By 9 p.m., the streets were bursting at the seams. Illuminated by glittering arches of colorful lights, horses dragged a papier-mâché Madonna statue back up to the top of the hill and inside the cathedral, before a sputter of fireworks began again over the far side of the valley, and the crowds began threading their way through the labyrinth of steps and alleyways that make up the city’s Sassi cave districts. Another barrage of fireworks erupted from the canyon, and locals gathered on the terraces to play music and sip prosecco and cheer. As the cheers echoed around the craggy walls of limestone, lit up with flashes of pink and purple light, there was a feeling of having stepped back in time, or perhaps onto the set of a movie—a sense that would recur across my week in the region of Basilicata. It feels like the kind of Italy you can’t quite believe still exists—which explains why it’s swiftly becoming a hotspot for intrepid travelers keen to avoid the country’s more tourist-clogged corners.

If you think of southern Italy as a boot—Puglia the heel, Calabria the toe, and Sicily the misshapen football being kicked into the Mediterranean Sea—then Basilicata, the region that houses Matera, occupies the slightly less glamorous position of its instep. Yet that also means it contains a little bit of everything, from dramatic mountain ranges and lush national parks to charming beach towns and ancient cities. And when I describe Matera as ancient, I mean ancient.

To reach Sextantio Le Grotte Della Civita, the hotel I was staying at in the heart of those previously mentioned Sassi districts, required a little forward planning. If you’re feeling very brave, you can take your car to the bottom of its steps, but the more sensible option is to deposit your vehicle at a car park on the outskirts of town and head over in a shuttle bus, with the genuinely jaw-dropping sight of the Sassi districts—crumbling buildings stacked diagonally down the hill like a collapsing wedding cake—unfolding as you reach the city’s edge. There, a porter will whisk your luggage to one of the hotel’s 18 rooms, each contained within its own Paleolithic cave, and you’ll be invited to sit on the terrace (with a glass of local wine and a platter of cold cuts) before burrowing your way into a cave to collect your key, then walking up through the streets of the hotel’s town-within-a-town to find your lodgings.

Mine was tucked away in a courtyard of honey-colored stone with vines creeping over the doorway: stepping inside, thanks to the cave’s thick walls, the temperature of the baking hot late summer afternoon dropped immediately. (Just call it nature’s air conditioner.) The vibe may be artfully rustic—candles illuminated the pockmarked ceilings, while the bathroom was tucked away within another adjoining cave—but it still feels palpably luxurious, thanks to the natural linens draped across the bed and bowl of fresh fruit that had been laid out for me.

Stepping outside to the sound of birdsong, and with sweeping views extending across the valley, it managed to feel both in the beating heart of this ancient city and somewhere entirely peaceful. You could happily spend an afternoon, as I did, just sitting on your terrace and watching the passing clouds cast shadows across the surrounding buildings. It’s little wonder, then, that the city has proven a fertile source of inspiration for filmmakers across the decades: Pier Paolo Pasolini once used it as a stand-in for ancient Jerusalem, while its winding alleyways also enjoyed a more recent moment in the spotlight as the setting for a hair-raising car chase in the latest Bond film. What did I say about it being cinematic?

After recovering from a late night of (religious, at least in theory) festivities, it was time to head 40 minutes south to the medieval town of Bernalda. Arguably best known as the ancestral home of Francis Ford Coppola, it’s also where The Godfather director set up a quiet slice of paradise, Palazzo Margherita, back in 2012—although arriving at its unassuming entrance on a sleepy weekday afternoon, as locals stroll past with grocery bags in hand, you’d think you were pulling up to someone’s family home.

Stepping through the sage-colored doors and into a leafy courtyard, and that feeling only deepened: We were quickly invited to sit under one of the terracotta red umbrellas and sip an espresso during the check-in process, after which we were taken on a whistle-stop tour through the vine-wreathed parterres and fragrant gardens beyond. (There’s also a Cinecittà-themed bar at the front of the property which opens up onto the street and serves superb woodfired pizzas, as well as a notably lovely pool at the far end of the garden surrounded by lush greenery, with its own private bar.)

The hotel is the product of a lengthy restoration process in collaboration with the legendary interior designer Jacques Grange, its suites—named after various members of the Coppola clan (including daughter Sofia, who had her wedding here in 2011)—largely decorated in lavish southern Baroque style.

We were stationed in the whimsical Sofia suite—all elaborate murals and wicker furniture—that had been co-designed by Sofia herself. The en suite came with an enormous clawfoot tub—as well as bath products also crafted by Sofia—and an expansive outdoor terrace from which I could listen to the birds chirruping while sipping an iced coffee whisked up to my room.

