From La Spezia, take the A12 toward Genova. At Genova, follow signs toward the A10 (or E80). The route is mainly two to three lanes per direction. As Monaco nears, you should see a sign for Nice with 'RN' for 'Route Nationale'. This is preferable to staying on the freeway. Take the RN exit and head toward Monaco.

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Above: Monaco, looking westward. Below: The Casino Monte-Carlo. Below centre: Terraced lunching at the famous Café de Paris at Place du Casino. Bottom: Monaco, heading up the hill. Further away from the seaside, there's more bustle and visitors are not spared the souvenir shops. But it's here that you can find more charming restaurants

   I took the road that wound sharply into the Principality, as seen in more than a few movies set here, noting that the cars around me had prices that were in direct contrast to the shortening number plates. As the gradient lessened the place got busier, but since it approached midnight there was little traffic. This turned out to be a blessing, learning the roads of Monaco with only the gloved policemen and their many cameras on duty. Big Brother would never be a ratings' hit in Monaco because everyone was already used to being watched. Besides, the residents looked better here.
   The signs were not too accurate, either. If anyone can find how to get to the Marriott without driving the wrong way up a one-way street, I would be interested to find out. However, two stars wasn't enough in this place. I drove to the yacht club and saw young people out on the town. Though it was summer, these were not nouveaux riches who had come down to show off. The clothes, the posture and the facial features gave them away from 50 feet as being people so familiar with this old town that future anthropologists would find a Monaco gene in their DNA. An Opel, Germany's own Chevrolet, felt out of place (but at least it wasn't a Ford Taurus); the fact I had worn the same clothes since lunchtime even more so.
   I followed the signs to another hotel but it took me far from Monte Carlo. I spied a yellow Ferrari F355 Spider outside. New Zealand has the highest per-capita number of Ferraris, so this wasn't too distracting, but giolla? Enzo would have turned in his grave if he hadn't been alive when some idiots, high on LSD, ordered Dinos in the same shade. But I would not be following whomever had that bad taste into that hotel, even if it were Dave Coulthard's place, and even if I were a Dave Coulthard fan. It just wasn't my show.
   Nice it would have to be. The city retains its character despite having the Riviera's principal tourist airport. I didn't fancy, however, going to the city's narrower streets in search for a hotel at this hour. But I did fancy putting on a CD with The Persuaders theme and blasting through the Moyenne Corniche on the route nationale at this hour. I relished the thought. John Barry's orchestra had already accompanied me in my time in Switzerland with On Her Majesty's Secret Service, so why not set the mood again? It was a good decision.
   I drove to the car's limits. While some may criticize the French for their driving, I usually feel safe in this country. Perhaps I have a Gallic telepathy with other drivers. I exited to the route nationale from Monaco and passed those towns that were familiar to me from French classes and Danny and Brett—Eze, Villefranche-sur-Mer—and noted the church atop the hill at the former. The Gallimard parfumerie went by on my right.
   As I sped through the Corniche I spied a small hotel on my left in Villefranche-sur-Mer but had no idea how I could U-turn. I got nearer Nice, found an off-road and headed back. Tired after driving from Italy, I had to stop. It was one of the longer night drives I had done on the Continent.
   The Oasis hotel-restaurant had closed for the night but two of the staff (the owners, as it turned out) could be seen through the kitchen window. I knocked and enquired after a room. Yes, one was available and it would be €45 and would I leave my passport with them for security? At that price, I wasn't expecting to be pampered, but at least I wasn't among (hopefully) colourblind Ferrari drivers. Or Louis Vuitton luggage that is too new and too matching—where is the taste in not having at least one old LV suitcase?
   I was right about my judgement and I had a bed for the night. If you're going to be unconscious for 80 per cent of your time there, does it really matter that you have to share a shower with two other suites? And if you have to rough it, where better than the south of France, in a hotel between Nice and Monaco with a killer view?

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Giolla? Enzo Ferrari would have turned in his grave if he hadn't been alive when some idiots, high on LSD, ordered Dinos in the same shade