Shandong, China -

round three years ago – thanks in no small part to 111 Miss World wannabes – the world woke up to the fact that China had beaches. Proper beaches. Suddenly it was fashionable and fun to be beside the Chinese seaside. Out with visions of litter-strewn tidal froth, in with images of buxom nubiles playing beach volleyball in the name of world peace. From Beihai's Silver Beach to Hainan's Yalong Bay, southern China went down with a dose of the Californias.

About the same time, I happened upon a Chinese film called Haixian (Seafood). The unremarkable plot has long since faded from memory, but what stuck was the picture it painted of a very different kind of seaside haunt. Set in an out-of-season holiday town somewhere in northern China, Haixian was all piers and promenades, squawking seagulls and swarthy sea dogs. The protagonists' collars were invariably turned up against the cold as they stared out to a lonesome grey ocean. It was this memory – this nostalgic reminder of my homeland, England – that many months later led me to the Shandong city of Yantai.

This is an alternative tale of the Chinese seaside. It is a story of temperate sun, chilly seas and cabernet sauvignon. There are no surfboards or six-packs. It is a humble offering of buckets and spades, locally brewed beer and the mysterious aroma of fish and chips. If Hainan takes its lead from West Coast USA, Yantai's spiritual twin town is probably Skegness.

Yantai's connection to the seaside outposts of Europe is, actually, more than spiritual; imperial history has a lasting legacy here. Seized by the British as a spoil of the second opium war, Yantai – or Chefoo as it was then known – became a favourite retreat for the traders and top hats of Queen Victoria's foreign bandits, and much of their architecture remains. Britain's opium allies, the French, were astonished to discover that Shandong's soil matched that of their own Provence vineyards, launching a grape-growing tradition that continues to this day at the Changyu Winery. From German-controlled Qingdao, a short distance south, came brewing know-how that's now in the hands of the Asahi-owned Yantai Beer Company.

Given the well-established association between sun, sea, sand and sangria, it's perhaps appropriate that European influence in Yantai can be most clearly viewed at the bottom of a bottle. The budget airlines of northern Europe clink to the sound of duty-free and groan under the weight of bleary-eyed Brits returning from the Spanish costas. My own budget carrier, Shanghai's Spring Airlines, seemed intent on holding up its end by staging a mid-air passenger lottery to win free bottles of red wine. Even as the green hills of the Shandong peninsula came into view, cabin attendants were still calling out winning names. Mine was last out of the hat.

Stepping from the terminal building, I wondered if Spring Airlines hadn't also added something to our water during the flight. Yantai Airport is surely one of the world's few structures whose designers looked to Soviet-era nuclear reactors for architectural inspiration. The sight of spaceman-silver cylinders with pea-green hoops is surely enough to make even a teetotaler's head spin. The smell of fried cod in batter that hung in the air as I headed downtown only added to the strangeness. These were the wishful pangs of a man who had spent the day in the pub. Only I hadn't yet touched a drop.

Nevertheless, booze is an integral part of the Yantai experience. On my first evening, I settled down at a hawker eatery within earshot of the ocean's gentle lap. All around the city's undulating streets I had earlier seen kegs standing on kerbsides. Now I understood. In Yantai, you don't need a 7-11 franchise to be in the off-licence game. Here, even chao mian vendors are likely to stock silver barrels of liquid gold. It flows freely, served either in thick, frosty pint glasses or – for takeaway customers – plastic bags. Half a litre will set you back a princely RMB 1.5. So it was that I slurped fresh scallops and quaffed two pints of equally fresh lager under a starry Shandong sky and still managed to return to my sea-view room with change from an RMB 20 note, looking forward to a free bottle of vin rouge.

Alcohol, of course, isn't the only reason to visit Yantai. Just west of the imaginatively titled 'No 1 Beach', beyond the rock pool where children hunt crabs at low tide, stand the beautifully preserved remnants of the Tsung Dijing Catholic Boys' School. Walk a little farther along the seafront to discover an even more astonishing complex of 19th- and early 20th-century buildings. Trading houses, tax offices and YMCAs reveal the extent of British entrepreneurialism in Shandong. Refreshingly, the entire area can be explored free of charge.

