The route: the French and Italian Rivieras, from Nice to portofino
The car: Alfa Romeo Spider
Test-driven by: Sean O'Grady, Motoring Editor of The Independent
"That car is the most beautiful in Italy." I had crossed the border from France and had pulled up at a tiny ristorante to a chorus of "Bella!" from the elderly male clientele. No surprise, really, as I'd arrived in Alfa Romeo's gorgeous new Spider. But high praise nevertheless. Justified? Maybe, though the new Maserati GT gives it a run for its money. In any case I was on a mission: to take one of the most beautiful cars in Italy to one of the most beautiful places in Italy. It only seemed right.
For the determined independent traveller, a car is your secret weapon. Harassed and persecuted as the motorist is the world over, it remains a symbol and a method of liberation. The right car on the right roads at the right time can transform a journey into a pleasure. As I found. Take that Alfa Spider. Lower the roof and drive the Med. Treat it as a holdall with four wheels. Explore two Rivieras, with their own delights and contrasts; the Côte d'Azur and Liguria. Take your quintessentially Italian sports car on La Grande Corniche from Nice to the Italian border and pick up the autostrada to the Portofino promontory. Thrill to the Italian passion for very fast tailgating.
Nice is as good a place as any to start, and the magnificent Palais de la Mediterranée, extremely handy for the airport, a better base than most. One of a parade of fine hotels facing the sea, the Palais offers something of the best of the old Riviera and the new. Built in 1929, it has retained its original art deco façade, but has been gutted and rebuilt. Dotted around the place are photographs of the place in the 1930s; I can't help feeling a little regret that so much of that old magnificence - a huge ballroom, vast chandeliers and majestic staircases - has been lost. (At least there's still a casino.) In their stead, though, is a supremely comfortable contemporary luxury hotel, as tasteful and understated as the old one was sumptuous and grand.
In Nice, the British visitor cannot help but be reminded of its rough (in some senses) contemporary, Brighton. At around the same time that the British, led by the Prince Regent, discovered the delights of the Sussex coast, they were also exploring the potential of the French Riviera. Queen Victoria's Nice retreat is still standing. In 1822, the British raised a subscription to establish today's magnificent esplanade, hence its naming in their honour. Also still standing are the residences favoured by German and Russian royalty, with the Russian Orthodox cathedral, Cathédrale St-Nicolas, now catering to a second Russian invasion of tourist second-homers. The old town, too, has alleys and chichi shops, but getting lost in a car, even with sat nav, does expose you to the nastier end of "New Nice"; it isn't all as, ahem, nice as it sounds. Nor is the ambience aided by the huge roadworks to prepare for a new tram system; I hope it's all worth it.
An evening gin and tonic on the pebble beach at Nice doesn't count unless you've given yourself a run though the mountains. MG had an advertising slogan a few years back that said you ought to try wind-in-the-hair motoring while you've still got some hair. They were right, and I think I caught the wind just in time. Hairy or not, you should head for Cimiez or Vence. You'll see what I mean.
