Monaco seems to be in vogue for British travel writers at the moment, with the Daily Telegraph this time extolling the virtues of a spring visit, writing:

This winter, I returned – older and ever-so-slightly richer. And (the shame of it) I revelled in having my car parked by a bloke in uniform, and a hotel room the size of Rutland right over the briny. I lapped up the wraparound feel of privilege, the lack of graffiti and the pleasure of encountering only courtesy at 3am. The place is a packed little bubble of extravagance, luxury and many policemen. It’s a show, an engrossing spectacle unique in Europe. I found I could live with that very happily.

I now want to go back in spring. I want another new look, when the natural lights go up over mountains, sea and civil engineering, when the Princess Grace rose gardens are in bloom and the pint-size principality is easing towards full throttle. I’m sure I’ll be more fascinated still.

In truth, I don’t care two hoots for the Monte Carlo tennis open (April 10-18), let alone the Monaco Grand Prix (May 13-16). But they give the place a turbo-gleam not available in most small seaside towns. Which, also, don’t generally have their own royal families, princely palaces and daily changing of the guard. Suspend disbelief. Go up to the headland rock and have a look at 11.55am. Palace visits restart in early April.

The rock-face St Martin gardens nearby (for a microscopic spot, Monaco crams in a lot of gardens) will be lovely in spring, with exceptional views over coast. And the restaurant terraces in the buffed-up old town behind will be open. Try U Cavagnetu (14 Rue Comte Félix Gastaldi; 00377 933 03580; from £18) for Monégasque specialities.

Across the port, Monte Carlo’s heart throbs in a Place-du-Casino trimmed with the deliriously ornate façades of the casino itself and the Hotel de Paris, with every posh shop an heiress could wish for, and the exquisitely-tailored terraces of the Boulingrins gardens. Nowhere else on our continent do you get the sense of such fancy, concentrated wealth.

It’s an absorbing spectacle, sunlit in spring, in which we may have a walk-on part. True, the public beach is inadequate, but there are plenty of others next door on the French Côte-d’Azur, a brief, cheap coastal train hop away. And the sunshine wandering in Monaco is unusually rewarding, from the seafront through the extraordinary tangle of streets, alleys, stairways and flyovers that crank the principality up its mountain.

Towards the top, the cliff-face Jardin Exotique is so full of desert exotica that it’s like a vertical New Mexico, but with better views.

Then there’s the culture with which Monaco burnishes its image. The Spring Arts festival pulses with music and dance this month and early next. The Opera House has Bryn Terfel singing Falstaff on various dates until March 26, La Bohème from April 16 to 27.

So, yes I’ll be going this spring. It’ll not be cheap. Then again, neither am I.

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