The first thing I noticed when our tender rounded the breakwater into Villefranche-sur-Mer was the color of the water — a shade of turquoise I'd only seen in tropical postcards, here cradled between steep hillsides dotted with terracotta roofs and umbrella pines. The old town's pastel facades tumbled down to the harbor like a painter's imagination, and I understood immediately why this little bay has been captivating visitors since 130 BC, when Greek traders first recognized what geographers would later confirm: this is one of the deepest natural harbors in the entire Mediterranean. That extraordinary depth — plunging to nearly a thousand feet — allows cruise ships to anchor safely in the bay while we passengers tender ashore, riding the same turquoise waters that once sheltered Greek triremes, Roman galleys, and later, the pirates who made this coast notorious.

Villefranche sits precisely between two of the Riviera's most famous names — just four miles east of Nice, five miles west of Monaco — yet it remains something gentler, something truer to what this coast was before tourism transformed it. The tender deposits you at the end of a small pier, and within steps you're wandering through the Rue Obscure, that remarkable 13th-century covered street that feels like a secret passage through time. Dim and cool even on the hottest days, it was built to protect residents from Saracen pirate raids that once plagued this coast. The vaulted stone ceiling overhead, the worn steps beneath your feet — this isn't a museum reconstruction. This is the actual medieval street, still doing what it was designed to do eight centuries ago. Now it just protects you from the Mediterranean sun as you make your way through a labyrinth of steep paved streets toward the Citadelle or the waterfront cafés.

I've been fortunate to visit Villefranche on three different Mediterranean itineraries, and each time I've made different choices. My first visit, I jumped on a ship excursion to Monaco and Monte Carlo, needing to see the Casino Square, the Prince's Palace, and the famous hairpin turns where Formula 1 cars race through city streets. Standing at the same railing where Grace Kelly once stood, looking down over the harbor filled with yachts worth more than I'd earn in multiple lifetimes — it was surreal. We stopped at the Exotic Garden for its cacti and cave, then descended to the old town for a quick walk before the drive back. It was lovely, but rushed.

My second visit, I took the local bus to Nice — a €1.50 revelation. The Promenade des Anglais stretched before me, that famous walkway along the sea where Victorian aristocrats once promenaded and where today joggers, cyclists, and strollers share the space. I wandered through the Old Town (Vieux Nice), lost myself in the Cours Saleya flower market bursting with sunflowers and lavender, and climbed Castle Hill for panoramic views over the Baie des Anges. I ate socca — that chickpea crêpe that's Nice's signature street food — standing at a counter because that's how the locals do it. It was hot, crispy, and perfect with a squeeze of lemon.

The third time, I stayed in Villefranche itself, and I think that was the wisest choice. I swam off the tiny beach, the water so clear I could count pebbles ten feet down. I ate lunch at a waterfront restaurant where the bouillabaisse came in a copper pot and the waiter explained each fish with Provençal pride. And I spent a full hour — no one rushing me, no tour group waiting — in the Chapelle Saint-Pierre, and that hour stays with me still.

The chapel is properly called Cocteau's Chapel now, though it began as a simple 14th-century fishermen's chapel dedicated to St. Peter, patron saint of those who make their living from the sea. By the mid-20th century it had fallen into disrepair, storing nets and tackle. Then Jean Cocteau — poet, playwright, filmmaker, artist — who had lived at Villefranche's Welcome Hotel for eleven years and filmed scenes of his final masterwork "The Testament of Orpheus" in these very streets, decided to restore it as a tribute to the fishermen he'd come to know and admire.

What he created in 1957 is something I've never seen anywhere else. The entire interior — walls, ceiling, altar — is covered with Cocteau's frescoes, but they're not painted. They're executed in chalk, raw pigment mixed with water and applied to wet plaster. Art historians will tell you chalk frescoes are notoriously fragile, that they should have faded or flaked away decades ago, yet Cocteau's work remains mysteriously, almost miraculously well-preserved. The colors are soft but vivid: scenes of St. Peter walking on water, Christ among the fishermen, the women of Villefranche waiting for boats to return. Cocteau's distinctive line — that elegant, modernist simplicity — somehow doesn't clash with the ancient stone. It feels like the 14th century and the 20th century are having a conversation, and both are speaking truth.

Standing there in the dim light filtering through small windows, looking up at these fragile chalk figures that have survived against all odds, I felt I was seeing Villefranche's soul. Not the yacht harbor version, not the cruise ship tourist version, but the working fishing village that still exists underneath, the place that earned Cocteau's respect and love.

Monaco deserves a full day if you can get it, and Nice deserves at least half of one. But Villefranche deserves your attention too. Don't just pass through on your way somewhere else. The massive Citadelle Saint-Elme, built in 1557 to defend against Ottoman attacks and the Barbary pirates who terrorized this coast, now houses the Town Hall and several small museums, including the Volti Museum with its powerful bronze sculptures. Entry is free, the views from the ramparts are spectacular, and the open-air theater in the courtyard still hosts summer concerts. The church of Saint-Michel contains genuine Baroque treasures. The beach may be rocky, but the water is divine. And the pace is something the rest of the Riviera has largely forgotten.

If you do venture out, consider Eze — a medieval village perched like an eagle's nest 1,400 feet above the sea. The Jardin Exotique there offers cactus gardens with vertiginous views, and the narrow streets lead to artisan shops that are actually worth browsing. You can take a bus up and hike down the Nietzsche Path (the philosopher composed parts of "Thus Spoke Zarathustra" while walking it), though be warned — it's steep and rough on the knees.

The French Riviera invented modern tourism. British aristocrats, Russian royalty, and American writers — from the Fitzgeralds to Hemingway — made this coast famous. Some of that glamour remains, but so does something older and more complicated. Villefranche was once a notorious pirate haven before it became a respected shipbuilding center. The same deep harbor that protects cruise ships today once sheltered corsairs and privateers. Hollywood discovered it too — Brigitte Bardot's scandalous "And God Created Woman" was filmed here, as were scenes from Hitchcock's "To Catch a Thief," with Cary Grant and Grace Kelly (before she became Monaco's princess) driving these very coastal roads.

In Villefranche, you can still feel all these layers: the ancient Greek trading post, the medieval fortress town, the pirate refuge, the fishing village, the artist's muse, the movie backdrop, and now, the tender port where cruise travelers like us step ashore into two thousand years of accumulated history, all compressed into a few pastel-painted streets tumbling down to impossibly blue water. Some places are built for tourists. Villefranche simply allows us to visit.