Driving The French Riviera In The Name Of Design

The tile beneath my foot in a café in Nice was a muted green with a chipped corner and the faint trace of a palm. I asked the waiter where it came from. “Probably Vallauris,” he said, wiping down the next table. “It’s a commune on the outskirts of Antibes, they used to make everything there.”

To me, that was reason enough to go looking. These are the kinds of details that have long drawn artists, architects, and design obsessives to this coastline. And you don’t need to go too far to find them. Just a few days, a car, and a willingness to follow the thread. If you too have those things, here’s how to spend five days chasing design along the French Riviera.

The trip begins in Nice. Here, the draw isn’t the pebble beaches or the casinos, it’s the access. Within an hour of the city are some of the most fascinating structures of the 20th century, all tucked into cliff sides and pine forests that smell faintly of salt and jasmine.

Start with a check-in at Hôtel du Couvent, a former 17th-century convent reborn as an 88‑room sanctuary. A sight to see in its own right, each room—some of the most gorgeously conceived I’ve ever slept in—ranges in size and view, but all boast natural light, vaulted ceilings, and curated artworks. On‑site offerings include a Roman‑inspired spa with thermal baths, a hillside lap pool, herb‑filled cloister gardens, three restaurants, and even an apothecary staffed by an herbalist. From there, make your way to Villa Kérylos.

In 1902, a French archaeologist named Théodore Reinach built himself a Greek dream on the Riviera. Perched above the sea in Beaulieu-sur-Mer, Villa Kérylos is a meticulous reconstruction of an ancient Athenian house, complete with Doric columns, mosaic floors, and bronze fixtures cast using classical methods. It’s obsessive, eccentric, and slightly out of place. Which is exactly the point.

A short coastal drive away lies Cap Moderne. It’s home to three radically different structures within spitting distance of one another: Eileen Gray’s E-1027, Le Corbusier’s Cabanon, and a modest railway worker’s house he painted with murals. Gray’s house, a white jewel box perched above the sea, was designed in 1929 as a retreat for her close friend, architect Jean Badovici. Though Badovici’s name appeared on the plans, the design was entirely Gray’s. Every detail was deliberate. The modular layout, the built-in furniture, the way light moves through the space. Years later, Le Corbusier, a guest of Badovici who painted murals on several of Gray’s walls, built his own getaway a few steps away. The 13-square-meter wooden cabanon constructed in 1952 had no kitchen, no electricity, and barely enough room to turn around—but Corbusier saw it as a perfect cell, designed “for meditation, working, and resting.”

After a gorgeous night’s sleep at Hôtel du Couvent, the following morning is for Jean Cocteau, or rather for the house he embellished over a summer in the 1950s. Villa Santo Sospir is less a home than a canvas. Its white walls are tattooed with mythological figures and gods that Cocteau drew freehand, often with nothing more than a burnt matchstick. Cocteau lived there himself as a guest of Francine Weisweiller, the villa’s owner and one of his most important patrons, turning her home into a kind of experimental sketchbook over the course of a single summer.

Just down the road sits another landmark of the Riviera’s golden age: Villa Ephrussi de Rothschild. Commissioned by Béatrice de Rothschild in 1905, the villa was modeled after Italian Renaissance palaces and filled with porcelain, Gobelins tapestries, and 18th-century French furniture. Its nine themed gardens—ranging from Spanish to Japanese—are arranged around a central musical fountain that performs on the hour.

From there, let the road pull you inland to Saint-Paul de Vence. The real draw isn’t the village itself but Fondation Maeght, a modern art complex nestled among the pines with works by Miró, Giacometti, Braque, and Chagall—artists who weren’t just shown here but stayed, worked, and sometimes got tipsy on the terrace. If you’ve timed it right, this is also where you check in for the night: La Colombe d’Or Hotel and Restaurant. Founded in 1920 as a humble café called “Chez Robinson,” the property evolved into an auberge during the interwar years, drawing the likes of Picasso, Matisse, and Braque. A Calder hangs by the pool. A Léger stares out from the dining room wall. The owner, Paul Roux, began accepting paintings in lieu of payment, eventually building one of the most intimate—and accidental—collections of 20th-century modern art in France.

