San Remo by Norman Miller

Light, dark, light, dark - the tunnels come every few hundred yards as the coast road sweeps west from Genoa towards France, causing the sunshine to flicker like an old movie as I slice through each hill.

Liguria is where the Alps reach down to the sea. But it isn’t just tunnel builders who benefit from the meeting of mountains and Med. Shielding the coast from chilly northern airs, the peaks have created one of Italy’s most temperate spots, dubbed the Riviera dei Fiori (The Flower Coast).

At its heart, nearer to Nice on the French Cote d’Azur than Genoa, lies San Remo. In its heyday, from the late 1800s to the 1950s, the city was a magnet for aristocrats and artists. Tchaikovsky composed here, Monet painted, while the British top crust built ravishing villas that still line the Corso degli Inglesi just east of the town centre. One frequent royal visitor was the Tsaress Maria Alexandranova, who inspired the building of the Russian Orthodox Church whose domes still provide a striking backdrop to the city’s casino.

During San Remo’s 1950s flourish, screen royalty came in search of La Dolce Vita. Sinatra breezed in with Ava Gardner, while Cary Grant reputedly enjoyed trysts with Grace Kelly, the real-life Hollywood queen from along the coast in Monaco.

There are still expensive boats in the harbour, plus palm-framed architectural gems and fur-coated women trailing groomed poodles and groomed men. But now San Remo mixes faded glamour with a more modern vibrancy in the bustling bars around the old port and the stylish shops between the cathedral and the sea.

Saturday night in the casino, and rather than tuxedoed high-rollers I watch superannuated playboys and dolled-up 40something blondes trying their luck with the wheel and the cards. At one table, a Mafioso lookalike plays blackjack with an unlit cigarette drooping from his mouth - pure affectation given smoking is banned! At another, a geeky type cleans up at chemin de fer, though I know this only by his increasing stack of chips rather than any grasp of this mysterious game.

San Remo’s old town exudes a similar mystery. Set into the heart of the modern city, La Pigna is another world. Diving through an archway off Piazza Cassini, I’m suddenly amid a maze of dark enclosed alleys, where yellow lamps illuminate medieval walls and religious frescoes, the gloom punctuated by tiny cobbled squares and pools of light from neighbourhood bars. Above La Pigna, the church of Madonna della Costa and the Regina Elena Gardens look over the city.

Later, grabbing a table at an old port bar, I enjoy an early evening drink, tucking into the array of complimentary snacks that seem to come automatically - local Taggiasca olives, little potato cakes, thin slices of pizza. I make sure, though, to leave space for dinner at the Casino, where my irritation at having to don a shapeless borrowed jacket to conform to the restaurant’s dress code is assuaged by my first mouthful of sautéed baby squid in a chick pea puree.

About 30 miles west of the city, just shy of the French border, the Hanbury Gardens are a feast for the eye. Established in the 1860s by Londoner Sir Thomas Hanbury, using a fortune made in Far East trade, the gardens carpet the shoreline around La Mortola. Mixing native Mediterranean wilderness with tailored sections featuring plants from around the globe, the gardens are traversed by sculpture-lined pathways plus a section of the ancient Via Julia Augusta, one of the most important Mediterranean coastal paths in Roman times.

Down where the gardens meet the rocky shore, a little café offers a courtyard surrounded by orange trees. Sipping espresso in the spring sun, I can see why Laurence Olivier bought a villa overlooking the gardens, a great actor grabbing front row on this glorious natural amphitheatre.

Appetite whetted by my garden walk, I’m lucky to have bagged a table for Sunday lunch at Restaurant Manuel. Up in the Alpine foothills a mile or so from the Roman town of Dolceacqua, it’s a family-run affair that feeds my growing appreciation of Ligurian cooking.

Cima alla Genovese kicks things off, a medieval dish centred on peas and veal. Brandacujen is dried cod cooked with parsley and whisked into a loose, crunchy fish cake. Homemade vegetable ravioli sing with flavour in a simple butter and sage sauce. As we enjoy the ravioli, my Italian friend Monica recounts her shock the first time she saw the stuff tinned in a British shop. So appalled was she at the idea of anything other than freshly made she took pictures as proof of this culinary crime.

After two more courses, slow-cooked lamb and then featherlight apple cake, I’m glad it’s only a few minutes further to Dolceacqua, where I can stretch my legs and wander through its cobbled streets. The town bridge, arching over the river Nervia and overhung by a ruined castle, was famously painted by Monet - though after the obligatory snap I go in search of different local colour in the shape of Rossese, Liguria’s most renowned red wine.

Though Monet painted in Dolceacqua and nearby Bordighera, the area’s most famous art spot is Busanna Vecchia. One of the many beautiful hilltop villages in the Alpine hinterland around San Remo - Apricale near Dolceacqua and Dolcedo north of Imperia are others worth a visit - Bussana Vecchia was so badly damaged by a massive earthquake in 1887 that the survivors simply abandoned the 1000-year-old streets and built a new village further down the slope.

The old village’s ruins stayed undisturbed until 1960 when an Italian sculptor called Clizia decided to set up shop amid the crumbled stone. Other artists followed, slowly restoring the ruins in between creative endeavours. After wandering around the tiny galleries that dot the ancient streets, I toast artistic rejuvenation from the creeper clad terrace of the village bar looking out towards the Med.

There is another example of something positive arising from destruction back in San Remo. The great scientist Alfred Nobel spent his final years here, and conceived his prestigious prizes in between the experiments in taming explosives that made his fortune (as well as annoying the neighbours).

The Villa Nobel remains an oasis on the busy Corsa Felice Cavalotti, its garden sweeping towards the sea from a house celebrating past glory. On the same road, towards town, the Villa Sirio and Villa Ormond offer more splendid greenery.

Walking back, I pass a succession of TV broadcast vans, preparing for the prestigious Italian Song Festival held here each March (the world fireworks championships are another highlight, in July). Whoever wins, though, Liguria has plenty to sing about.

Information from the official San Remo website: www.sanremoguide.com