Nice is the New Star of Southern France

If I could offer one piece of advice to someone planning a trip to Nice, it would be this: Don’t tell anyone you’re going to Nice. The gateway to the French Riviera, the city has long been dismissed as a way station to smaller resort towns, the erstwhile stomping grounds of Matisse, Chagall, Baldwin, and Fitzgerald. Most of the time, people are actually thinking of places like Monaco and Menton, or influencer traps like St.-Paul-de-Vence and Antibes. Or Italy, which is not in France. 

A dated but amusing British expression regarding the Nice airport is “Gentlemen turn right.” To the right await the cypress-covered hills of Villefranche-sur-Mer and the coves of Cap Ferrat, the most expensive square footage in the country. But to the left is yacht-dotted St.-Tropez, so to an outsider, this is a baffling piece of local sociology. Either way the message is clear: one drives away from Nice; one does not loiter in the gateway. These people are, in fact, the ones missing the boat. 

For my flight from New York, I downloaded Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, the 1988 comedy starring Steve Martin and Michael Caine that takes place in the fictional Nice enclave of Beaumont-sur-Mer. The film was a reminder of the city’s outdated clichés: a place where a con man could live lavishly by relieving shoulder-padded women of their fortunes. A plausible premise, inspired by history. During the 19th century, Nice was a winter destination for the European aristocracy. When the French instituted paid annual leave in 1936, it became a popular summer destination and, by the end of the 20th century, a port for people allergic to living modestly (or, in the immortal words of Somerset Maugham: “A sunny place for shady people”). 

By the start of this century, however, Nice had fallen out of fashion, both with discerning tourists seeking exclusivity and with younger Europeans, who associated the place with their parents. Now the tide is turning once more. New hotels, restaurants, shops, and bars staffed by passionate locals and patronized by an in-the-know clientele have begun to push Nice back into the spotlight. 

The crown jewel of this renewed glamour is Hôtel du Couvent, an 88-room, monastic-chic hotel housed in a 17th-century former convent. Situated on Castle Hill in the city’s old town, the property had been neglected since the 1980s. About 10 years ago, Valéry Grégo, a financier turned hotelier, visited the site at the behest of Nice’s mayor. Grégo was so inspired by the historic structure that he would eventually sell his collection of boutique hotels around France and spend the next decade meticulously restoring the convent and its 2½-acre grounds. 

After entering the hotel grounds (with four buildings, it’s more of a campus), I walked through a stone passageway into a courtyard surrounded by tiered gardens and was presented with a freshly baked madeleine at reception. Then I was escorted past the on-site bakery, library, and apothecary (yes, apothecary) by one of the hotel staffers, who explained that her uniform—head-to-toe oxblood cotton—was a tribute to the Visitandine nuns who once lived on the property. My tower suite featured shuttered windows on all sides that cried out to be flung open. I obliged, leaning the upper half of my body out the window, scanning the sun-faded rooftops and, in the distance, an ultramarine strip of ocean. This, I thought, is a view with a room. 

Hôtel du Couvent’s austere design is another nod to the function of the original building, with unpretentious furnishings and a generous use of taupe. Every fixture and texture—be it the ecru sofa or the hefty square dining table—is precisely tailored to the space, and special touches like fresh flowers, silver bar accessories, and vintage books provide decorative flair. Exploring my airy suite, I found I could hold New Nice and Old Nice in the palm of my hand: little balms and lotions from au courant perfumer Azzi Glasser and pistachio marzipan from the 200-year-old confectionery Maison Auer.

Nice itself dates back to 350 B.C., and many establishments mix the past with the present. But I don’t know that I’ve felt the imprint of the old and the new in a city as clearly as I did during my stay at Hôtel du Couvent. And to make it extra apparent that I’d arrived at Nice’s hotel of the moment: I had taken a surreptitious picture of a fashionable couple in business class who deplaned ahead of me (her with a softened Goyard tote, him with some manner of satchel I was sure I could sell for rent money), only to see them again, sharing a bottle of rosé in the courtyard as I left to explore the old town.

