Marsa Matrouh exists for the summer and barely pretends otherwise. For a few warm months the Bedouin town on Egypt's far northwest coast fills with families chasing its great prize — a sequence of sheltered coves where the Mediterranean turns an improbable milky jade over sand the colour of bone. Out of season the resorts shutter and the wind whistles through empty streets, but in July the Corniche hums until midnight, the beaches are a mosaic of umbrellas, and the whole place gives itself over wholeheartedly to sun, salt and seafood. It is unpretentious, slightly rough at the edges, and beloved for exactly that.

The coast is the attraction, and its set-piece is Agiba Beach — agiba means 'miracle' — a tiny cove framed by ochre cliffs, reached down a steep path to water of almost unreal clarity. West along the same shore lie Cleopatra's Beach, with its rock pools and salt-carved arches, and the legend-laden Rommel's Beach, beneath the cave the Desert Fox is said to have used as a headquarters and which now holds a small museum to him. For glossier comfort, Almaza Bay strings upscale resorts along a calmer lagoon. Back in town, El Obayed Beach and the long Corniche keep the crowds happy.

The evenings are where Matrouh shows its real character. As the heat lifts, families spill onto the Corniche, children chase the shallows, and the smell of charcoal drifts from the seafront. The fish market sets the rhythm of dinner — you choose your catch and have it grilled — and old-school spots like Panayoti serve it simply, with bread, salad and lemon. There is little nightlife of the cocktail-bar kind; the pleasure is slower and more communal, a town eating outdoors under the stars before the brief season turns and the coast goes quiet again.