There are people who travel the French Riviera in elegant silence, taking in the views, sipping their rosé, gliding serenely from village to village. I am not those people. I travel with Vicky and Lilou, which means I travel with a great deal of noise, at least one unexpected detour, and the permanent suspicion that something is about to go very wrong in a very public place.

Let me introduce the team. Vicky is an English Setter — long-legged, silky-eared, and so beautiful that strangers stop to photograph her on the street. You would think a dog this stunning would move through the world with effortless confidence. You would be wrong. Vicky is afraid of the wind. She is afraid of strangers who approach too quickly, of narrow passages she hasn't personally approved, of entering any enclosed space she doesn't already know, and — as I discovered on a particularly memorable afternoon in Fréjus — of large digital advertising hoardings.

It was a perfectly normal hoarding. Cars. Sunglasses. A mobile phone offer. Each advert sliding smoothly into the next. To the rest of the world, invisible. To Vicky, apparently a direct existential threat. She planted all four paws, stared at it in horror for approximately two seconds, and then left. Not trotted. Left. At full English Setter sprint, trailing her lead, dragging me along behind her past startled tourists and bemused café customers until she judged herself to be at a safe distance. Which was around the corner and down a side street.

We did not go back past the hoarding. We took the long way round. We always take the long way round.

Lilou, who fears absolutely nothing

Lilou is a Spitz Loup — small, cloud-white, and possessed of a personality approximately four times larger than her body. Where Vicky approaches the world with suspicion, Lilou approaches it as though she has been personally invited and cannot wait to meet everyone. Every person on a terrace is a potential lap. Every dog in a market is an instant best friend. Every shopkeeper, waiter, child, or elderly gentleman on a bench is, as far as Lilou is concerned, specifically there to see her.

She does not wait to be introduced. She simply arrives. At speed. Front paws on your knees before you've had time to register that a small white cloud has materialised at your feet and decided that your afternoon now belongs to her.

The good news: the Côte d'Azur loves dogs

Here is something the guidebooks don't tell you enough: the French Riviera is one of the most dog-friendly regions in France. Not politely tolerant — genuinely welcoming. Café terraces almost universally allow dogs, water bowls appear without asking, and the French have a long-established habit of treating other people's dogs as communal property to be admired, fed, and talked to at length. This suits Lilou perfectly. Vicky endures it with dignified resignation.

Villages are wonderful — quiet streets, shaded lanes, curious locals who will stop to pet your dog and tell you about their own. Markets are a joy, as long as your dog does not attempt to eat the cheese display or introduce themselves to every stall holder simultaneously. Which Lilou does. Every time. The man who sells tomatoes at the Peymeinade market on Saturday mornings now has a treat ready for her before we've even parked the car. This is either charming or a bribery arrangement. I suspect both.

The trails — where the Riviera really opens up

This is the part most visitors miss entirely, and it is the best part. The hinterland behind the coast is criss-crossed with forest paths, nature parks and hiking trails that are perfectly suited to dogs — and largely empty outside the summer peak. For two dogs who need very different things from a walk, this region is a gift.

Parc de la Valmasque — Mougins & Valbonne. This is our most-used trail and the one I recommend unreservedly. Dozens of forest paths wind through pine and oak woodland between Mougins and the Sophia Antipolis tech park, with a beautiful étang — the Fontmerle pond — at the centre, famous for its extraordinary lotus flowers. Flat enough for anxious dogs, varied enough for energetic ones. Picnic tables, shade, good signage. Lilou charges ahead. Vicky walks at a measured pace, surveying the forest for threats that never materialise. → Official info & map

Massif de l'Estérel — Mandelieu, Théoule, Saint-Raphaël. The red volcanic rocks of the Estérel massif are spectacular, and the trails here are among the most dramatic on the entire coast. The Cap Roux, the Mont Vinaigre, the Rastel d'Agay — all accessible on foot with a dog on a lead, all offering extraordinary views over the crimson cliffs and the deep blue sea below. The Gorges du Blavet nearby is a quieter option, a beautiful valley walk well off the tourist trail. → Dog-friendly trails in the Estérel

Parc de San Peyre — Mandelieu-la-Napoule. A gentler option, perfect for a relaxed morning walk. The trail climbs to a panoramic table d'orientation with a 360° view over the Golfe de la Napoule, the Siagne valley, and on clear days, right across to the Alps. Not too long, not too steep. Even Vicky approves. → San Peyre trail info

Sentier du Littoral — Cap d'Antibes. The coastal path that hugs the shoreline of the Cap d'Antibes is one of the great walks of the Riviera — and dogs are welcome on leads. Dramatic rocky coastline, hidden coves, the occasional superyacht anchored just offshore. Flat, accessible, beautiful. Just keep your dog away from the edge — the drops are serious, and I say this as someone whose dog once reconsidered her approach to cliffs mid-walk. → All dog-friendly trails on AllTrails

Parc des Rives du Loup — Villeneuve-Loubet & Cagnes-sur-Mer. A lovely riverside walk along the Loup river, shaded and easy. Ideal for hot summer days when a forest walk would be too exposed. The water is accessible in places, which delights every dog except, predictably, Vicky, who considers the river deeply suspicious. → Departmental parks info

The villages they love best

Mougins is a favourite for both of them — calm, shaded, beautiful terraces, and the Valmasque forest just minutes away. Lilou once managed to charm an entire table of eight at a restaurant there before we had even sat down. By the time our menus arrived she was already being hand-fed bread by a man from Lyon who insisted she reminded him of his childhood dog. She had known him for four minutes.

Gourdon requires commitment — the drive up the mountain is not for the faint-hearted, and Vicky's anxiety about enclosed spaces makes the old village lanes a careful negotiation. But the views from the top are worth every moment, and there is something deeply satisfying about watching a small white Spitz Loup survey the entire Côte d'Azur from a medieval cliff with the quiet confidence of someone who owns it all.

I would not travel any other way. The Côte d'Azur seen through the eyes of a nervous English Setter and a fearless little Spitz is the Côte d'Azur at its most human — unpredictable, occasionally exhausting, frequently hilarious, and always, always worth it.

Just avoid the hoardings in Fréjus. Trust me on this one.