Perhaps the most surprising aspect of Nice’s new, refined energy is where that energy is concentrated: in the touristy heart of Old Nice, amid the souvenir shops, alongside street performers playing “Every Breath You Take” on the electric guitar. There are cool new restaurants like Lavomatique, an eight-table bistro with bar seating where thirtysomething patrons spill out into the street late at night, gossiping and laughing after consuming vegetarian small plates. Or Frisson, an ice cream parlor/coffee shop/concept store started by former Colette employees that served a “detox” sorbet (kiwi, apple, and spinach). Or Marinette, a bright boulangerie that I visited three gluttonous mornings in a row for its cinnamon rolls. I paired them with coffee from Cafés Indien, which roasts its own organic blends. 

There are also carefully edited gift shops like Trésors Publics, which has become a New Nice institution. “We believe in the renewal of the old town,” said Nicolas Barbero, the shop’s cofounder, who grew up in Cannes, about a half-hour to the west. Each winter, Barbero and his business partner, Antoine Bourassin, travel around the country selecting French products (candles, sandals, tooth-fairy boxes) that give their store a feeling of assemblage as much as curation. Many of the manufacturers of those items have been in business for centuries. From the outside, Trésors Publics looks like a set piece from a Wes Anderson film. From the inside, it traffics in what Barbero calls “the real local,” with a story behind every French-made item. 

Barbero has also noticed what he calls “the return of good tourism”—visitors who appreciate the authenticity of Nice beyond the sunny beaches. He credits not only the city’s vibrancy post-pandemic (when many Parisians moved south to the city) but also a fatigue with über-trendy destinations. “You see people going to Ibiza, Mykonos, and Croatia and that’s fine,” he said. “But maybe they got bored paying 200 euros to see a sunset,” he added, referring to the pricey beach clubs of certain Mediterranean isles.

That evening, I decided to watch the sunset, free of charge, while wandering down the seaside Promenade des Anglais, with the iconic pink dome of Le Negresco hotel in the distance. I grabbed an outdoor seat at Babel Babel, a Mediterranean café and wine bar that serves snacks like hummus and chickpea fries. Behind me, I overheard a pair of girlfriends in their 20s, talking over music and the rattling sound of skateboard wheels, discussing a speakeasy in a church. After some debate, I decided to deploy my terrible French: Pardon? Church? Bar? Quoi? 

Yes, I had heard correctly. Even the churches of Nice are enticing a younger crowd and have a robust Instagram presence. Upon entering the stone nave of St.-Jacques-le-Majeur, I observed the usual House-of-God fare: cracked Baroque frescoes, a statue of a saint, a few earnest late-night souls creaking in pews. I was about to leave, thinking I’d gotten the wrong place, when I saw a pod of twentysomethings emerge from behind a velvet curtain next to the altar. One of them made eye contact with me, grinned, and winked. “Oui,” he said, “c’est là.” Through another passageway I finally arrived at Le Bethél, a bar inside the church courtyard. There were string lights overhead, a chess game in the corner illuminated by candelabra, and older friends drinking wine. A Parisian rave scene this was not, but there was something undeniably charming about this wholesome bar (no hard liquor) drawing a multigenerational crowd.

The truth is that, if one goes to Nice in search of over-the-top glamour, or the cultural panache of Paris, one will leave empty-handed. It’s a city that is still getting its sea legs as an upscale tourist destination—or, rather, getting its sea legs back. But Nice is not interested in imitation. It’s interested in embracing what makes it distinctive. 

It is in this spirit that new hotels like Mama Shelter Nice, Hôtel Amour Nice (from the beloved Parisian chain), and Hôtel Amour Plage (same brand, closer to the shore) have opened. Meanwhile, young chefs are reviving regional dishes to delicious effect. The elegant and meticulous Maison Joia is a prime example. The restaurant combines flavors from across France, including chef Julien Pilati’s native Champagne and the Brittany of his wife, Laetitia. The standout of the cheese plate was a creamy wedge from Corsica. Bread from the couple’s favorite Portuguese bakery is served to “really open up the appetite,” as Julien explained. In Nice, most haute cuisine dishes are some manner of regional fusion (think olive oil instead of butter) but at Maison Joia, the experience is seamless. Nota bene: dining in this bright box of a space, with its single-flower centerpieces, feels a bit like being on the set of a play about a restaurant. But reader, I did not suffer. Perhaps, with time, Maison Joia will join international favorite Les Agitateurs, also in Nice, which was awarded a Michelin star in 2021.

