The little town of Villefranche-sur-Mer is very sweet, though geared almost exclusively to tourism. There's a little market at the foot of the old town selling various Provencal goodies, at its strongest when the cruise liners are anchored in the bay, ferrying their bemused hordes ashore. At the top of the town, by the main tourist office, there's a bigger market on Saturdays with a good stall for sausages.
This is also where you catch the bus for Nice, or to Monaco and Menton. (The 100 runs the whole way.) The 82 also takes you into Nice, the 81 runs from the Port de la Sante right to a big shopping centre in Nice with a large Carrefour (much better value than the local shops: buy a pass� du jour for ?'?4 which will take you all over the Riviera.)
The local fishing folk still support (and are supported by) a tiny chapel, painted with the story of St Peter by Jean Cocteau in swooping lines that show Jesus laughing at Peter trying to walk on water, angels with magnificent wings surrounding him in Gethsemane, the cock doodling its lungs out, and a special panel of curvaceous Provencal women gutting fish, in honour of their role in the old industry. The decorations are infused by eyes, diamonds, hammerheads and the other arcane of freemasonry, that well-known Galilean, first century sect.
This has long been a border town. In the seventeenth century it was part of Savoy, and when the Duke became King of Sardinia he based his royal fleet here. This led to the creation of the harbour, behind a wall of unusual construction (so the puffery says, tantalisingly not telling you exactly what is unusual about what looks like a perfectly ordinary breakwater), which is now the Port de Plaisance. It looks like a nice marina, though Roaring Girl would be at the top of the range for size there; it is unsurprisingly extremely busy with a fifteen year waiting list for berths.
In addition there is the older Port de la Sante, at the foot of the old town and on the northern edge of the outcrop of which the castle squats. This tiny harbour hosts the remaining fishing fleet, the ever-changing parade of tenders, lifeboats and water taxies from the liners, and occasionally a yacht that snugs itself on the quay for a short period. Just outside this little port, the quay is reserved for dinghies from the many yachts anchored in the Rade, a thoughtful gesture all too rare on this coast. On the little pontoon serving the chartered small boats and taxies, there's also good water where we regularly filled jerry cans.
The town regularly faced bombardment, leading to the streets just behind the waterfront being roofed over, as shown here. They're remarkably quiet in the bustle of shops and lost folk around them, and a welcome stretch of cool in the blazing heat.