In 1936, a cable car was built from Sanremo to Monte Bignone. 7.5 km — and at the time, one of the longest in the world. The journey took 40 minutes and required a change along the way at the intermediate station in San Romolo. In 1981, it was closed temporarily, but it never reopened. What remains is the ruin of that mid-station.
We have a soft spot for ruins and old rust slowly reclaimed by nature, and since we spend time in the area, the trip up there was inevitable.
Not much to see — and yet
San Romolo — yes, it’s real. Today’s trip wasn’t to Sanremo, but to San Romolo, roughly 7–8 km away as the crow flies. Not a town that offers much to speak of: a couple of bars, a slightly tired park in the middle, and a starting point for organised mountain bike rides and hikes into the hills behind Sanremo.
But it also houses the remains of a cable car built in 1936 by a man named Pietro Agosti. And since we have a mild fascination with decaying things left to themselves in nature, it felt like an obvious detour while spending time at our flat in Ospedaletti.
Two roads, neither in a hurry
Coming from the Mediterranean coast, you have two options: via Coldirodi or via Sanremo. We went up through Sanremo and returned through Coldirodi.
The Sanremo route lets you see the “real” Sanremo, rather than the polished tourist stretch around the harbour and promenade. Not that there’s anything wrong with that — it’s simply a different version of the same place.
From flat to mountain in minutes
Liguria is shaped as a narrow strip of relatively flat land along the sea, from which you’re quickly led upwards — into the last stretch of the Alps west of Genoa, and the Apennines to the east. Roughly speaking.
To reach San Romolo, you head uphill — and it starts already in Sanremo. You’ll find yourself navigating tight switchbacks while still technically driving through town. Nothing dramatic, just quietly authentic. In some places, even two Fiat 500s would struggle to pass. In others, a bit of back-and-forth is required to negotiate a corner. Fortunately, Italian drivers understand the concept of mutual survival.
You pass through the town fairly quickly, and then it’s just you, the mountain road, and a generous amount of hairpin bends. Not many people head to San Romolo on a daily basis — which, conveniently, means parking is not a problem once you arrive.
No signs. No entrance. Perfect
You should know that the old cable car station was never redesigned as a tourist attraction. So don’t expect a large sign reading “Stazione Funivia” — we didn’t even find a small one.
Head up the road on the opposite side of the park’s car park, and between the trees you’ll spot an old cable tower.
There’s no proper entrance either. The building is fenced off with a locked gate, but on the far right side of the plot there’s a narrow slope where you can climb around a tree and make your way in.
Entrance to Stazione Funivia
An idea that actually made sense
The cable car, built in 1936, connected Sanremo with the slopes leading up to Monte Bignone. It ran for many years and was, at the time, something of a statement — not just locally, but technically.
This wasn’t a whimsical idea born over an espresso. Pietro Agosti was an engineer and entrepreneur, and the cable car was intended as a genuine connection between the city and the mountains. Not merely an attraction, but a way of moving people uphill without the effort.
At the time, it made perfect sense. Sanremo was already an established holiday destination, and there was a clear ambition to extend the experience — beyond sea and promenade, towards air, views, and nature. The cable car made it possible to travel from the city to Monte Bignone in around 40 minutes, used by both tourists and locals.
How it ended (quietly)
It functioned for many years and transported a significant number of people without major issues. But as is often the case with such structures, time caught up. The technology aged, maintenance became expensive, and at the same time, getting around by car became easier. What was once a solution slowly turned into something else.
Eventually, it was simply too costly to keep running.
It closed in the early 1980s — officially temporary — but never reopened. And instead of being dismantled, it was left standing.
The gondola
It hasn’t even fully become a “proper” ruin yet, whatever that means. The building still stands in reasonable condition, though it’s little more than a large canopy facing Sanremo, along with a few enclosed rooms that once housed technical equipment.
The highlight is undoubtedly the old gondola, left behind on the platform. A quiet witness that lends weight to the story — a time when fascination with industry and engineering occasionally ran all the way to the edge.
Not a destination
This is not something you travel far for — unless you have a particular interest in abandoned cable cars. And if decaying buildings and rusting structures do nothing for you, this will likely confirm that.
But if you’re in the area and feel like brushing against a bit of forgotten history, it’s worth the detour.
There isn’t much more to explain.
You walk around. Look. Try to imagine how it once worked, while mildly regretting that no one has cleared the vegetation to reveal the full view of Sanremo. And then you leave.
It’s not a place for hours. There’s nothing to tick off. No one telling you what to think about it.
Which is, perhaps, the point.
That it hasn’t been turned into anything. It was simply left — and now it’s up to you to decide whether it’s worth your time.
Don’t think of it as an attraction in the usual sense. More like a small detour that leaves you with a story. The kind you don’t find by sticking to the obvious coastal routes.
-
Interested in other routes in the area:
The search for good olive oil in Liguria
Ospedaletti — A small place with a big heart
We took the Prosecco route — without touching a single drop