Late the next morning (turns out alcohol has the same effect on the body, even if you consume it inside a church), I took a swim in Hôtel du Couvent’s lap pool, a spectacular oasis atop the gardens. I then consumed the best niçoise salad of my life (Was it the scallions? I thought afterward, zooming in on the photograph I’d taken) while sitting in the shade of an olive tree. Then I said goodbye and packed my bags for a very different view of the city.

The Anantara Plaza Nice Hotel, which occupies a Belle Époque building that dates back to 1848, feels a world away from a former convent. The 151-room hotel and spa was renovated in 2022 and has a clublike rooftop restaurant from which I could see the planes land at Nice airport. “You can almost scratch their bellies,” joked Gaudéric Harang, the general manager. 

“Even the shops are being renovated,” he added, gesturing down at the row of luxury boutiques that included Hermès, Chanel, and Louis Vuitton. “They reflect the elevation of luxury and what the city has to offer.” While this is an accurate metric of Nice’s commercial popularity, it was wasted on someone who, until very recently, was zooming in on photos of scallions on her phone. I was more curious about his favorite local spots, since he is a local himself.

“Honestly, the amount of small, very good restaurants in the old town is insane,” Harang said, lighting up, “I love the institutions, too, like La Petite Maison. Nicole Rubi, the owner, is in her 80s. But Nice is still a hub. To be here is to use the city like that. You have to explore.”

A fine point if there ever was one. As delightful as it is to plow through what’s new in any city, it can start to feel like consuming the foam from a cappuccino and tossing the coffee. Yes, it was time to pluck from those well-meaning recommendations from friends who had been to the surrounding areas. Spend a day in St.-Paul-de-Vence. Go to the Matisse Chapel. Sit on the same barstools that Picasso used to sit on at La Colomne d’Or. Find Chagall’s grave, then see so much mid-century art at the Fondation Maeght that you can’t remember a time when you were not looking at mid-century art. 

This is to say nothing of the merits of a day spent on the area’s better beaches. I am partial to the understated Plage Paloma, on Cap Ferrat, to which blue-and-white VW buses transport beachgoers from the marina. Or Plage Mala, farther to the east on Cap d’Ail, where I watched an elderly man wade into the water, smoking slim cigarettes, while a woman in a glittery bikini twisted a beach umbrella between the rocks like she was boring a hole into the earth. Perhaps the only notable shift in Nice’s infamous beach culture is a reduction in toplessness, thanks in part to the prevailing presence of camera phones. But Nice proper feels like an exciting and current place to come home to after hitting the classics.

On my last night, my stomach stuffed with miniature lobster rolls from the beachside restaurant L’Eden Plage Mala, skin soaked with sun—take that, anti-aging facial—I sat down for a glass of natural wine at Fanfan & Loulou. The two-year-old café and wine bar is run by a couple from Paris, Fanny Vedreine and Louis Girodet. It’s beloved for not only its selection but also its origin as a wine delivery service during the pandemic. A lone bicycle was the duo’s mobile wine cellar, as well as a way of getting to know their new home.

“We arrived three months before COVID,” Vedreine said, pouring me a glass of German Riesling called Space Dream. “We thought, ‘Okay, we have no friends and no connections. But we found such a community here.’ ” In addition to running the wine bar, Vedreine is a new mother and a writer with a focus on feminism and art. I wondered if she ever missed the energy of Paris. “I worked in nightclubs and bars and journalism in Paris,” she said. “I have good memories. But I want to do something for myself, to live life for myself.”

As she said this, we looked over our shoulders to see three stylish Americans approaching. One of them was tearing his face away from his phone, looking embarrassed to be lost and sheepish to have missed what he and his friends were looking for: the fanfan & loulou sign painted in massive letters over the doorway. Vedreine smiled at me and excused herself to greet them. “This is the place,” she assured them. Oui, c’est là. 

A version of this story first appeared in the August 2025 issue of Travel + Leisure under the headline “Nice Dreams.”