The French Riviera in winter: Sparkle without the glitter.

Lemon trees frame a view of Menton, France, Jan. 16, 2026. A region famous for its sun-drenched climate becomes a refreshing retreat when the summer heat, megayachts and swarms of tourists are gone. (Gianni Cipriano/The New York Times)

By ALEXIS STEINMAN

The French Riviera conjures images of sunbaked tourists lounging on palm-lined beaches, bustling cobblestone streets and megayachts anchored in sparkling blue bays. But that’s only in the summer.

This region of southeastern France, also known as the Côte d’Azur, first rose to fame as a winter destination in the late 19th century. Queen Victoria traveled there to find solace from the cold rain of London. Robert Louis Stevenson went to seek relief from a respiratory illness. Claude Monet fled the misty, muffled hues of the north for the Riviera. “I need a palette of diamonds and gemstones for the extraordinary colors and light,” he wrote.

Tourism on this strip of picturesque coast between Menton in the east and, roughly, Hyères in the west, peaks in August, with up to 650,000 visitors during the top weekend, according to 2024 figures from Côte d’Azur Tourism. The numbers fall sharply during the winter months, with only about one-third of the visitors. Though some hotels and restaurants are closed in the offseason, rooms are far less expensive — and reservations are easy to come by.

With mostly sunny skies and daytime temperatures in the mid-50s, winter may not be warm enough for swimming, but it is a perfect time to bathe in history. In late November, I took a road trip from Menton to Antibes, communing with the past in silent ancient streets and exploring coastal paths that had more lizards than humans.

Where the lemons are sweeter

My east-to-west journey began in Menton, a pastel-toned town of about 30,000 that hugs the border with Italy. Primarily under Genoese and Sardinian rule until 1860, Menton still has a Ligurian flair. French and Italian mingle on the streets, and the facades have the luster of orange and lemon gelato.

In fact, Menton proudly calls itself Europe’s lemon capital, and it bursts with Carnivalesque parades at the Fête du Citron every February. I went straight to the source with a tour of Maison Gannac, a lemon farm (12 euros, or about $14). My guide explained the climatic conditions along the Riviera made the local lemons “the world’s sweetest.”

Less posh than nearby Monaco, Menton has a wealth of belle epoque former luxury hotels with names like Balmoral that evoke a once predominantly British clientele. A handful still offer lodging, among them the Royal Westminster (rooms with sea views from 135 euros). The contemporary Hotel Gabriel Menton (from 60 euros) is a more modern option. Menton’s links to the British even extend to its famous gardens. The lush Val Rahmeh Botanical Garden (8 euros) was once a baronet’s holiday estate.

The town’s golden City Hall features murals by another celebrated resident, artist and writer Jean Cocteau. In the marriage hall (entry 2 euros), a betrothed couple sport Mentonnais straw hats and fisherman’s caps. See more of his works at the Jean Cocteau Museum (5 euros), in a 17th-century bastion. The pebble pieces on its walls evoke Menton’s calades, streets paved in mosaic designs.

I discovered plenty of calades in the old town, just up a grand staircase near the Sablettes beach. Elsewhere in town, I found culinary delights: velvety olive oil at the Huilerie St.-Michel; a tomato-anchovy pichade tart and barbajuan, a local chard fritter, at Chez Pierrette et Sylvie outside the Halles market; palm-size lemon bars at Mitron Bakery (owned by chef Mauro Colagreco whose three-Michelin-star Mirazur restaurant is worth the splurge).

Modern architecture and medieval times

In the mid-20th-century, the debut of the Cannes Film Festival and stars like Brigitte Bardot and Grace Kelly brought a dose of glamour to the summer months, particularly in Monaco, where Kelly was crowned princess in 1956.

Sandwiched between Menton and Monaco — within walking distance of both — the hillside town of Roquebrune-Cap-Martin offers a glimpse of life before all the glitter, with a lofty medieval village that feels suspended between sea and sky. I climbed to it from Coco Chanel’s preferred beach, Plage du Buse, via a steep, winding stone staircase. In the summer heat, the ascent would have been brutal.

The medieval village, a labyrinth of cobblestone alleys, archways and postcard-worthy ocher facades, huddled beneath the imposing Château de Roquebrune (entry 5 euros), which soars 1,069 feet above the sea. Standing atop the castle’s crenelations, with the 360-degree panorama of the Mediterranean and mountains, I could see why they had built a fortress here.

My dinner of chestnut soup and the small, oval bits of dark turkey meat known as oysters in tarragon mustard sauce at Au Grand Inquisitor (three-course menu 39 euros) — inside a former stable in the base of the citadel — felt a little like a high-end, tame version of Medieval Times theme restaurants. Five minutes away, I reveled in another ancient relic: a more-than-2,200-year-old olive tree growing out of a stone wall.

After a night at the 1970s-style Hotel Victoria (sea-view rooms from 120 euros), I set out on a coastal path named for Le Corbusier, a pioneer of Modern architecture who spent his later years in a log cabin near Irish designer Eileen Gray’s E-1027 villa. (Corbusier is buried in a hillside cemetery not far from the medieval village.)

The 1.8-mile walk parallels the coastline, passing among fragrant pines and sumptuous belle epoque mansions like the neo-Byzantine Villa Cypris. The public can visit some of the luxurious homes to the east. In Beaulieu-sur-Mer, the marble and mosaic masterpiece Villa Kérlyos (13 euros) pays homage to the Phocaeans, the region’s first settlers. Set among 17 acres of lavish gardens, the rose Villa Ephrussi de Rothschild (13 euros) features over-the-top rooms, including a monkey-themed boudoir.

In the footsteps of Baldwin and Matisse

The hills above the French Riviera have long been havens for writers and artists. St.-Paul-de-Vence, a wedding-cake of a village about 45 minutes from Antibes, hosted James Baldwin for 17 years. A ceramic Fernand Léger sculpture adorns the patio at the Colombe d’Or hotel and restaurant, where the artist hobnobbed with other famous regulars. The streets are even paved with decorative cobblestones.

A 15-minute walk from town on the Chemin de Ste.-Claire, the Fondation Maeght showcases a who’s who of 20th-century artists, with a space and sculpture garden that celebrates the light that inspired many of them. At the Chapelle Matisse, in nearby Vence, the winter sunlight shone through Henri Matisse’s stained-glass windows, dancing on the pews in blues, yellows and greens.

The evening air had a winter chill, so I was grateful for the toasty fire at La Brouette, (three-course menus starting at 27 euros) where the chef and owner, Michel Bornemann, smokes his own trout, a dish I sampled along with beet soup. He recommended I check out the nearby village of Tourrettes-sur-Loup. Its tumble of storybook stone houses nurtures present-day artisans and invites visitors to stumble on intimate restaurants. On its nearly empty medieval streets, I felt a deep connection to history, one that would not have been possible with tourists swarming.

Summer on the Riviera has its charms, but I’ll take winter’s calm any day.