Why Fife is Britain’s unlikely answer to the Italian Riviera

If you squinted a bit, the silver-haired man did have something of the Kirk Douglas about him. We’d got chatting at the bar in the Auld Hoose in Kinghorn; he showed me a screen-shot from a movie in which he’d appeared in 1998, his quiff as perfectly coiffed then as now. “It was after that I met Jason Connery who said to me, you look just like Kirk.”

This sprinkle of A-list-like glamour seemed quite fitting. I was on the Fife coast which, with its pastel-hued fishing harbours, rocky shores, fine beaches, ancient fortifications and excellent food, is a sort-of Scottish version of Italy’s Cinque Terre; a bonnie riviera. Just the place, then, to rub shoulders with the Hollywood jet-set of yesteryear – even if this Kirk was nursing a can of McEwan’s Export rather than a glass of Sciacchetrà.

All sound a bit spurious? I concede that the weather of eastern Scotland may not feel very Mediterranean. Indeed, on my first day, walking the Fife Coastal Path, I had sun, rain, sun, rain, sun, hail, sun, and a robust northeasterly whipping colour into my cheeks. But I also had blue-sky days, plenty of cultural interest and several Italianate snippets.

One of Scotland’s official Great Trails, the 116-mile Fife Coastal Path traces the region’s varied, largely low-level shoreline from Kincardine to Newburgh, on the Tay. I started my edited-highlights version at North Queensferry, below the soaring girders of the Forth Bridge.

Like the villages of the Cinque Terre, the first few settlements along the Fife coast are linked by trains, which roll off this striking 19th-century span. It’s one of three towering bridges that converge at North Queensferry in a bravura of civil engineering. The old harbour ticks along quietly underneath, having seen it all before – travellers have been crossing here, at the Forth estuary’s narrowest point, for millennia.

The trail took me east, below the cliffs at Carlingnose Point wildlife reserve, around Dalgety Bay, past the waterside ruins of St Bridget’s Kirk and on to Aberdour. Where the Cinque Terre has its Genoese towers, built in the 16th century to guard against attacks by the Turks, so the Fife shore is dotted with noblemen’s castles, in various states of repair. Aberdour Castle, which dates back to around 1200, is one of the oldest still standing in Scotland.

Part-ruined and part not, with fine walled terraced gardens, it’s open to the public – but was inconveniently closed for lunch when I passed by. I took the hint and walked on a little way to Silver Sands, where the beach cafe had a patio fringed by potted palm trees. It felt like a suitably Mediterranean place to stop – though, this being late spring in Scotland, I ate my delicious seafood chowder inside.

My day’s walk ended in the little town of Burntisland, hopping along a high street lined with indie businesses. I peered into One One Four, its windows full of interesting wines, whiskies and gins. I inhaled the cheese counter in the Grain & Sustain scoop shop. And I coveted everything in Bel & Etta, a smart boutique that I entered to try the nettle-heather hand cream but exited with a kimono. I rounded off the afternoon with a scoop of stracciatella at Novelli’s ice cream parlour and spent my evening in Kinghorn with Kirk.

So far, così buono, but not yet a pastel-painted village in sight. On a positive note, the next day dawned bright blue. As I started off, Kinghorn’s whitewashed harbour dazzled in the sunshine and, below the red-sandstone ruins of 16th-century Seafield Tower, seals soaked up the rays.

Soon I reached Kirkcaldy, which is too big to be Cinque Terre cutesy, but does offer a dose of culture. A young Jack Vettriano – Fife born, but of Italian descent – used to study the paintings at Kirkcaldy Museum & Art Gallery, and many of the self-taught artist’s most famous works are set on the wide, blustery beaches around Lower Largo and Leven, where he grew up.

Then, as I entered the East Neuk – Fife’s eastern corner – the fishing-harbour-charm started coming thick and fast. Over the next day and a half, between here and Anstruther, I strolled through Dysart, Lower Largo (birthplace of Alexander Selkirk, aka Robinson Crusoe), Elie, St Monans and Pittenweem, all interspersed with enormous, joyous, wild beaches, fascinating rocky foreshores and the odd golf course (this was Scotland, not Italy, after all).

Dysart was a delightful surprise, accessed via a tunnel. In the 1890s, the local baronet built a wall around his estate to stop people wandering in from the shore, so a tunnel was hacked through the rock to allow carts to shift ballast between the harbour and the beach. And what a pretty harbour, with a handful of old squished-together seafarers’ cottages and a handsome Georgian Harbourmaster’s House, now home to a busy cafe – I got the last table – and a visitor centre telling tales of the Fife coast.

Elie was a more expected pleasure. Sitting beyond the primal crags of Kincraig Point, this traditional fishing village has adorned many a postcard. Catch the light right and there’s an almost Ligurian glow to the stone-brick and cheerfully painted cottages along the seafront. And if I wasn’t mooching on to a new spot each night, I’d probably choose to bed down at Elie’s Ship Inn, which looks westward across the golden bay, ideally placed for sunset.

But mooching on I was. First, via St Monans, where the jagged shore has been shaped by 300-million-year-old volcanoes and where a tidal sea pool has been cut from the rock. Then, via pretty Pittenweem, where I popped into the chocolate shop for whisky-filled truffles, to fortify myself for the final few miles.

In charming Anstruther – another comely harbour – I flopped happily into the Spindrift Guest House, a grand former captain’s residence where owners Jenni and Mark couldn’t have given me a warmer welcome. My room, up in the eaves, peeked out to the sea, though the lounge, with its extensively stocked honesty bar, was an even better place to sit. Not that I sat too long, because I had a booking I didn’t want to miss.

Italy is renowned for its food, but the tiny Cellar, tucked into a former smokehouse and cooperage down an Anstruther backstreet, could give any trattoria a run for its money. Head chef and owner Billy Boyter grew up overlooking the harbour in neighbouring Cellardyke. “And most of the food comes from within five miles,” manager Michael Whytock explained as he talked me through the set menu. Dishes ranged from North Sea turbot with foraged sea asparagus to early Pittenweem strawberries, from a silky-crisp cullen skink doughnut to Balcaskie ox tongue, which might be the finest thing I’ve ever eaten. Seven courses. One Michelin star. An ouch-y £130 per person – but, oh mio dio!, so good.

If the region can deliver like this, on top-class food and dreamy seaside scenes, maybe the Cinque Terre will have to start calling itself Italy’s Fife Coast?

Essentials

Sarah Baxter was a guest of LNER (London King’s Cross to Edinburgh from £49.80 one-way; lner.co.uk) and Macs Adventure (0141 530 5452; macsadventure.com), which has a six-day Highlights of the Fife Coastal Path trip from £655pp, including B&B accommodation, maps and luggage transfers. The Ship Inn in Elie has B&B doubles from £120pn (01333 330246; shipinn.scot). The Cellar serves lunch and dinner, Wednesday-Saturday (01333 310378; thecellaranstruther.co.uk).