The real Riviera high life

This isn't the Riviera," said Antonia, who wanted Tender is the Night. This was more like Escape From New York. Cannes, sweaty and crowded mid-Festival, had lost its charm. So escape we did.

In our Citroën Picasso we bade gold-lamé boutiques farewell in search of harmless hedonism and gastronomic excess.

Fortunately, the Riviera is alive and well: all along the coast every sleazy town conceals a citadel treasure. We weren't the first to look. Legend has it that far from seeing out the early years of the modern era in a tomb in Canaan, Christ stopped on the Riviera en route to living out his days quietly with Mary Magdalene, Jim Morrissonstyle, on the Camargue.

Out of Cannes, the road climbed sharply to Vallauris. By 7pm the town was deserted. The farmers' market that filled the square had gone, leaving the aroma of fresh garlic and a scattering of mesclun leaves at the feet of Picasso's bronze of Man Holding Sheep.

Like every southern French town, Vallauris has its Picasso museum. The artist lived here, creating ceramics and converting a 14th century chapel vault into his inspirational Museum of War and Peace.

Driving in France has become yet more amusing since the traffic rule of priorit? ? droite was superseded by an all-purpose priorit? ? moi. Yet skipping between citadels in our Citro?n was relatively painless outside the height and depth of summer. When traffic hell bit, we either immersed ourselves Mediterranicallyor headed inland (scoffing smugly at the queues outside Antibesland and Go-Kart World) to find another hilltop gem.

The citadel town of Mougins, a few miles above Cannes, all scrubbed brick and immaculate bougainvillea, is drowning in menus touristiques, but this manicured quaintness wasn't quite it. We were on a mission.

At least in Haut-de-Cagnes, the people playing pétanque in the square didn't seem as if they were employed to stand there looking French. Spiral, cobbled streets disappearedat alarming gradients beneath our feet. Views were implausibly perfect: north through a mess of heather and wildflowers lay Vence, while south (past monstrous Niçoise skyscrapers) the Mediterranean batted midnightblue eyelids. Le Cagnard at Haut-de-Cagnes was the high-cal blow-out we'd promised ourselves. As the painted panelled ceiling rolled back during dessert to reveal perfectly described constellations, it seemed our sins had been forgiven and St Peter was beckoning us through the Pearly Gates. Though consideringour foie gras intake, heavenly redemption was unlikely in our case.

Still, the best was hiding over the next hilltop. Biot is the ultimate Riviera retreat. It seems to have grown organically from a crag in the rocks above the sea. An eruption of green trees and orangesoaked rock, gazing down on Provençal plains. Admittedly, Biot is no secret. The stone Mary Magdalene above the church door ( originally naked but draped with a granite robe in prudish 1638) reclines as a reminder of Biot's most famous visitor. Ottomans and Knights Templar were raping and pillaging here many civilisations ago. Yet, no matter who was here before you, Biot still feels like a find. As a citadel it has nowhere to expand, nowhere to stick a multiplex or a mall.

Biot is a living working town; it's also everything we dared hope the south of France might be. The bakeries create art as remarkable as the glass-blowing workshops on the hill and flowers grow unbidden in the square. Even Antonia was gobsmacked, and that's quite some gob to smack. With two Michelinstarredrestaurants, Biot has only one hotel, the laughably one-star Hotel des Arcades.

We perused the eclectic modern art gallery in the basement, slept in bright rooms overlooking courtyard and valley, and abused ourselves from a kitchen filled with courgette flowers and beef daube. Before long we were minded to attempt a wee Jim Morrisson disappearing act of our own.

Way to go

Dudi Appleton flew to Nice with easyJet (0870 600 0000, www.easyjet.com), which flies seven times daily from Luton and Gatwick and whose cheapest return this weekend, out Saturday, back Tuesday, costs £141.80. Avis Rent a Car (0870 60 60 100, www.avisworld.com) has rental stations throughout the Riviera. Prices start at £140 (£180 for a Citroën Picasso) for one week in May. Further information: French Tourist Office (09068 244 123, 60p per minute) or visit www.franceguide.com.

Pick of the budget hotels