Chaos and Calm

Six hours on the TGV to Nice from Paris with a 20-month-old was a new experience. Thoughtfully, my daughter suggested we take the four seats at the back of the car, where we would disturb fewer passengers. Little Leeds never stopped moving, climbing, touching, talking, screaming, etc., etc., etc., except for about 30 minutes of a nap that was one hour shorter than normal.

Erica remarked, “Welcome to my life.”

Surviving it, we happily landed Chez Leeds, ready to take on the onslaught of the three of us in a one-bedroom apartment. Over the course of the week, it was me who had the hardest time adjusting to the chaos at home—toys scattered all over the apartment, fingerprints on every mirror and glass table, and a youngster constantly exploring everything—getting himself into things not meant for exploration.

Will I survive these 10 days? This is already five days into it, so the answer is YES, OF COURSE. It’s a time in his life that flees by. Every moment must be treasured, chaos or not.

While I’ve been taking care of business, Erica, Little Leeds, and his biological father (Erica’s best friend who is vacationing with them much of the summer) arrived a day later and have been enjoying the Nice beaches and meeting up with their own friends who are visiting here. One thing about Paris or Nice: they are international crossroads and if you hang out long enough, friends will come through and surprise you. Baby Daddy is staying in one of our two Guest Stay apartments, exclusive to use by our clients and community. This one is a nice-sized studio just steps from Place Masséna that is not missing anything, in spite of its size! The other one is a large studio right on the Promenade des Anglais with a view of the sea and private garden! (To learn more about them both, and how you can be a guest there, visit our website.)

Thursday afternoon, Brian Dunhill of Dunhill Financial spoke at Après-Midi (upstairs at Oscar Restaurant) about “Borderless Living,” the subject of his most recent book. Sitting on the sidelines was Jonathan Hadida, of Hadida Tax Advisors, who chimed in when asked or when it was appropriate. Between the two of them, the audience acquired a lot of very valuable information and advice related to finances for expats and how to prepare for a move to France the smart way.

The session was recorded like always, only to discover well after the fact that the audio didn’t record as it should have—even after checking it several times before pressing the button. So, our sincerest apologies for the technical error, as you won’t be able to enjoy seeing/hearing the presentation. The good news is that Brian is happy to share his PowerPoint presentation so you can view it on your own.

Download the PDF of his presentation.

You can also get a copy of his book, or better still, contact Dunhill Financial to help you organize your personal finances prior to coming to France—you will not regret that for a nano-second.

As Brian explained during the presentation, all of his clients are North American expats, not just a handful like most advisors in the U.S. and Canada, and that makes them the experts you can count on for the wisest advice. Besides, I know them to be THE BEST, not only from my personal experience, but from our clients’ who sing their praises, too.

The Nice Jazz Festival started Thursday evening with Sting headlining that evening at 11 p.m. If you were anywhere near Place Masséna at that time, you could have heard him if not seen him, without getting tickets and entering. There were hundreds of people outside the gates doing just that.

The festival this year was a mere three days, for no publicly stated official reason, but the organizers simply redesigned the paid festival as three concentrated nights, with 18 artists on two stages, compared with four nights and 27 artists in 2025. Usually I attend a few of the concerts, but this year, my attention was on my daughter and grandson.

There was no shortage of street music, however, and performers were at every turn. This crazy contraption known as the L’Ethno Machine has been roaming all over Nice, especially down rue Masséna where I can see it from my balcony. It’s a human-powered musical vehicle created by the French street-theatre company Nomad Nomad. Part sculpture, part mobile stage and part Jules Verne fantasy, it’s an enormous framework of recycled steel, old-fashioned lamps and lace parasols carrying a drummer, saxophonist and didgeridoo player. It moves entirely through human power, using two pedalers and several other volunteers to propel and steer it—no engine required. The performers add music, dancing and occasional fire effects as it rolls through the streets, causing quite a commotion.

In advance of the 10-day trip with daughter and grandson to Nice, we booked a rental car for a few of the days, breaking it up into two two-day bookings so that there would be a break in between the day trips. Erica wanted to show Little Leeds’ father a lot of places he hadn’t been to before, plus enjoy time with Glamma (me).

Deciding where to go first wasn’t as easy as one might think as there are so many choices, but going to neighboring Italy was high on the list. We had pasta and good Italian coffee on the brain, so our first stop on Friday was San Remo, one hour’s drive from Nice.

