Villa Ephrussi

Yesterday we braved the corniche inférieure and headed for St Jean - Cap Ferrat. There were two reasons why: one was to do the coastal walk round the peninsula, the other was to take a look at the house and gardens of the Rothschilds' Villa Ephrussi at the top of the hill.

There was a surprisingly chill wind blowing off the sea, and a bit of a sea fog, reminiscent of the haar on the Forth. We paid for our entrance tickets, squeezed through the souvenir shop, turned the corner, then saw the facade of the villa in all its tacky glory. It could have come from some abandoned Disneyland project for a Venetian/Andalusian/Californian pizzeria. It was horrible, and, worse than that, it was full of bits robbed from other, probably better, demolished buildings. The interior was even more kitsch, with the Louis XV salon, complete with cringe-worthy wally dugs, leading off from the Louis XVI salon. In the dining room was quite the most heroically hideous ornamental clock - bright pink - we have ever seen.

We scuttled out of the villa as fast as our legs would carry us and headed into the renowned gardens. Mme Rothschild had employed 35 gardeners, wearing naval uniform, to tend to the terraces. She had shaved the top off the mountain to create the massive lawns and water feature (a camp musical fountain which played Tchaikovsky and other Classic FM favourites).

But all in vain: the garden, though well sited, and full of magnificent plants, was distinctly underwhelming: the whole was less than the sum of its parts. The only thing which really caught my attention was the spectacle of two tortoises clumsily copulating to the rhythms and squirts of the musical waterworks.

If there were to be a list of tourist sights which would be worth missing, then this one would get three stars.