A Chinese city just wouldn't be Chinese without a giant public plaza. In Yantai, this historic oversight was remedied with a massive development project between 2002 and 2004. As well as restoration work on the colonial buildings, a huge concrete expanse was laid down, instantly providing a stage for China's oldest and newest outdoor crazes – kite flying and rollerblading. These days, it's also the scene of a peculiar musical duel that pits singers like Celine Dion, piped from discreet speakers, against classic Chinese opera, as well as the ocean's swell. With these sounds ringing in your ears, stroll through the pretty network of lawns, tracing the path of the old trading houses, to emerge back at the sea, where old fishermen cast out over the iron safety railings. From there it's only a few yards further to Changyu's Museum of Wine, where a tour and tasting costs RMB 40. The cellar atmosphere is worth the money, even if the wine isn't.

Yantai's proudest architectural boast is on the headland that ends this fascinating 2.5 kilometre stretch between its two landmark hotels, the Golden Gulf and the Marina. Yantai Hill Park comprises a series of former consulate buildings connected by beautiful wooded paths and tunnels of hedgerows that end only at the sea. Between 1861 and 1945 a total of 16 different nations kept consulates here, the British staking first claim and then opening up the port to others. The homes have been kept in superb shape, some converted into museums for Chinese art, others left to reveal the full extent of colonial decadence. In the centre of the park, a steep staircase leads up to a crenellated battlement that affords superb views back across the sweep of the bay. The area has all the maritime charm of Macao without the cost and hassle of the tropics.

The road just outside the park is itself a work of art. Tall buildings with bell roofs line the street, now inhabited by Chinese families who have left the facades intact but shown no reverence to foreign traditions in the interiors. In the beautiful old post office I gorged on traditionally fat Shandong dumplings. Outside, that strange whiff of fish and chips continued to hang in the air.

Lovers of flashing lights and seaside arcades should head to the Tashan Scenic Area southeast of the city where gaming is available in a bizarre circus tent-styled building. As an alternative, visitors can take a cable car through an aromatic pine landscape to Ta Shan's eponymous mountain peak, where a pagoda offers spectacular views across the city and surrounding mountains. On my visit, the tallest peak of distant Zhifu Island appeared to float in the afternoon haze. In exalted tones, Gatekeeper Ding told me that Emperor Qin journeyed to that very spot in search of a rare herbal medicine. "Four times he came. Never found a thing," he chuckled. "But I've found some." Ding must have been at least 50 but his grin was that of a naughty schoolboy.

Outside Yantai there are several worthy day trips. An hour by bus to the west is Nanshan, home to a massive seated bronze Buddha atop a colossal stone staircase – a precursor to Hong Kong's Giant Buddha. Sixty kilometres east of Yantai is the port of Weihai, site of China's most humiliating naval defeat when Emperor Qing's best ships were blown out of the water by the Japanese in 1895.

The pick of the daytrip options, however, may well be Penglai. The 80-minute ride from Yantai takes visitors out of the industrial belt and into the rolling hills of rural Shandong. Changyu's private vineyards, open to tourists, are just some of the many picturesque plantations that slide past the window.

Penglai's draw is not wine but a bizarre optical illusion. Every couple of years, locals claim that a cityscape mirage appears on the horizon, complete with buildings, bridges and vehicles. A video recording of some of the recent sightings plays on a loop at the Penglai Pavilion, a 1,000-year-old cliff-top castle that sits at the end of a delightful crescent-shaped bay. You'll have to decide for yourself if this is a natural phenomenon, extraterrestrial visitation or tourist gimmick. The former residence of 16th-century military hero Qi Jiguang and a palatial complex dedicated to the mythical Eight Immortals are the other main attractions. Though it's rough around the edges, Penglai is still a fascinating place to spend a day or two.

But nowhere along the north Shandong coastline has quite the same air of classic seaside fun as Yantai itself. If it's a bona fide beach resort experience you seek, head south to Hainan. In the glamour stakes, the Shandong peninsula simply cannot compete. If, on the other hand, you appreciate atmosphere, honesty and value for money, Yantai is a great weekend away. Through architecture, alcohol and an unassuming ocean lop, I found my little England of the East – even if I never did discover the source of that strange smell of fish and chips.