It’s noticeable when you enter Italy, not by the signs that welcome you to Italy, or by the fact that the directional signs are suddenly in Italian, but because immediately it’s obvious that the roads aren’t as well taken care of as they are in France. The aesthetic different is acute, even though the landscape is just as lovely, and the villas elegant and stately. The landscape changes, too—not the same dramatic cliffs and vistas.

Parking was easy in the public lots near the train stations (old and new, that are side-by-side) and it’s a short walk into town. San Remo is a beautiful seaside town with stately buildings lining the main streets, but the beach is less than desirable and not much is going on there. Even now in the height of summer, there were not many people on the beach or on the pedestrian shopping street as expected.

After some research, we settled on lunching at Marzio Bistrot, ordering way more food than we could eat, but it was disappointing and not worthy of a recommendation. It’s not a blessing to have a certain level of knowledge of Italian cooking—the kind I acquired in a previous life when devoted to the craft. It’s so easy and simple to make a great pasta dish there’s no excuse for a restaurant in Italy to have been so unremarkable.

Erica and I both love pesto pasta, but try as we might, no restaurant has ever improved on Marcella Hazan’s recipe from The Classic Italian Cook Book (1973) that I used to make often. Theirs was no exception—not worth the basil they put in it.

If you want to be as spoiled as we are, visit Food.com or better still, get a copy of her book, and try it for yourself. The recipe originally appeared in Marcella Hazan’s first book, The Classic Italian Cook Book (1973). It later appeared—revised and presented with both mortar and food-processor methods—in Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking (1992), which combines and updates: Not a single pesto, even in its hometown of Genoa, has ever been better!

Special note: Pesto pasta originated in Genoa and the surrounding region of Liguria in northwestern Italy. Ligurians had long prepared crushed garlic-and-nut sauces such as agliata. Ancient Roman moretum—a mortar-ground mixture of herbs, garlic and cheese—is often described as a distant relative, but there is no clear, continuous recipe linking it directly to modern pesto. The name comes from the Genoese/Italian verb pestare, meaning “to pound or crush,” because the ingredients were traditionally worked together using a marble mortar and wooden pestle.

We left San Remo with the idea of getting another good Italian coffee in Bordighera, known to be a classier enclave, but didn’t want to wake Little Leeds from his nap in the car seat, so we continued on to Dolceacqua without stopping. Erica and I had been to the hilltop town twice before—the first time was years ago when our rental car wouldn’t start and we got stuck in a parking lot for hours before the rental car company sent a rescuer. Our good fortune was that there was a restaurant directly in front of the parking lot that was exceptional. We remember it fondly to this day. Jokingly, we all wanted to start over and eat pasta AGAIN, simply because Marzio hadn’t satisfied us, but we were more sage than that.

Dolceacqua is one of the most beautiful medieval villages in this part of western Liguria, only about 10 kilometers north of Ventimiglia. Its famous for its 15th-century stone bridge that crosses the Nervia River and leads into the Téra—a maze of narrow, steep passageways climbing toward the ruined Doria Castle. Claude Monet visited it in 1884 and called the bridge “a jewel of lightness.” He painted the village several times. If you have the strength to climb to the top, the castle is worth visiting for its history and wonderful views across the vineyards, olive groves and valley. We got to the top, but didn’t venture into the castle.

A band had set up and started to play on the Borgo side of Dolceacqua, the newer, flatter neighborhood on the eastern bank of the Nervia. Strangely enough, no one was there paying them any attention. It was inexplicable, but c’est la vie on a hot afternoon.

Plan on spending a few hours wandering through the village, visiting the castle and stopping for lunch. This is the home of Rossese di Dolceacqua, Liguria’s first DOC red wine, and the local food includes Ligurian rabbit, pumpkin-filled barbagiuai, Taggiasca olives and michetta, the village’s traditional sweet bread.

To make the day complete, head up to Apricale, another magnificent medieval village, but be sure to wear comfortable shoes to maneuver the very steep and cobbled streets.

That was our taste of Italy, and it was enough for now. Saturday, the three of them took a drive to the Gorges du Loup where they hiked and marveled at the waterfalls. Instead, I stayed behind for an afternoon at the beach all by my lonesome, enjoying the peace and quiet on the very busy galets watching the Corsican ferries glide in and out of the Old Port. My idea of heaven.

While this is Nice’s busiest season, and walking down rue Masséna can feel like Bourbon Street during Mardi Gras, it’s my favorite time of year on the Riviera. Not all of the city is as lively as this—for those who prefer a quieter existence—but personally, I thrive on the life happening just outside my door. The energy everywhere is electric as the entire world has landed on Nice’s doorstep, taking advantage of all it has to offer: both chaos and calm.

A la prochaine…