Nice rises from a wide bay of pebbles and blue water, with a ridge of hills behind it, and it has been a seaside resort since the English began wintering here in the eighteenth century. The Promenade des Anglais, the seafront boulevard they paid for, still runs for several kilometres along the shore, lined with palms, pale hotels and deckchairs, and the old town, Vieux Nice, behind the Cours Saleya flower market, is a tangle of ochre and pink houses with laundry hanging out of windows. Castle Hill, a wooded bluff at the eastern end of the bay, gives a view over the whole sweep of the coast. Italian influence is strong, as the city only became French in 1860, and the food shows it. Try socca, a chickpea pancake, a pan bagnat sandwich or a proper salade niçoise.
The Grande Corniche starts from here, the highest of three roads that climb the cliffs between Nice and Menton. It follows the line of the Roman Via Julia Augusta, and at La Turbie, around five hundred metres above the sea, the ruins of the Trophy of Augustus, built in the first century BC to mark Roman control of the Alps, stand on a ridge with a view down to Monaco. The road then passes Èze and other perched villages, where the bends are tight, the views are huge and the sun glints off the Mediterranean far below.
Riding here needs a bit of planning. Nice is large and busy, with heavy traffic, one-way streets and scooters weaving at every light, and the road along the coast is slow at any hour. Parking for bikes is easier than for cars, but be careful of theft and use a secure garage if you are staying. Fuel is plentiful in a city of three hundred and thirty thousand, though some stations in the old centre are limited, so use the ones on the outskirts. The Grande Corniche itself is best ridden early on a weekday, before the tourist coaches and the cyclists, and it can be windy on the open stretches.
Spring and autumn are lovely here. In midsummer the heat and crowds make the coast tiring, but the light is spectacular at dawn.