The third day starts in Antibes at the Musée Picasso, set in the Château Grimaldi, where the artist briefly worked in 1946. The museum’s scale reflects its origin: Picasso donated 23 paintings and 44 drawings to the city after working briefly in the building, then known as the Grimaldi Museum. Today, its collection focuses on the works he produced during his stay, including La Joie de Vivre, alongside ceramics and prints from his Vallauris period. If you have time, Vallauris, as the kind waiter in Nice expressed, is worth the detour. The quaint town is still dotted with old ceramic workshops, and some showrooms and museums like the and home to the Musée Magnelli, Musée de la Céramique, housed in a 16th-century château.

From there, you snake west to Théoule-sur-Mer to tour Maison Bernard (with seasonal openings), designed by Hungarian-French architect Antti Lovag. Known as the “bubble house”, Lovag believed that straight lines were contrary to nature and human movement. The house, constructed circa 1971, is made of sprayed concrete shaped over steel mesh, forming interconnected domes that echo the surrounding terrain. Continue to Saint-Tropez for a night at Airelles Château de la Messardière, a 19th-century palace turned five-star retreat nestled above the Bay of Pampelonne. After all, every design seeker needs a castle to crash in.

Rise for your next stop: Hyères. Specifically, Villa Noailles—a Cubist villa turned cultural center that has become a pilgrimage site for fans of fashion and design. Commissioned by art patrons Charles and Marie-Laure de Noailles in the 1920s and designed by architect Robert Mallet-Stevens, the house hosted Dalí, Man Ray, and Buñuel—and continues to host photography and fashion festivals today. Its raw, geometric forms predate what we now think of as modern, and its terrace remains one of the best places to take in the town below.

By late afternoon, the drive continues to Commanderie de Peyrassol, a centuries-old estate long rumored to have ties to the Knights Templar, now reimagined as a vineyard and contemporary sculpture park. There are works by Antony Gormley and Bernar Venet scattered across the property, along with a rotating roster of exhibitions and a growing permanent collection.

As dusk arrives, you’ll want to pull into Château La Coste, an estate in the Luberon where vines line villas and sculptures dot the landscape like a game of hide-and-seek. Founded in 2004, Irish art collector Patrick McKillen invited leading architects and artists to create site-specific works across the vineyard’s 600-acre estate. The collection includes a steel sculpture by Richard Serra nestled in the olive groves, a twisting glass-and-metal pavilion by Frank Gehry, and a cultural center by Tadao Ando constructed from concrete, glass, and water. You could spend a night here. You probably should. There are far worse ways to enjoy a glass of wine before bed.

The final stretch leads to the sea. From here, it’s a short drive to Marseille, where Le Corbusier’s Cité Radieuse looms over the city like a concrete battleship. The rooftop cultural center, MAMO, holds rotating exhibitions and installations by international artists. If you’re lucky, you can tour a private apartment restored to Corbusier’s original vision, down to the color-blocked walls and sliding cabinetry. Top it off with a quick stop at the Musée des Beaux-Arts, housed in the grandiose Palais Longchamp. It’s a classical note to end on—19th-century oils, architectural pomp, and a reminder that even in the design-heavy South, the old stuff still holds its own.

In Cassis, your last night at Tuba Club waits—part restaurant, part micro-hotel, part cliffside social club for creative types who shy away from the likes of St.Tropez. Built into an old diving club, it’s a Mediterranean-style beach shack with one of the best sunset views on the coast.

By the time you leave, you’ll have looped through over a century of creativity in five days: from Greco-Roman fantasias to modernist shrines, postwar radicalism to contemporary art museums. And somewhere between the light and the limestone, the Riviera will have worked its spell.