There are places you travel to – and then there are places you simply end up in, without quite knowing why. Almost three years ago, we bought a small apartment in Ospedaletti. Back then, we just felt there was something special about it. Now we know – it was one of the best decisions we've ever made.
Ospedaletti is a hidden oasis on Italy’s northern coast, nestled between Sanremo and Ventimiglia, not far from the French border. Sheltered by the final folds of the Alps – known here as the Argentera Massif – the climate is nearly perfect. Mild and temperate, although the weather can show its teeth when storms and rain sweep through. It’s as if even the wind pauses to catch its breath here.
But what truly makes Ospedaletti special is the feeling of belonging.
Enamel sign hanging in the nearby town of Coldirodi
We've been welcomed with a warmth you can't buy. At “Dal Baffo”, we toast with local craftsmen while hearing who owns which scooter and who’s related to whom. At “Bicibar”, the snacks are dangerously good – they make you order another drink. And at “Gagian” – a beachside oasis – we often find ourselves chatting with regulars as if we’d lived here all our lives.
Our mornings often begin at Alexandra’s or Bar Jolly, where we sip coffee while cornetto crumbs pile up on the table and everyone greets each other – yes, even strangers. It feels safe, like a town that’s always welcomed outsiders in.
Evening walk on the seaside promenade
We’ve become part-time locals
It took some time to find the rhythm. Not just the language, but the entire way of life. Siesta, for example. Every time we arrive, we have to readjust to stores closing mid-day and dinners starting around eight – right when we’d be brushing our teeth in Denmark.
We live in a small apartment on the 6th floor of Villa Nazaret. In the garden below, there’s a bench where we often sit in the afternoons, drink in hand, enjoying the view, the sun, and the stillness. Not much needs to be said. It doesn’t have to be.
It sounds idyllic – and it is. Especially with our panoramic view of the town and the sea. In the morning, we throw open the windows and let the sunlight flood in while the Italian coffee machine goes into overdrive.
When we venture out, it’s at a relaxed pace. Not because we’ve grown lazy, but because Ospedaletti demands it. It’s a place where you greet before you shop, and ten minutes can easily pass between entering the bakery and actually buying bread – because someone had to explain how their nephew got a job in Genoa.
We try our best in Italian, and we’re getting… well, somewhere. We’ve mastered the polite phrases and have a solid grip on “due Spritz” and “senza ghiaccio”. But honestly, the locals have made more progress in English than we have in Italian. They meet our efforts with smiles and patience. More people understand what we’re trying to say than we do ourselves.
An old town with a colourful soul
You don’t have to be architects – but we are – to understand why we fell for Ospedaletti. The old town is beautifully set between Corso Regina Margherita and the sea, with sun-soaked buildings painted in shades of yellow, red, and burnt terracotta. These stand alongside weathered bricks and balconies draped in laundry.
The streets are narrow and winding, and even Google Maps gives up in some corners. That’s part of the charm. You don’t get lost – you drift off the map in the best way. As if the town reveals itself little by little.
There’s a quiet pride in these houses. They’re not perfect, but they endure. Someone painted one in the wrong shade – and it’s absolutely perfect. Citrus trees grow anywhere they find space, even in cracks between the tiles. It all tells the story of a place not in a rush to be anything but itself.
Long tables and local celebrations
Stick around Ospedaletti for just a little while and you’ll quickly notice – this town celebrates things. Not necessarily grand national events, but small, poetic ones – the zucchini, a tiny fish, or a particular day on the calendar. And they do it in style.
Long tables are carried out into piazzas and side streets, and suddenly you find yourself shoulder-to-shoulder with townsfolk, eating something you’ve never tried before that somehow tastes of belonging. You buy a ticket, get handed plastic cutlery and wine in a paper cup – and you’re in. That’s all it takes.
We’ve dined with people we’d never met before – including the mayor, who’s deeply involved in local life. We doubt he remembers us, but for us, it was unforgettable. There’s something quite magical about a town that throws a festival for squash – complete with cheer and civic pride.
Engines, old-timers, and a loud local love
Every September, Ospedaletti transforms into a kind of nostalgic dream soaked in motor oil and Italian charm. We quite literally live on the racecourse – a loop through the town that alternates each year between vintage motorcycle races and classic cars.
This isn’t Formula 1 – it’s motorsport with a smile. Participants show up with gleaming helmets, old-school rides, and easy laughter. There’s engine roar, horn blasts, and the scent of petrol in the streets – but the atmosphere is the most relaxed you can imagine. We stand by the road with the locals, and even though we catch only half of the fast-paced Italian chatter, the vibe is unmistakable.
It’s a feast for the eyes and ears – though surely not everyone’s favourite. Yet at its core beats the heart of the town: everyone knows everyone, and drivers are greeted like long-lost cousins pulling up with a sidecar.
Every September, there’s a race – in 2024 it was motorcycles
From train tracks to bike paths
From Ospedaletti all the way to Imperia stretches a 35-kilometre bike path built on the old railway line. In fact, it now extends to Diano Marina, offering over 40 kilometres of flat, scenic riding along the Mediterranean. Once, trains cut off the town from its beaches – now it’s strollers, bikes, and walkers coasting gently through the landscape with broad smiles. The sea feels closer than ever.
We bought e-bikes. It’s opened a whole new world – not just along the coast, but up into the hills, where we used to be limited by how far our legs could climb. Now, we take the trips in leisurely luxury – wind in our hair and barely a battery bar left in our thighs.
And no – you don’t need to use electric power on the flat seaside path. But we do. Because we can, because it’s fun, and because you should never underestimate the joy of gliding effortlessly through a landscape. For us, this Italian adventure is very much about unwinding – with an aperitif and a snack in hand.
The sea – our faithful companion in Ospedaletti
Maybe it’s not the sea itself that makes Ospedaletti special. But for us, the sea is what makes Ospedaletti feel special.
Living this close to the water changes something inside you. We swim in it, gaze at it, listen to it. We’ve gone in for a dip in both May and November, felt the cold jolt, and watched the sun rise over the horizon with salt still on our skin. And when storms roll in and waves crash against the shore, we stand and watch – as if it were the first time.
The sound of the sea is always present – like a rhythm beneath everything. When we wake up. When we fall asleep. When we sit quietly on the garden bench and just listen. It’s the kind of sound you can’t take with you – but it stays with you long after you’ve gone home.
A new place to call “home”
The weather along the Mediterranean coast can be unpredictable. We’ve sat in the sun with a glass of wine in Sanremo, only to see the skies darken and the wind whip down from the mountains – prompting a quick dash home to shut the windows we’d left wide open. We consider it part of the charm.
Ospedaletti is now our second home and our base whenever we head out to photograph. Not just along the coast, but further across Italy and even into France. We load up the car or hop on our e-bikes and disappear into the landscape – hunting for colours, shapes, and that indefinable something you only see when you really look.
But we always return to Ospedaletti – shoulders a little lower than when we left. The town has been allowed to become part of our life, and we like to think we’ve become a small part of its life too.
It’s not just the view that keeps drawing us back. It’s the pace. The sounds. The rituals. The bars. The people. It’s the sense that life is allowed to take its time – and that a place can be small, yet take up a lot of space in your heart.
