'Elba. Mmmm. Isn't that the place where....?" Now to borrow a well-worn saying, if I'd had a penny for every time some boring so-and-so asked if this was where Napoleon died, I could have paid not only for my trip there, but everyone else's on the flight too.

Except, I didn't benefit financially from this hugely irritating line of inquiry; instead, I just learned to grin and voice, for the umpteenth time, the following answer: "Yes, he was exiled there, but left after 10 months due to low self-esteem..."

Obviously, only the first part is true, but who cares? If it helped disperse the wannabe historians, I was in paradise which, ironically, is precisely where I found myself after a two-hour flight to Pisa (a dump), a 90-minute coach transfer to the port of Piombino, a 60-minute ferry crossing to Elba, and a further 30-minute taxi ride to Sant' Andrea, a gloriously beautiful cape on the northwest coast of the island.

Without wishing to sound too 'waxus lyricus', it is almost impossible to describe a visitor's first impressions of Elba.

Measuring only 17 by 11 miles, its slight build has in no way robbed it of its opportunity to astound and beguile - indeed, one of its major charms is its ability to continually reveal more of itself, piecemeal fashion, in new and unpredictable ways.

May and early June, or September and early October are the best times to visit, as the peak summer months see the island invaded by Germans and mainland Italians.

And certainly, when I was there earlier this month, temperatures were already in the middle 80s.

For those of you who are Tuscan-groupies (Aga cookers and children named Rupert and Daisy), it's a dirty dream by the shore - simply gaze at the view over the hillside town of Marciana and you'll understand why.

All those lush vineyards with steep mountains covered with chestnut woods and houses that look like faded Battenburg cakes. Pure top-shelf titillation.

But if that weren't enough to make your mouths wet and your palms sticky, nearly every village looks out over some cove or inlet which sparkles with that Mediterranean 'blue' so favoured by picture postcard manufacturers.

One word of warning, however - the coastal roads (heck, all Elba's roads...) can be scary for two reasons - One: They're narrow, winding, with sheer drops wherever you glance (so try not to), and two: Everyone else on the road is Italian.

That said, so long as you close your eyes, grip the steering wheel with whitened knuckles and convert to at least one major religion while being overtaken, you should be fine.

Interestingly, I myself made a conversion during the holiday - to snorkelling.

Organised by the hotel where I was staying (the twice weekly, three-hour excursions cost just 25 euros, and that includes transport and equipment), I voiced a small, trifling concern to locals prior to my first dive that Great White sharks were supposedly the Med's best kept secret.

I don't know where I'd heard this but the locals were quick - maybe too quick - to point out that if indeed this were true, where were the witnesses? (Dead, I wanted to suggest, probably eaten alive).

Anyway, zippered into my wet suit, and emboldened by the fact that I was diving with a woman, it turned out to be one of my best-ever experiences (and for those who have already snorkelled, you'll know what I mean when I say it's just like it is in the movies).

So, what to do after such energetic distractions but eat and drink, and herein lies a lesson - Italians LOVE their food.

So much so in fact, I found myself gastronomically shipwrecked at tables where lunch and dinner were comprised of at least 10 courses - fish, meat, pasta, sweets, the delivery of plates, glasses and appropriate cutlery apparently endless.

It may sound funny now but at the time it was embarrassing - refusing food in Italy is like refusing Communion from the Pope (and people point at you in the street afterwards).

However, for your reference, two truly great restaurants are the Ristorante Stella Marina, in Portoferraio, and the Ristorante Capo Nord, in Marciana Marina Neither look much from the outside (the Stella Marina is actually in a car park), but all the locals eat there and the locals, much to my surprise, were every bit as chic and urbane as they are in say, Rome.

And that, in truth, was a shock. Why I've no idea but I half expected the people of Elba to be the sort of simple peasant folk for whom sophistication was a fork, entertainment, and a vendetta.

To my huge relief then, it turned out that, especially in the capital Portoferraio, they all looked like extras out of one of those 1960's 'European' movies - effortlessly elegant, hugely sexy, and all in sunglasses (even in their dimly lit and gloriously cool museums).

For those who long to unearth unspoilt getaways, Elba represents a rare find - especially so since there isn't a single chain hotel or restaurant on the island; no Hiltons, no McDonalds, no Irish theme bars.

Everything instead has 'family' stamped all over it, and it doesn't seem to matter if you can't speak Italian, because gestures are more prevalent anyway (and that includes grimaces, grunts, sighs, hunches of shoulders, smiles, laughter - the uncomplicated channels of communication).

For my money, I would stay in either Portoferraio (it looks more like a painting than an actual place), Marciana Marina (check out the perfumery, Acqua Dell Elba, and spend all your holiday money in 30 seconds) or, where I stayed, the village of Sant' Andrea (for three nights, I'd sit on the balcony of my room and, staring out over the cove, wonder how long it would take to marry a local girl, change nationalities, and emigrate...).

For Bonaparte groupies - and there were a great many there - it's the equivalent of Lourdes, but I can't say I was either that impressed or even interested in the island's Napoleonic trail. For the runaway traveller, it's really more a half interesting aside than a reason to go there - just Google it instead; there's really nothing to look at.

Personally, it seems rather a backward step to advise you to book your passage as soon as possible. After all, chances are, you, me, and thousands like us will ruin its current status of undiscovered gem (and that is 'waxus lyricus').

But at the end of the day, if you and I don't, someone else will, and right or wrong, I know which group I'd rather be in...