As well as taking in the sights and scents of Bernalda itself (make sure you ask the hotel concierge to arrange a morning visit to the cheese shop a few blocks down, where you can watch mozzarella and burrata being made by hand—and then eat it for breakfast), you’ll want to explore the local surroundings. There are plenty of awe-inspiring historical sights to be found in the area—I made a beeline for the remains of the sixth-century BC Temple of Hera that sits 15 minutes down the road—but it’s also worth spending an afternoon exploring the forested natural parks that line the nearby seafront. Handily, the hotel also has a partnership with a local beach club, where you can stop for gelato and a few hours on a sun lounger after your stroll, with the sound of chattering Italian (you won’t find many people speaking English down this way) traveling on the breeze.

Finally, after a long day of visiting the nearby remains of an ancient Greek temple or joining a cooking class to make the most obscenely fresh tomato sauce you’ve ever tasted, there’s also a cinema room to enjoy one of 300 Italian movies hand-selected by Coppola after the sun goes down. We opted to watch Fellini’s 8½ with cocktails in hand, having enjoyed a three-course meal cooked by local chefs of delicately crisp carciofi fritti, eggplant parmigiana, and a perfectly cooked, locally sourced steak with a glossy heap of puntarelle.

As a friendly porter pressed the buzzer to retract the chandelier and the lights of the projector flickered on, I felt for a moment like I was a bona fide Coppola myself. If they gave out Oscars in Basilicata, I’d give Palazzo Margherita the award for best hotel in a leading role.

After soaking up the region’s old-meets-new cultural wonders for a few days, however, you’ll eventually want to finish with a few days of downtime—and in the town of Maratea, which occupies the small stretch of coastline where Basilicata meets the Mediterranean, you’ll find a mountainous seaside paradise every bit as dazzling as the Amalfi Coast (just without the crowds). Here, head straight to Hotel Santavenere, the imposing five-star hotel perched high above the sea that once played host to the likes of Sophia Loren and Anita Ekberg, but has been given a recent refresh by the family behind the cult favorite Puglian destination hotel Borgo Egnazia. Perched on a vertiginous hill with sweeping, panoramic views, it’s an exercise in restrained Italian elegance: whitewashed walls and taupe linens; heaving platters of fresh fruit and local cheeses at breakfast; antiques and various maritime prints and objets elegantly scattered around each room to remind you of the region’s rich seafaring history. (You can also see the glittering azure of the Tyrrhenian Sea from nearly every corner of the property, framed by blazing pink bougainvillea.)

It’s the kind of place you could happily spend an entire weekend at without leaving the estate at all, largely thanks to the on-site private beach club you can be whizzed down to by golf buggy at a minute’s notice, where a truly spectacular pebbled haven awaits. Meanwhile, the sprawling beach bar and restaurant Il Carrubo sits immediately adjacent for seafood linguine at lunch and spritzes as the afternoon crawls on. (There are also buzzers next to every sunlounger if you want them ferried directly to you while sunbathing.) The culinary offering is charming and authentic—a highlight was the perfectly charred wood-fired pizzas with iced tea on the terrace of Gli Ulivi—while every Friday night, they put on a buffet of impressive spreads highlighting local produce and an outdoor barbecue back down at Il Carrubo, with live music to recreate the atmosphere of an Italian summer town square festival.

Then, there’s the newly refurbished and impressively well-equipped spa, which will easily keep you occupied for the best part of an afternoon, whether you opt for a sea salt scrub and olive oil massage, or simply want to a circuit of its sauna, Himalayan pink salt room, and various hot and cold pools. (Oh, and there’s an impossibly scenic gym pavilion with glass walls overlooking the sea, should you want to get your steps in before heading for a massage.)

But while I say you could spend an entire weekend within the grounds of Santavenere, that doesn’t mean you should. As with everywhere I stayed in Basilicata, there was a palpable sense of pride among the locals and a wish to showcase the beauty and history of their region to its fullest extent. While we were quite happy spending the morning at the beach, we were also encouraged to join a tour guide for a hike up and down Monte St. Biagio, the towering peak that looms over the town and, below that, Santavenere itself. (Make sure to also squeeze in a wander through the center of Maratea proper, which is pretty much the Platonic ideal of a charming southern Italian town.) On another afternoon, we were whizzed up and down the shoreline in a gozzo Sorentino boat to learn more about the fascinating history of this hotly contested stretch of coastline—throughout the Middle Ages, it was conquered by everyone from the Normans to the Angevins—and to splash through the glowing turquoise waters of the grotta azzurra caves.

On my final night at Santavenere, I was invited down to the nearby port by the hotel staff for another religious festival. (Evidently, there are still a lot of those down here.) Hundreds of locals piled into boats and sped out of the harbor to the loud crack of a starting pistol, bunting fluttering in the wind, as offerings were thrown onto the shores of a tiny, uninhabited island. Then it was back to the hotel for wood-fired pizza as the coastline faded to an inky blue, the lights of nearby towns glittering through the haze. It’s exactly the kind of place you just won’t find along the more overrun stretches of the Italian coastline: la dolce vita, but with just the right amount of grit.