Vieux-Nice

Vieux-Nice cannot be explained on a map: you walk it. The streets are three metres wide, the façades rise in ochre and Sardinian red, washing still dries between two windows. This is the city from before it joined France, and you can hear it, Nissart hasn't quite left the shop signs.

Mornings belong to the cours Saleya: flowers, vegetables, fish, six days out of seven. On Mondays the antique dealers take over the square. Around it, Sainte-Réparate cathedral and the Palais Lascaris recall that this maze was once a baroque capital. You live with the shutters open, you hear the bells, you know your baker.

Living here calls for clear eyes: few lifts, plenty of stairs, old walls. In return: beams and painted ceilings under the roofs, a summer coolness no air conditioning gives, and the sea six minutes away by the Ponchettes.

The property market is singular: small flats in high demand, family apartments that seldom come up, prices decided floor by floor and light by light. It is a district where the visit decides everything.