Compact Estoril: the perfect antidote to city life

'Ian Fleming's first novel drew on the casino'

Considering it lends its name to an entire region, and has provided refuge to three kings and innumerable commoners fleeing a variety of European conflicts, Estoril is surprisingly small. No more than 55,000 live permanently in the town and its more sedate twin, Cascais, further along the graceful bay. They are connected to Lisbon by a fast train that can whisk the jaded city-dweller to the seaside in under half an hour.

The railway and highway head directly to Tamariz Beach, Estoril's principal daytime attraction. It is dominated, at one end, by a faux fortress doing a passable impression of Lisbon's celebrated Tower of Belém. Such architectural follies and fantasies are a feature of the coastline, constructed by the wealthy in the spirit of unselfconscious abandon that infects us all when we sniff the sea air.

As darkness falls, the focus shifts a short distance inland, across an orderly park of lawns, fountains and palms, to the elephant that has strayed into the living room: the largest casino in Europe. Las Vegas-style, its hulking outline is picked out by tens of thousands of lightbulbs.

For decades, these lights have attracted the continent's high rollers, but even if you arrive on foot, rather than by limousine, and adhere to no particular dress code, you are welcome to show the colour of your money. Unlit, the angular edifice looks more like a cultured concert hall than a den of clanging one-armed bandits with its hushed inner sanctum of baize roulette tables. A safer bet for gratification is to wander around the grandiose villas and hotels that flank the casino. Among them is the fabled Hotel Palácio ( www.palacioestorilhotel.com), which during World War II attracted numerous agents, crooks and fugitives taking advantage of Portugal's neutrality. In 1941, its guests included a certain British Naval Intelligence officer called Ian Fleming, whose first novel, Casino Royale drew heavily on his frequent visits to the tables.

The following year, Estoril opened a new post office beside the coastal highway. Unlike its elephantine counterpart, this semi-circular, modernist structure, dazzlingly white in the sunlight, needs no artificial illumination. Its treasures are discreetly arranged at the top of a winding staircase. A small museum and exhibition hall record the experiences of the great, the good and the desperate who came in search of refuge or a ship across the Atlantic.

Some decided to end their journey in this seductive spot, including the last king of Italy, Umberto II, who built an imposing villa in Cascais after abdicating in 1946, and remained there until his death in the early 1980s. Today, two cranes loom above its turrets, overseeing its transformation into a deluxe hotel and spa. The seaside never was a place of permanence.