, yoga and gambling in the on-board casino.

The delay might deprive us of Sete, but it buys time in Barcelona, for we sail into port the night before our scheduled arrival. It's a short walk from the pier to Las Ramblas​; Barcelona, we discover, is playing Bilbao tonight in the final of the Copa del Rey, Spain's premier football cup. We wander the alleyways that lead off Las Ramblas, peering into pubs where locals huddle around TV screens. We appraise the city's impressive street art. We take an outdoor table away from the crowds and order a drink. And we're just in time, for the Saturday night bonhomie is shattered by a deafening roar and fireworks that now light up the sky. Barcelona has beaten Bilbao 3-1. The fiesta is about to begin.

TRIP NOTES

MORE INFORMATION

www.windstarcruises.com

GETTING THERE

Singapore Airlines has regular flights from Sydney and Melbourne to Barcelona and Rome via Singapore. See www.singaporeair.com.

TOURING THERE

Windstar Cruises sail from Rome to Barcelona and vice-versa. Star Legend departs Rome on May 26, for a seven-night voyage from $4381 per person twin share, including cruise accommodation and all meals on board. See www.traveltheworld.com.au.

Catherine Marshall was a guest of Windstar Cruises.