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We thought that changing locations on a Saturday would help us avoid traffic, but we quickly learned that Saturday is one of the biggest travel days in Europe. I assume this is because Europeans tend to take more days off and are more likely to travel Saturday to Saturday rather than hitting the road on Friday after work. Regardless, the 4.5-hour drive from Menaggio to Lucca took six hours.  I’ve also found that driving in France and Italy is never relaxing. The roads are great—though a bit expensive, with tolls costing about $10 for every hour of driving—but you can never just set the cruise control and roll down the highway for an hour or two. You’re constantly changing lanes around trucks and slower cars while keeping the left lane open for faster-moving vehicles. Tailgating and changing lanes before they’re fully past your front bumper are common practices. So is driving incredibly slowly in the right lane—sometimes 25 to 30 miles per hour under the posted speed limit.

We finished the drive by navigating the narrow streets of Lucca’s walled old town, which is a pedestrian-only zone unless you have a hotel within the walls, as we did. We may have been allowed to drive within the walls, but the crowds of people and tight corners—some requiring three-point turns—did not make for fun driving. Needless to say, we were happy to park our car in the hotel garage and leave it until we departed the city. We were also ready for a cocktail after checking into our hotel. I mistakenly chose one of those touristy cafés on the main square. It’s a great spot to relax and people-watch but a bad place to buy a drink—the worst Aperol spritz I’ve ever had.  I think it was just Aperol and sparkling water.  Fortunately, our visit to Lucca improved dramatically after that, and I highly recommend a visit.  We were even treated to a parade of locals in traditional dress on our first night, I am not sure what they were celebrating but it was fun to watch.

Lucca has been inhabited for 2,000 years. Its Roman walls formed the base of its medieval defenses, which were later reinforced with the advent of cannons. Layer upon layer of history, it’s a fascinating and beautiful city. Shops and restaurants abound. We found some excellent options with the help of our new friend, the Michelin Man. At the last minute, we signed up for a walking tour, which turned out to be a fantastic way to explore and learn about the city’s history.  We learned interesting facts like the “square” with bad drinks is actually oval because it is the former Roman Coliseum, something I failed to notice while sipping my Aperol and water. The walls of the old town provide a lovely 2.5-mile traffic-free loop, where we enjoyed morning walks alongside local joggers and cyclists.

On our final night, we took a three-hour cooking class taught by one of the best chefs in the city, Gianluca Pardini. We perfected our pasta-making, grilled Tuscan steak, made crustless vegetable tartare, and prepared peach tiramisu. Then we sat down with Chef Pardini and enjoyed a wonderful meal.

We carefully mapped our route out of the old town even walking the route then left early enough to avoid the crowds. This was the final leg of our driving journey—to the port city of Nice, France—where we dropped off our leased car. I was happy to be done with the driving, and I think Kelly was overjoyed to be finished with her passenger/navigator duties. My European driving stresses her out a bit.

In Nice, we joined our friends Neil and Jin, former Seattleites who retired there in 2018. They have a large expat community of friends and happened to know someone with an empty apartment—which is how we ended up in a modern two-bedroom flat above a flower shop, just two blocks from the water, for the price of zero dollars.

It’s nice to have friends in Nice. We settled in as Neil and Jin introduced us to life as temporary Niçois. They hosted us for two dinners at their home. We spent one morning on the beach, followed by lunch at a beachside café, and that evening joined about a dozen of their friends for happy hour at a cocktail bar. We could definitely get used to being Niçois.

Nice is a beautiful city with a five-mile beach promenade. The city government has been beautifying the area for years—reducing traffic lanes, planting thousands of trees, adding bike lanes, and investing in excellent public transportation. It’s very walkable and safe, with a vibrant outdoor scene. We were still experiencing hot summer weather, but it made for wonderful people-watching and lively streets late into the night. The city was preparing for its annual jazz festival—one of the largest and oldest in the world. Nice is also crowded during the Monaco Grand Prix and the Cannes Film Festival, both just a short 30-minute train ride away. In short, Nice has a lot going on.

On our last day in Nice, Neil invited me to join his expat golf group for a round at the Royal Mougins Golf Club. This involved a train ride to Cannes, followed by an Uber to the course. Neil prefers to walk rather than rent a buggy (golf cart). I had no expectations for my game, as I hadn’t played in over a month, was using borrowed clubs, and knew nothing about the course. In short, I had plenty of excuses when my round fell apart on the first drive. Somehow, our threesome managed second place among the four or five groups playing. But it was a brutal walk—85-degree heat, high humidity, and rolling hills—as we slogged our way through 18 holes. We were exhausted by the end and in desperate need of a beer. Even those who had rented buggies struggled in the heat.

I invited Neil back to Arizona, where I’ll show him how to handle the heat: in a golf cart, with a cooler, cold towels, and an air-conditioned 19th hole. We don’t have a fancy name for people who live in Surprise, so we’ll just make him a temporary member of the “Old Folks Home”—our nickname for our over-55 community.